Chapter Two #2
Pixie felt Dred’s forehead. Such a motherly thing to do; it reminded him of Ellen. He used to push her away, but he secretly loved the fact she showed concern.
“You don’t have a fever. Okay. Gimme ten minutes. It needs to steep.”
He watched Pixie walk away, the view from the rear almost as compelling as the view from the front.
“Right, I need you to move yourself around like this.” Trent repositioned Dred’s arm on the rest. “And I think you should stop talking, seeing we’re coming to see your show later.”
Dred leaned back and closed his eyes. A couple of hours here at the studio, then a cab over to the venue.
Sound check was a formality, thankfully.
They were using their regular crew led by Stan, a concert veteran who worked hard to ensure a flawless set up.
Even so, Dred never considered skipping it.
It felt like sixty seconds had passed when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
“I have your tea.”
Pixie. He rubbed his eyes to shake the drowsy feeling.
He took the cup from her and sniffed it. “What’s in it?”
“Try it first, then I’ll tell you.”
Dred eyed Trent. “This is safe, right?”
Trent laughed and Pixie cuffed the back of his ear. “Just try it. There’s nothing illegal, mood altering, or sleep enhancing.”
Dred nervously took a sip. It felt like heaven going down his sore throat. “Oh my God.”
“I know, right?” Trent said. “It’s a special recipe Pixie makes for all of us when we’re ill. Works like a charm.”
Dred drank some more. “What’s in this?”
“Sliced lemons, ginger, and marshmallow root steeped in hot water and honey.” Pixie placed a small glass bottle with a spray top next to him. “Echinacea and sage throat spray. Try it when you’ve finished your drink.”
She placed her hand on his forehead again. “Do you have something for a fever, in case you feel worse later on?”
“No, but I have a shitload of duty free whiskey, which’ll do the same thing.” Dred frowned when Pixie removed her hand and hurried to the desk to retrieve something.
“Here,” she said, holding out a strip of pills. “Take two of those if you have a fever before the show. They have caffeine to help you stay awake.”
He slid the strip into his jeans pocket, praying he wouldn’t need them. Please let me get through tonight.
“Thanks, Pixie. So now, we’ve held hands, you’ve saved me from hypervigilant fans, fixed my throat, and checked my temperature like you care.
Before your boss, and everyone listening in on this private conversation,” he said, eyeballing Bill from Boise, “when are you going to go out on a date with me?”
He wasn’t holding his breath. Not really. Well, maybe a little. There was something between them, something she was obviously nervous about exploring. Sure, her words screamed no way in hell. But the look from those eyes, which were the same color as a bottle of Jack, was a very definite maybe.
She looked at him as if she were figuring out a complex jigsaw.
“When there’s world peace.”
Damn it.
Every time he asked, yes was getting a little closer. Every time, her response was a little slower. And it was a long time since he’d enjoyed the chase. But it would end. Tonight at the show, he’d find out if that perfect little pout tasted as good as it looked.
* * *
Pixie was grateful for the VIP pass she wore around her neck. It magically opened doors, eliminated the need to queue with the masses, and provided drinks. Lia stood next to her sipping on a mint julep.
Raging vocals, screaming guitars, and the shouts of twenty thousand fans filled the American Airlines Arena with energy so powerful, it reverberated in Pixie’s chest. Testimony, the first of three acts, was in the middle of their set.
Pixie took a sip of her beer and leaned against the table.
She looked at Lia in her pretty black-and-white polka-dot dress with layers of tulle and felt the sharp bite of envy.
Lia was always unapologetically herself in spite of what was going on around her.
Pixie wished she could be the same instead of wanting to fade into the floor like Elphaba at the end of Wicked.
That was why she’d dyed her hair purple.
It kept her present, visible, even when she felt the need to disappear.
She fixed the hem of her black dress. The short number with only one sleeve was her favorite.
Perhaps she’d made a bit more effort than usual, and the heels she wore were going to kill her feet before the night was over.
While she wanted to believe she’d gone to the trouble to feel good about herself, it was pointless trying to pretend it wasn’t for Dred’s benefit.
Pixie adjusted the shoulder of her dress.
“Stop fussing. You look lovely, Pix. At least a certain singer will think so. He tracked your ass in those leggings like a guided missile today.”
Cujo waved as he walked toward them. With him were Drea, Eric, Trent, and Trent’s fiancée, Harper.
“Starting early, girls?” Cujo kissed them both on the cheek.
“Can you believe this?” Drea, Cujo’s girlfriend, hugged Pixie tightly. “I swear I saw M. Shadows when we arrived.”
“You did not. Where? Show me,” Lia insisted, tugging Drea away.
“I need the washroom, honey. Help me find it?” Harper said to Trent.
“Eric and I’ll get the drinks in,” said Cujo, disappearing off to the bar.
Pixie laughed at the absurdity of it. Surrounded by her friends for a moment, then alone all of a sudden to watch the table.
A young man with long blond hair walked over. “What’s a cute little thing like you doing by yourself?” His accent sounded European, Swedish maybe. It was hard to tell with all the slurring.
“I was just asking myself that same question. My friends left me as quickly as they arrived.”
“I’m Viggo,” he said, the air around her suddenly ripe with lager and cigarettes. “My band, Ant?nda, is on next.”
Pixie moved farther around the table. “That’s great. Shouldn’t you be getting in the zone or something?” And sobering up, maybe?
Viggo tracked her, sidling up even closer.
“I’m the drummer. I am the zone. Without me, the rhythm would be skit.
” Pixie looked for signs of the others returning, but she couldn’t see any of them.
Viggo wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed the back of her neck.
“I have time,” he offered suggestively, “for you to test out exactly how good my beats are before I go onstage.”
The feel of his fingers on her neck, clammy against her skin, made her feel ill. Pixie stepped out of his reach and knocked his arm off her shoulder. “Please don’t touch me.”
It was so noisy that nobody was paying them any mind. She looked around to see if any of the guys were close by but she was out of luck.
Viggo stumbled and nudged her further into the corner. “That’s why girls like you are here, right? You want to fuck the band, right?” His hand returned to the back of her neck, but this time he tugged her hair.
“No,” Pixie said shoving against him. “Get away from me.” She pushed by him, but he gripped her arm tightly, the callused pads of his fingers digging into her muscle, sending pain shooting down to her hand.
Putting her entire body into it, Pixie attempted to break free by wrenching away from him, but failed to loosen his grip. She opened her mouth to scream.
“Get the fuck away from her.” Dred ripped Viggo’s arm off Pixie and pulled her close to his side.
“Dra ?t fanders, Dred. Get lost. We were just having a little fun, right, ?lskling?”
“Want me to show you a little fun? I’ll start by removing your fucking arm at the shoulder, douchebag.” Dred seemed to grow in height as he spoke. Viggo’s confidence left him.
“Don’t sweat it, Dred,” he slurred, hands raised in surrender by his chest. “She’s all yours.”
Viggo turned, but Dred yanked him back. “Apologize to the lady.”
It was the second time he’d been her hero today, first when Bill from Boise had shoved his phone at her, and now, the thought helping her regain some of her composure.
It was all too close to the night she left home.
Too close to the hands of a stranger ripping her shirt open while her stepdad laughed drunkenly.
“Sorry,” Viggo mumbled before stumbling away.
“Fucking asshole.” Dred took her hand. “Let’s get you out of here.”
She let him lead her through a maze of corridors, away from the crowds hanging around the stage area.
The walls were closing in around her, and she was relieved Dred ignored the shouts of greeting.
Dressed head to toe in black with biker boots on his feet, he was intimidating.
People moved out of his way without question or hesitation.
A blue door came into view and he slammed it open.
Nikan jumped to his feet. “Hey, Pix, how are—” He stopped in his tracks and looked her over before turning to Dred. “What happened?”
Dred didn’t break his stride. He simply yelled over his shoulder. “Viggo.”
Mumbled curses broke out and a quick glance over her shoulder revealed Nikan and Elliott steaming out of the room.
Dred reached a second door, this one with his name on it, and he opened it for her, encouraging her inside.
Her legs felt like Jell-O, her thoughts scattered.
Dred ushered her to an oversized armchair and left her for a moment, returning with two glasses, a large bottle of water, and a bottle of whiskey.
“I know which I’d rather have, but which do you want?”
Pixie pointed to the scotch, something to warm her from the inside. Somewhere between Viggo’s actions and Dred’s proximity, her stomach didn’t know which way was up. And now she was in a room with a man. Alone.
“Good choice.” He poured them both a large measure. “There you go.”
Pixie sipped the peaty Lagavulin. Dred took a swig of his and placed the bottle on the table.
He crouched in front of her, his anger having ceded into concern. “You okay, Pix?’ He took her hand, rubbed his thumb gently across it. It was comforting, reassuring even.