“And the mother?” Pixie sat up and joined him.
“A bitch who tricked me. I found out the baby was mine the day you flew home. That was the phone call.”
“What are you going to do?”
“That’s the irony of it, Pix. I don’t know. But I have lawyers working on it. And social workers, because Amanda didn’t stop using while she was pregnant. Petal was born with neonatal abstinence syndrome.” He shook his head and dropped it to his knees. “My daughter was born addicted to drugs.” His voice broke on the words.
“Oh. God,” Pixie gasped. “I’m so sorry, Dred.” She moved to her knees, and put her arms around his shoulders, the move comforting.
“This isn’t how I saw our relationship starting, Pix,” he whispered. “It isn’t even how I saw today going when I got on that plane this morning. But I don’t want those kinds of secrets between us. Do you?”
Chapter Eleven
The clock next to the bed flipped from 3:59 to 4:00 a.m. Pixie watched it change as she had every minute for the last hour.
The alarm was set for five, Dred’s private jet was taking him back to Toronto at six thirty, but sleep was elusive.
Her back was pressed tight to Dred’s chest, his arms wrapped around her waist. Thoughts shot around her head faster than the rhythm to one of Dred’s songs. He had a child. He didn’t want secrets. He hated Amanda for taking drugs while pregnant. Why she hadn’t come clean and confessed to him then and there she wasn’t sure, but she suspected it might be something to do with the look of absolute disgust when he’d talked about his mother, and the mother of his child. If the idea of taking drugs was so abhorrent to him, she could only imagine what would happen when she told him some of the sordid things she’d been expected to observe or take part in.
Yet in the same breath, the idea of him leaving and going back to Toronto ripped her in two. She wished he lived closer, perhaps did something a little more normal than being an international rock god. But then he wouldn’t be Dred.
She slipped out of bed and went into her sewing room, the one she hadn’t asked for but Lia had provided anyway. It was a bone of contention between them. Her backpack sat on the desk. She opened it and withdrew the envelope containing the five hundred dollars had Arnie asked for.
Was she really going to give him some of her hard-earned cash? And what would happen when she ran out? Because he’d keep coming back. All she was doing was delaying the inevitable while she clutched at straws for other solutions. What would happen if she told him it was all she had, but that he was welcome to it if he walked away permanently?
It was naïve. Her head was swimming with possible options, but they all ended with him telling the police she killed Brewster.
She slipped the envelope back into the bag.
“What’s got you up so early?” Dred’s naked frame filled the doorway.
“You know I have a roommate, right?” she whispered.
Dred looked down, as did she, at his very erect penis. Dred shrugged and Pixie felt her cheeks warm. He walked toward her and wrapped his arms around her. “I want to lose myself deep in that perfect pussy of yours,” he grumbled, pulling her to him. “Come back to bed and play with me before I have to get on that godforsaken plane.”
“You mean that godforsaken private jet, which you will be on all alone, travelling in the height of luxury, that cost you a small fortune?”
Dred buried himself against her neck. “Yeah. That one,” he mumbled.
Pixie allowed herself to be lured back to bed.
An hour later when the alarm went off, her body was sweaty, her heart racing.
“I’m not ready to go, Snowflake.” Dred stroked her face as he eased off her, slid out of her, leaving her feeling empty. He kissed her one more time and walked toward the en-suite bathroom. She heard the shower start and thought for a moment about joining him, but one look at the clock told her he needed to be leaving soon. He’d arranged for a car to pick him up outside the building.
Thirty minutes later, they were quietly standing by the door to the condo whispering their good-byes so as not to wake Lia.
“When will I see you again?”
“I don’t know, Pix. I’m more than willing to do this kind of thing again, or pay for you to come to me whenever you can. Even if it is only for the day. But I am definitely back here in less than two weeks to record the episode of the show.”
Inked, the TV show where the prize was a tattoo studio, was judged by Trent and Dred. A special episode where contestants were to tattoo over scars in honor of Trent and Harper’s story was being filmed at Second Circle.
“So, two weeks at a maximum.”
Dred brushed her lips with his. “Yeah, but I’m calling you to play. Be ready.” He stepped away from her and pulled the door open. “I’ll miss you, Pix.”
“I’ll miss you, too,” she whispered as the door closed. Pixie wandered back to bed, climbing into still-warm sheets that smelled of Dred. What would he think of her if she told him she’d been clean for six years, that the drugs she took, the ones her stepfather gave her, helped her through some of the most hellish experiences of her teenage years? Wrapping the blankets around her, she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.
Hours later, the condo buzzer sounded and she answered it.
“Let me in Sarah-Jane.” Arnie.
“I’ll be right down.”
“No, you’ll let me in.”
Sickened at the idea of him tainting her home, she refused to buzz him up. “Give me a couple of minutes.”
Pixie ignored the repeated buzzing. She pulled on some clothes, grabbed the envelope, and hurried to the elevator, the sickening feeling growing in her stomach. He was going to be mad. But in reality, in among the fear that had her palms sweating, so was she. Her dreams of opening her business were in her hand. Five hundred dollars would buy a lot of fabric.
The elevator pinged and she stepped out of it confidently, even though her knees were shaking.
Arnie marched toward her, his face pissed. Desmond the concierge was in his usual spot. All it would take was one shout to him, and he’d be round the desk and on Arnie before he had any real chance to do anything. She held out the envelope to him, and he snatched it greedily.
“Let’s go. Call the elevator back.” His face was mottled red.
“No, Arnie. You aren’t setting foot in my home.”
“Is everything okay, Pixie?” Desmond shouted from across the reception area.
Pixie nodded. “It is, thank you. Arnie will be leaving shortly.”
Arnie moved to the left, where a large planter with tropical ferns provided the illusion of some privacy. “I brought you something, Sarah-Jane. A souvenir of sorts. Thought you might want it.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t want it. I gave you your money. Now go away. Leave me alone or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” He dropped the leopard-skin scarf into her hands, and Pixie, on automatic reflex, froze. Seeing the fabric so close to her wrists made her gag. It had been years since he’d tied her hands behind her back with it, but the memories hovered so close the surface.
“You see,” he said, lifting it back out of her hands, “you’ve forgotten. You enjoyed the things we did together. So you stop me from getting into your apartment again, and I’ll use this on you.” He stroked the hair back off her face, and Pixie shuddered.
“Two weeks. You’ll have another thousand, and be more . . . agreeable about it. And if that doesn’t work,” he added, “I’ll show your boss, your boyfriend, and the police, the picture of you killing Brewster.”
* * *
Maybe his lawyer was better than he’d initially given her credit for.
The previous evening, he’d received an email containing Amanda’s new address. A condo in Liberty Village, not too far from Exhibition Place. He was supposed to meet her there in the next hour.
He looked down at his bowl of cereal. If it were up to him, he’d get Petal and f
ly down to hang out with Pixie. Or have her come to him to meet Petal. Even though it was only two days since he’d seen her on Tuesday. Instead, he was racing to eat breakfast and get to Amanda’s so he could board a plane to Brazil for four nights for what was pretty much a publicity tour that ended with a festival. His heart most definitely wasn’t in it.
His heart also wasn’t up for what he knew was best for Petal. She’d be much better off in a stable home, with two loving parents, preferably a couple who had been trying for a child of their own for years, ones who would be so desperate for a child, they’d cherish the shit out of her. Problem was, every time he visualized her in the arms of someone else, his breathing gave out like someone placed a ton of weight on his chest.
He reached for his lyrics notebook, and added to the lyrics he’d written for the song he thought was for Pixie. I can’t breathe without you. I can’t even sing this song without you
How could he be anything for Petal? Or Pixie?
When the heart wants what it wants, does the heart get what it needs?
Was it love of Petal? Or Pixie? Or both.
Unable to straighten the feelings out in his mind, he took his cereal bowl to the sink and dumped the milk before rinsing the bowl and placing it in the dishwasher.
His suitcase was packed and in the hallway, his carry-on parked next to it. Both ready for Jordan to throw into the limo that was going to collect him on the way to the airport.
He grabbed the bags of supplies he’d bought for Amanda and Petal, and made his way to the street to get in the cab he’d called.
Thankfully all the snow had cleared, but roadwork on the ramp to the Gardiner Expressway slowed his progress, and by the time he pulled up at Amanda’s building and buzzed to be let in, forty minutes had passed. The guys would be by within the hour for him.
He took the elevator to the fourth floor and walked to her condo. The building was clean and tidy. From the hallway he could hear a baby screaming. It had to be Petal. He hurried to the room number and knocked.
Amanda opened the door. Dark circles ringed her eyes, but she was well dressed and was wearing too much makeup, seemingly nonplussed about the distressed cries.
“Come in,” she said cheerily.
Dred buried his frustration. How could she stand there, all smiles of welcome, when she’d deliberately hidden Petal from him? But his lawyer had warned him the best strategy was to play nice and keep communication channels open.
“Here,” Dred said, offering her the things he’d bought. A distinguished-looking man was sitting on the sofa. Silver-haired and wearing a sharp gray suit.
Amanda pulled the items out of the bag and placed them on the table. Diapers and wipes which, holy shit, cost a fucking fortune. And some gifts for Petal, a couple of cute outfits, some toys, and some books the woman in the bookstore had said were perfect for babies. “Thanks.”
“Where is Petal? Can I get her?” She needed to be held. Lennon would have a fucking fit if he knew a screaming baby was being ignored.
“Theo, I want to introduce you to my lawyer, Bernie Kates.”
“Well, I didn’t come here to meet your lawyer. I want to get my daughter. And call me Dred.”
“I can ask you to leave at any time, Theo. And I have a witness. So please. Sit with us first.”
Dred looked in the direction of the screaming, torn between what was right in that moment, and right in the long term. He made a mental apology to Petal. “Can you at least go to her for a moment? Soothe her at least?”
“Not until we’ve talked.”
Dred remembered his lawyer’s counsel to keep his anger out of it. “This feels like an ambush. Should I call my lawyer?”
“Now, now, Mr. Zander. This is a simple conversation. Nothing legally binding about a chat.”
“What do you want?” The cries were getting louder, his own levels of distress escalating in direct proportion to the wails. He knew the hard reality of what it meant to a baby to be left alone, screaming for attention for hours upon hours without being held. How they finally realized nobody was ever going to come for them, to love them, to hold them, to be there for them. How they stopped crying for attention that never came, and withdrew into themselves.
“I want to talk about access between now and the final decision about custody. If you are willing to pay to see her between now and the custody hearing, I won’t request one hundred percent custody.”
What the . . . ? “What do you mean?”
Bernie leaned forward. “Ms. Veitch means she is willing to offset her desire for full custody against your financial flexibility on the settlement, starting now. She wants an apartment bigger than this one-bed plus den, and expects to receive a to-be-determined monetary sum payable to Amanda Veitch at the start of every visit.”
“This isn’t a chat,” Dred said starting to pace. “I was right, it’s an unprofessional ambush. I’ll have the two of you reported.”
Petal’s shrill cries were cutting through his skin like a whip. He couldn’t take much more.
“You’ll have us reported for what? As far as Ms. Veitch and I are concerned, this conversation never happened, and you came to the condo aggressively with attempts to intimidate Ms. Veitch. If I hadn’t been here to intervene, who knows how you might have responded.”
“Blackmail?” he spat.
“Persuasion,” Amanda said.
Fuck this. He was going to walk out without seeing Petal. He wanted to be able to swear on a lie detector test that he hadn’t done anything aggressive in his attempts to see her.
But then the unthinkable happened.
Petal stopped crying.
Dred raced through the condo, pushing open doors until he found Petal in a bassinet in an empty den. He swept her up and pulled her close. Her heart pounded furiously against him as she sniffled into his shoulder.
“I’ve got you, baby girl. I’m here. I’m always going to be here. Nobody is going to stop me again.”
“Mr. Zander. I suggest you hand the baby back to the mother. You can check out the Government of Canada’s Department of Justice page on child custody, but I can assure you, when a court order is required to determine custody, it goes exclusively to the mother in eighty percent of the cases. I strongly suggest you accept the current compromise Ms. Veitch is offering.”
Dred felt like he’d been wrapped in barbed wire, but he knew he wouldn’t win this round today. If he walked out of the condo with Petal like he wanted to, they’d testify together that he’d been violent, or worse, had abducted Petal.
He stroked her back, soothing her for as long as he could, periodically kissing her smooth forehead. She’d fallen asleep on him, and despite the shitty situation, it made his heart soar that he could make her feel safe enough to sleep.
“I’ll be back for you baby girl, I promise,” he whispered as he laid her back in the bassinet.
* * *
Miami had done the unthinkable and dropped cold. The rapid descent from higher-than-average late April temperatures to lower than average caught everyone off guard. It might be overkill, but Pixie was toasty warm in the coat Dred had bought for her. Actually, she was a little too warm, but better than being Lia who was shivering in her light jacket and scarf.
She pulled out her phone and took a selfie for Dred. She attached it to a text message.
Spring in Miami. Come keep me warm?
It was Saturday, and she and Lia were both on the later shift, so they’d planned to visit their favorite vintage store. Pixie was looking for some specific fabric for a dress she was making, but first she had to visit the bank.
“What are you smiling about over there?” Lia asked, trying to peer over her shoulder.
Pixie showed her the photo of her in her coat, and Lia laughed.
“Your rock star should fly you to Brazil for the day. I bet it’s hotter there than here.” Lia blew warm air between her hands. “Ask him if he’ll get you a jet. We’ll skip work and I’ll go with you, see if I ca
n’t find a nice Brazilian man to appreciate me for at least twenty-four hours.”
Pixie laughed as her phone vibrated. She stepped away from Lia and checked the message. Holy guacamole. The photograph was taken from his shoulder down his body revealing all his abs. A white sheet was strategically placed across his . . . well . . . and his hand was under the sheet in a way that suggested he was holding his . . . jeez.
Spring in Brazil. I’ll be warm when I come. Next time . . . less clothes!
She blushed bright red, embarrassed to admit the photo turned her on as much as his overtly sexual behavior shocked her. Being logical and practical, she’d never share those sorts of photos. That’s how revenge porn got started. But part of her wanted to try, perhaps be a little . . . sexier . . . than she was right now.
She took a deep breath. Wish I was there to watch.
There was a pause and her phone vibrated again. You can watch from there if you want. Change to video :-)
Lia studied her curiously, and there was no way in hell she was standing on a Miami street corner watching the hottest man alive jerk himself off for her. Because that would be . . . hot, delicious, sexy . . . wrong.
Pixie typed a quick response. My head says no, but the rest of me . . .
There was a short delay of response. MY head says yes ;-) But the rest of me gets it. Miss you, Snowflake xxx
Miss you too <3
Pixie had travel envy. Not only would she love to visit Rio to check out Ipanema Beach and the giant art deco statue of Christ the Redeemer, but she wanted to be there because Dred was. The idea of exploring both the man and the sights of Brazil were equally compelling.
“I’ll see you in there,” she said to Lia. “I’m going to get some cash.” It wasn’t lying. It just wouldn’t occur to Lia that she was actually withdrawing so much.
Pixie hated having large sums of money on her ever since she’d been mugged upon arrival in Miami, but if she’d waited until after they’d shopped, Lia would come in with her, and there was every chance that she’d hear how much money she was withdrawing. Which would lead to questions. And that was bad. Bad that she still hadn’t figured out a way to resolve things.
The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos) Page 16
