Chapter Twelve #2
She’d also timed it so that he was to arrive thirty minutes before Lia was due home at the end of her shift. Close enough that if he got any stupid ideas . . . well, she couldn’t think about that.
Deliberately ignoring the buzzer, she headed for the elevator. He’d be pissed she didn’t let him up, but then so was she to be giving him a thousand dollars of her hard-earned money. Money she’d been saving; money she didn’t want to part with.
The elevator pinged open and Arnie stood by the buzzer, pressing it furiously. When he saw her, he jerked away from the panel. “I thought I told you,” he hissed under his breath, “that you will never bar me from your apartment again.”
“And I know I told you, it would be a cold day in hell before I let you into my home. This is the last of it,” she lied, focusing on keeping her face neutral and her stance firm. She jammed the envelope into his hand. “I’m not giving you anymore.”
“I think you’re missing the point, Sarah.
This isn’t about you giving me everything you have.
It’s about you getting me everything I want.
You can go to your TV-star boss or your rock-star boyfriend, I don’t give a shit which you choose.
But you will get me more money, or this”—he pulled something from his back pocket and handed her a folded piece of paper—“will make it into the wrong hands.”
Pixie opened it and gasped in shock. Brewster lay on the floor, a giant red stain covering the lower part of his shirt.
Right where she’d stabbed him the night she found out her stepdad planned to sell her virginity to the highest bidder.
Tears filled her eyes as she took in the look on her own face.
The look of abject shock, the absence of any color in her cheeks, and the way the knife hung loosely by her side made her want to weep for the young girl she clearly was.
In all her recollections of that night, she always imagined herself as she was now.
A grown-up. It shocked her to see how very young she had been when it all happened. The paper shook in her hands.
With a voice that sounded incrementally stronger than she actually felt, Pixie said, “No. I’m done with the threats.
You can’t keep taking money from me because of this.
I might have been the one holding the knife, but you might as well have been the one to kill him.
You took this photograph. If I am in trouble, you are.
So take the money, and get the fuck out of my life. ”
Arnie laughed and dramatically bent forward resting his hands on his knees.
“Good one, Sarah-Jane. Holy fuck, you almost had me believing that little speech.” He stood up straight, pretended to wipe tears from his eyes, then narrowed his eyes menacingly.
“You can’t prove I took this photograph.
You can’t even prove I was there. Let’s play a little Russian roulette, shall we?
Monday next week, you’ll give me another thousand dollars, or the police will receive that photograph.
” He leaned toward her and breathed deeply as he ran his nose against her neck.
“God, you smell good, Sarah-Jane. See you on Monday.”
Pixie stood paralyzed, unable to gather her thoughts. The way his nose had rubbed against her skin made her feel sick. The sight of the knife in her hand, proof that she killed a man, made her so lightheaded, she reached out to the wall for support.
She needed some time. Some peace. Something that would take away the stress and panic while she decided what to do.
Drugs had done that for her once, and she couldn’t possibly . . .
It would only be this once, right?
She knew how to control it now. She knew which drugs were easier to quit. There had been no drugs in her system for so many years, it would only take a small dose to grind the edge off.
It was a good idea.
Pixie snapped back into the moment and shook her head furiously. No. There was no way she was going back to that.
The elevator opened and a couple of neighbors got out. Pixie jumped in and focused on getting back to the apartment. Folding the paper as she walked, she headed for her bedroom where she hid the photograph in the back of one of her pattern books.
Then Pixie reached for her phone and dialed a number she hadn’t had reason to call in a while.
“Hello.” The sound of Justin’s deep voice took her back to a place she didn’t really want to be, despite the fact he was the third part of the Trent and Cujo triumvirate who had saved her.
“Justin, it’s Sarah-Jane.” Justin was the only person who ever called her that. Even when she had wanted to escape it and simply be Pixie, he’d challenged her to not let her past take control of who she was.
“Sarah-Jane,” he said in surprise. “It’s been a while. How are you?”
“That’s why I’m calling. I haven’t relapsed once, but today I need help. I’m about to do something stupid.”
“Meet me at the usual spot. I’m on my way,” he said, and she heard a door slam. “Do you need me to stay on the line with you until I get there?”
Tears pricked the corner of her eyes. No questions, no explanations—Justin would be there for her. “No, but I’ll call back if that changes.”
A car engine revved loudly.
“Okay. See you in less than fifteen. You got this. I know you do.”
Pixie hung up the phone and headed out to meet her sponsor.
It would be a cold day in hell before she’d let Arnie send her back there.
* * *
There wasn’t much time left on the flight from Toronto to Miami, so Dred took a last look at the band’s priorities list before the flight attendants started the annoying “shut down electronics” announcements.
It had taken Sam the better part of a week to pull together an organized agenda of all their bookings and activities for the next six months.
It was ridiculous to think it took him that long.
Shouldn’t it all be on a fucking calendar?
With all the money they were paying him, Sam had hired an assistant, although Dred suspected her hiring was more to do with her Playboy looks than her organizational skills.
To cancel appearances, they could use the excuse that the new album was taking way longer to complete than expected, and that planning for the tour was running behind as a result.
And from what he could figure out, it would cost them nearly two hundred thousand dollars in penalties to get out of contracts, but it would put time back into their schedules, so to Dred, it felt like the right thing to do.
He typed a quick email to the rest of the band requesting their input.
His thoughts drifted to Petal, and he wondered where she was and how she was doing.
Amanda’s behavior was abhorrent. Who left their child with someone for twenty-four hours, and then rocked up three days later with the hint of color in their cheeks suggesting a quick spring break to the Caribbean?
Not that he minded in the slightest. Looking after his little girl had shown him what it would be like to be a more permanent part of her life.
The toughest part was letting Petal leave with Amanda.
His initial thoughts of getting Amanda to agree to adoption made him feel ill.
And handing her back to a mom who clearly didn’t care for her child’s welfare set his heart on fire.
Unrepentant, she told him he could either get over it real quick or she’d never let Petal stay with him again.
When he’d been a child, one of the hardest things to handle was the total lack of control over his situation.
Not knowing whether there would be enough food, whether his mom would be there in the morning, whether he’d be safe.
He hated the out-of-control feeling he had when it came to Petal.
Amanda held all the cards, because even though Canada respected fathers’ rights, it would be hard to convince a judge to give him full custody of a baby.
And while he didn’t want to rock the boat for Petal’s sake, he didn’t want the next twenty years to be a perpetual state of acrimony and what was tantamount to blackmail.
He shut down his laptop and packed it away, anxious to make a hasty exit from the plane.
Sam had arranged for him to fly commercial, but the airport was aware he was flying in and was sending a representative to get him through the airport quickly.
He looked at his phone. With a bit of luck, he’d be at Pixie’s condo by six.
Just in time for her to get home from closing the studio. Thank heaven for Sunday hours.
It had been a week since he’d held her in his arms, and he was beginning to realize that all the time they spent video-messaging each other was a poor substitute for the real thing.
Miami airport cooperated with his mission. After the plane landed, Dred quickly made his way out of the airport with the agent’s help. The limo he’d booked sped across the city until he was standing by the buzzer at Pixie’s condo.
His phone vibrated and he checked it.
Nice ass.
He turned and found Pixie on the other side of the lobby grinning at him. His heart stuttered. She wore black leggings under a tight purple skirt. The black blouse she wore was slightly see-through and the sun set her purple hair on fire. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Pixie raced toward him and jumped, her feet leaving the ground. He caught her and held her tight while she giggled.
“I missed you,” she mumbled against his lips.
His hungry mouth covered hers for a long moment. “I missed you too, Snowflake. Let’s take this show upstairs.”
Pixie dropped down until she was standing on the tip of his toes and kissed him. Feelings of warmth and welcome trickled through him, the unmistakable feeling of coming home. “Walk me up there,” she said with a broad smile.
“Okay, hold on.” They laughed as he bent to pick up his case and bag. She wrapped her arms tight around him as he shuffled them into the elevator and up to her condo.