The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(75)

While she wanted to smile at the joke, their time apart was still too raw to make fun of it.

Dred leaned into the crib and retrieved his daughter. Pixie took in her perfect little Kewpie lips and dark hair that was a little bit sweaty down by her neck where she’d slept on it.

“Hey, Chickpea,” Dred said softly, lifting Petal up, half-awake, all snug in her little sleep sac, and Pixie smiled at the way she could see her little legs kicking in the air. He placed her against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder, and rubbed her back. “Did she have a good day?” he asked Jordan.

“So so. Got really upset this morning. Changed her, fed her, burped her, walked her, carried her, but she was having none of it. Had a quieter afternoon, and she’s been asleep for two hours.”

“Sleep’s good.” He turned to face her. “The first few weeks of her life were a brutal mash-up of withdrawal, tremors, and medication, so her sleep patterns were beyond messed up.”

“I told you I’d rotate with you for waking up with her,” said Jordan, and his words squeezed Pixie’s heart. Dred’s family might be unconventional, but he was surrounded by people who loved and supported him.

“I know you would, and I appreciate it, but this is something I want to do for her. Thanks for looking after her, man.”

“No worries, although the way Lennon scoops her up every time she as much as gurgles, your little princess is never going to figure out how to move on her own.”

Dred smiled sadly, and Pixie had a sense that each of them had their hang-ups.

Jordan stood and slapped him on the shoulder before giving Pixie a hug. “He might be an *,” he whispered in her ear, “but he’s your *, right?”

Pixie nodded.

“Good,” he murmured. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”

As soon as Jordan left the room, Dred led her to the bed and encouraged her to sit, joining her.

“Sarah,” he said, and she knew he’d deliberately used her real name. “This is my little girl, Petal. And Petal,” he said, “this is my girlfriend, Sarah.”

“Oh my God, Dred,” she said, leaning forward to take Petal’s fingers. “She’s perfect. And looks so much like you. Can I take her?”

He placed Petal in her arms and she fussed over her to make sure she was comfortable. She stroked a hand over the shock of dark hair then lifted her a little so she could kiss her forehead.

Dred pulled out his phone and aimed it at the two of them. “Hey, girls, say cheese.”

Pixie snuggled Petal close, and Dred snapped the shot.

And Pixie realized from the look of absolute joy in Dred’s eyes, and the way her heart flipped all the way down to her stomach and back, that this moment was way bigger than a mere photograph.

*

Sunday morning arrived with a burst of golden sunshine, and a headful of songs. Petal had woken them three times during the night from her makeshift nursery in his walk through closet. Usually her crib was in his room, but the idea of her there when . . . well, let’s just say he and Pixie had truly kissed and made up. He’d finally f*cked her the way he’d daydreamed about in the shower in Brazil. Pixie on her front, her legs together while he straddled her. She’d squeezed his dick so tightly, he’d nearly died from the intensity. Catching sight of the two of them in his bedroom mirror while he thrust into her had sent him over the edge way sooner than he’d intended, but his orgasm felt like it went on for minutes.

He’d also made love to her again, had let her strip him bare in every sense of the word, until they had collapsed in an emotionally exhausted heap.

Pixie was still asleep, curled up against his side. He slid his arm from beneath her head and grinned as she huffed her displeasure, turning to face the opposite direction. Managing to slip out of bed without waking her was an art form. Once free, he pulled on some clean boxers and the hoodie he’d worn the day before.

Lyrics bombarded him, so he grabbed his notebook and stretched out on the sofa by the window. Words spilled from his brain, faster than he could write them down. Each of them connected to a theme of redemption. Both he and Pixie, and the rest of the band, had been through so much it felt like he could write a lifetime’s worth of songs about sadness and despair. But if they were going to truly move on, shouldn’t the songs transition to what the other side of all their pain looked like? They needed to start thinking differently about the futures they wanted.

He looked over at the bed where Pixie was buried under the comforter, and then toward the walk through closet where Petal was out cold after her last feeding. His girls were safe, and knowing it was his job to keep them that way made him feel like a f*cking giant. Maybe this was the purpose he needed in his life. Perhaps it wasn’t about keeping going until he was thirty-five and then trying to figure out what his life meant. In fact, he was certain of it. His job was to figure out what his life meant with Pixie and Petal, then decide if he wanted to commit to performing hard for another seven years.

Touring had always been one of his favorite things to do. There had been nothing better than a road trip with his best friends where they got to perform their greatest and newest songs in front of die-hard fans who loved them. But the idea of packing up and leaving Pixie behind in Miami sucked. Of course, he was going to try and persuade her to join them, but he had a feeling she’d want to keep working at Second Circle. Eventually they’d have to figure it out because if this all played out the way he hoped, he didn’t want to live in a different country than his wife.