The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(72)

They sat in silence for a while, Pixie lost in her thoughts, Dred obviously trying to process everything she was telling him.

“There’s something else. He was trying to blackmail me. I’ve never told anyone the why. Not my therapists, not Trent and Cujo, my sponsor kind of guessed, but you need to know.”

“I’m here, Snowflake. And I really wish I was f*cking there with you right now.” He glanced toward Petal.

Strangely, Pixie felt her confidence building. They were going to come through the other side of it if Dred could accept the one fact she still hadn’t told him. “I wanted out. The day before my sixteenth birthday I had packed a bag, planning to run the next day because school would no longer care if I showed up or not. That night, Arnie had some of his friends over. They were playing poker. He told me to sit on my stool like a good girl. The pot was larger than I had ever seen. Arnie played dealer. When the last player went out, and only Brewster, a friend of Arnie’s, was left, Arnie split the pot in half. He gave half to Brewster, and then walked over to me, told me to open wide. I looked between Brewster and Arnie. I just knew. I was the prize. I shook my head, but Arnie forced my head back and dropped powder into my mouth. I couldn’t spit it out. It stuck to my gums and coated my tongue.

He looked at Brewster, and told him to give it a minute, and walked out of the trailer.”

Dred leapt to his feet and started to pace. It was hard to focus on the screen as the background bobbed about. She saw him reach for the anchor he always pulled on, but it wasn’t there.

“Come to me, Pix. I spoke to Trent this morning. He said you could fly up here tomorrow morning. I’ll get you on the early flight. Please, come be with me, and little-miss-poopy-pants over there. We’re a package deal now.”

She took a deep breath. The hardest part. “There’s one more thing. I—”

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is. We need to talk some more. And we have enough shit to deal with to fill the SkyDome twice over. But let’s deal with it together.”

“Dred . . . I killed Brewster.”

*

Dred walked to the living room window and looked out onto the street. Nothing. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and checked the time of Pixie’s text message telling him she was in the limo he’d booked for her and was on her way from the airport. Tapping his fingernails on the windowsill, he calculated the time to get to the house, and by his reckoning, he still had seven more minutes to wait.

How did he feel knowing she killed someone? Her revelation was shocking, but he felt relieved. Relieved that her stepdad and the * he did the poker deal with hadn’t been able to rob her of the one thing she’d held sacred for so many years. The fact that someone had to die for the violations committed against her was a trade-off he’d make over and over.

They’d talked for another two hours. Eventually Petal woke and wouldn’t be pacified until she’d been fed. But before then, he told her about his mom, about the way she died. And about Amanda. Pixie had shared her escape to Miami and how she’d been mugged and lost all her money. She’d told him about the decision to sleep in the doorway of an old store, shaking and nauseated, and of being woken by two of the largest men she’d ever met. He’d never felt more like an idiot when she explained that the man in the photograph he’d seen the day he’d left Miami was actually her sponsor. Her much older, married sponsor. He’d asked her to not believe what she read in the press, yet he’d done exactly that at the first opportunity he was given.

The more he learned, the more he respected Trent and Cujo. The truth was, he’d never had any decent male role models in his life. Trent and Cujo were real. Genuine. Dred’s confidence was part mask and he knew it. He wanted to be more like them. Less broken, more solid. If only he knew how to get there.

The love he felt for Pixie was overwhelming, but it was going to take more than a kiss and make-up sex to solve their personal issues. For once, his money could be used for something meaningful. The best therapists in the world came at a price, but they both still clearly needed help—and lots of patience and time.

Silence surrounded him like a fog. Petal was out of the house with Jordan and Lennon. They’d left in Lennon’s tinted-window Land Rover with a plan to drive out to the West End to take Petal for a walk along Lakeshore then stop by the Cheese Boutique in Swansea to pick up dinner. The diaper bag had been filled with multiple spare outfits, enough diapers to bail out the Titanic, and several bottles of formula. Nikan and Elliott had left before breakfast, deciding to go visit friends over in Newmarket. Everyone’s foot was off the gas, their equipment sat unused in the studio. It had been a couple of days since they’d recorded anything new. Their energy and inspiration were running on empty.

He’d looked out of the window again, regretting his decision to not collect Pixie in person. As much as he wanted to do the whole standing in arrivals with flowers and shit, the paparazzi had been driving him insane since news of Petal’s arrival and Amanda’s death. It had been Pixie who had insisted on meeting him at the house.

He checked the time on his phone, went through the math again. She should pull in any minute.

Dred looked around the living room. The house was spotless and flowers littered the place. Perhaps he’d gone overboard, but what the f*ck did he know about dating, or what had Ellen called it? Wooing. Who the hell said “wooing” anymore? Whatever its name was, he was likely shit at it, but flowers seemed easy enough, even if the florist had stared at him in shock when he told her his budget.