The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos)

by Scarlett Cole

  She climbed across him instead of getting out on the other side of the bed, and smiled as he took in the view of her legs spread wide across him.

  “You said you did yoga right?”

  “Yes, why?”

  He placed his hands on the very top of her thighs and rubbed his thumbs along the crease, the action turning her on. “Because I’m curious how wide those legs can go,” he said with a wink.

  “Oh my God,” she said, hitting his chest before climbing off him. “I’m going to get cleaned up. Alone. Can you get my suitcase, please?”

  She walked to the shower and smiled at the bassinet he’d placed in the middle of the walk-through closet. Turning on the taps and allowing curls of steam to fill the bathroom, she sang. She’d listened to Evita on the plane and couldn’t stop singing about being Christian Dior’d from her head to her toes.

  Pixie stepped under the hot water, letting it run down her body and loosen her muscles. She showered quickly using Dred’s toiletries, excited to meet his daughter. When she was done, she wrapped her hair in a towel and secured a larger one around her body.

  Still humming, she wandered back into the bedroom to find her case on the bed, and Dred, who was now wearing a pair of shorts, grinning.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome. Read this,” he said, handing her a yellow sticky note that read I’M ASLEEP IN UNCLE JORDAN’S ROOM AND I SHIT ON UNCLE LENNON. “My daughter is the poop queen.”

  He tugged at the corner of her towel. She batted his hand away, and he laughed as he walked into the bathroom.

  By the time he finished, Pixie was dressed, her wet hair tied back off her face. There didn’t seem much point blow-drying her hair and she wasn’t prepared to waste another moment.

  Dred pulled on some clothes and led her to the door. “Okay. Let’s go get her.”

  Her heart raced as they walked upstairs. She didn’t have much experience with babies. Actually she didn’t have any. Who knew what the rules were for girlfriends meeting baby daughters? She was sure one of those mom-chat websites she’d looked at briefly in preparation for meeting Petal had an opinion on it, but she was ready to make her own rules. Just so long as she didn’t do anything stupid. Like dropping her, which was her worst fear.

  Dred pushed Jordan’s door open. “Yo, J,” he said as they walked inside.

  Pixie looked around the room, the disparity between the two ends made her want to cry. She knew Jordan had some kind of issues that kept the band living together, but the decor spoke volumes. At one end, the room was sparse, barren of anything. Jordan sat on a double bed, which seemed uncomfortable for a man of his stature. There was a desk, but it had nothing on it except a spiral notebook and a pen. But the corner he’d created for Petal . . . it was as if spring had sprung. From the point where the two walls met was a beautiful mural of a field with wildflowers. A white crib sat pushed up against it, while a large mobile with butterflies, bees, and dragonflies swirled overhead, casting shadows over the crib.

  Her heart hurt at the thought that these men were trying to give Petal everything they hadn’t known. At some point, she needed to ask Dred what had happened to the five of them that made them stick together like they had, and why Jordan was so pivotal.

  “She’s been awake for a minute or two,” Jordan said. “Hey, Pixie. Can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. He’s been a miserable bastard to be around the last week or so.”

  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 asshole,” he whispered in her ear, “but he’s your asshole, 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 fucked 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 w
as 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 fucking 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.

  Wife. The idea made him smile. He thought back to the time Trent had flown out to L.A., shortly after he and Harper had split up briefly. The guy had been a wreck and drunk twice over when he’d declared, “She’s already my wife in every way that matters; she can’t divorce me before we’re fucking married.”

  Dred had thought it strange that Trent could be so certain, but now he finally understood what he meant. While he was the moody verse, Pixie was the catchy melody. His snowflake was the sweetest, purest hook. He made a note in his book. “The Purest Hook” would make an awesome song title.

  Rustling over by the bed caught his attention, and he looked over to see Pixie sit up. “Hey, sweetie,” she said, stretching her head, revealing the little black vest she’d insisted on sleeping in once she’d realized Petal was sleeping nearby.

  He shut his notebook and stood before walking to the foot of the bed. He crawled over to kiss her, her lips opening for him. The stirring in his gut was more than plain biology. He loved her.

  “Wait,” he said and reached into his bedside table drawer, pulling out a small black bag. “I got you a gift. I totally forgot yesterday. You being here kind of threw me off my game.”

  “You’ve got game?” Pixie asked with a grin, taking the box from him.

  “Oh, gorgeous, I got eight inches of game right here,” he said looking down at his dick.

  Pixie laughed. “You’re cute. Thank you, for this,” she said, slipping the ribbons open.

  “Don’t ever use the word “cute” in a conversation about my cock. It’s all kinds of wrong.”

  Removing the box from the package, she looked up at him with a look that said What did you do?

  She flipped the lid open and gasped. “Oh my God, Dred. It’s beautiful.”

  Dred reached over, pulled the silver ring set with diamonds and a square amethyst, which sparkled in the sunlight, and slid it onto the middle finger of her right hand.

  Pixie clasped his face between her hands. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” she said, kissing him between each pronouncement. “I have something for you.”

  She shuffled out of bed and went into her carry-on bag. Quickly, she returned and handed him a small black fabric bag with the initials T.Z. embroidered on the front, which he guessed was homemade. He opened the drawstrings and tipped the contents onto his palm. Words choked him as he took in his anchor, seemingly mended, sitting there.

  “You found it,” he said gruffly. He ran the leather through his fingers and stroked the anchor. He released the clasp and quickly put it on. “I can’t believe you went to look for it and fixed it. Thank you.”

  “I knew how much it meant to you. I see how you tug on it when things are tough. I’m sorry I made you so angry you broke it.”

  Dred sat onto his knees and pulled her to sit across his thighs. “I don’t ever want to hear you apologize for me being a dick. You didn’t make me angry, Snowflake. I made myself angry. Your asshole stepdad made me angry. What happened was all about my reaction to it.”

  “All the same, I think I came to a conclusion last night.”

  He rubbed his hand down her back, and she looped her arms around his neck. “Yeah, what was that?”

  “I think I need to figure out what happened that night. There is no point in sitting here waiting for Arnie to hand me over to the police, and I don’t want to go to the police unnecessarily, so I think I need to go back and retrace my steps, see if I can find out what happened to Brewster. I mean I’m assuming he died because the photograph is so incriminating, but who knows?”

  He’d come to the same conclusion. The only way to be free was to face it. “All right. We’ll figure it out. We’ll get you the best lawyer. Where do you want to begin?”

  “Back where it started, I guess. At mom’s trailer. Go see if she’s still there. If she’s not, then maybe one of her neighbors might be able to tell us where she went. She might know more about Brewster than I remember.”

  “I want to help you do that. We should get Petal’s passport in the next couple of days and we’ll fly down there as soon as we can.”

  “But what about the album and tour?”

  “Fuck ’em both. This is more important to me. You are more important to me.”

  She kissed him softly. “I love you, Theodred Zander.”

  “I love you too, Sarah . . . ?” He wanted her to tell him, to trust him enough to know exactly who she was.

  “Jane Travers. Sarah-Jane Travers.”

  “I love you, too, Sarah-Jane Travers.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him. His dick stirred to life as Pixie wrapped her legs around his waist.

  “Want to see how I can do the splits?” she asked solicitously against his lips.

  “Yes. Please.”

  “Well then, let’s—”

  They were interrupted by a cry from the walk through. Dred pressed his forehead to hers. “Not even two months old, and she’s already a cockblocker.”

  Pixie laughed and fell backward off his knees. “Can I go get her?”

  “Sure,” he said, watching as she opened the door they’d left slightly ajar.

  Yeah. This was his life. And it was fucking perfect.

  * * *

  Later on that day, Pixie hurried back into the house using the key Dred had given her. She turned and bumped the stroller up the step and reversed into the hallway. Removing her sunglasses, she heard raised voices from the direction of the kitchen. Someone was shouting, but she couldn’t make out who. Quickly, Pixie took her coat off and hung it on one of the hooks, and then slipped her feet out of her boots.

  Petal was stirring, so she removed the blankets Dred had wrapped her in before they headed out. Toronto was a beautiful city and the weather was so much milder than the last time she’d visited. They’d walked through Cabbagetown; past Canada’s National Ballet School where a beautiful old building had been surround on three sides by something starkly modern, all angles and sheets of glass; and up along the side of Queen’s Park until they reached the Royal Ontario Museum, which she remembered from her first trip to the city.

  Then they’d meandered home along Bloor Street, admiring all the beautiful high-end stores she’d never be able to afford to shop in. It was the Toronto equivalent of Miami’s Bal Harbor. She never shopped there either.

  Pixie checked her phone. Dred had told her he had an hour-long meeting with Sam and the band, so she’d offered to take Petal out for some fresh air in the sunshine. Her fitness app told her she’d walked a little over three miles and had been gone for seventy-seven minutes. She slipped it back in her pocket and lifted Petal out of the stroller. The little girl was starting to get some strength in her neck and fists given the way she tugged on Pixie’s hair.

  The voices were getting louder.

  “I don’t give a fuck what you think, Sam. I’m not doing it,” Dred shouted.

  “Dred, be reasonable, you can’t cancel everything.”

  Pixie followed the sound of voices to th
e large family room.

  “Yes, we can. We are so fucking far behind with the album, we need to get our heads down. Disappear into the studio and stay there for a while.”

  Dred’s brow was furrowed, and his arms were folded in front of his chest. She considered leaving them, but as she was about to step away, Petal started to cry. Everyone in the room looked in her direction.

  “Sorry,” she said nervously. “We just got back, and I think Petal’s hungry.”

  “Hey. How are my girls?” Dred said, walking toward them. He pulled them in for a hug and kissed her forehead, then Petal’s.

  “We didn’t mean to interrupt. If you tell me how to get a bottle ready, I can feed her in the living room, give you guys some privacy.”

  Sam rolled his eyes at her. He’d not liked her since their first meeting in the hotel when Dred was sick.

  “I got it,” Jordan said, grabbing a container of formula from the countertop.

  Sam coughed loudly. “What were you saying? That’s right. You want to disappear out of sight just before a new album and tour, right?” he asked sarcastically.

  “No,” said Lennon. “What we were saying is, there won’t be an album, if we don’t do this.”

  “The label—”

  “Fuck the label, Sam. Get us a meeting with them. Face-to-face. It’s their fault for being so damned unreasonable,” Dred said, his arm still around her and Petal.

  It all seemed unreasonable to her. She got the fact that tours needed to be booked months and years in advance to secure venues, but surely it was up to the band if they wanted to commit to anything on top of that.

  “Yeah, “ Nikan added. “It’s ridiculous how close they jammed recording and touring.”

  “What’s ridiculous is how you guys can’t focus,” Sam said looking over at her.

  Dred released her and stepped forward, towering over Sam. “We’re entitled to have lives.”

  “You need to wake up to what is going on, Dred. You’re all distracted.”

  “What do you want me to do? You want to tell my daughter I’m too busy to deal with her right now?”