Chapter Fourteen #3
A loud series of bangs roused Pixie. The room was bathed in the glow of dusk, and for a second she couldn’t figure out where she was until she remembered the warm body she was curled up against was Dred and her heart settled.
They’d made love twice before succumbing to what was obviously the sleep of the dead.
“Snowflake. We need to get up,” he said shaking her gently. “It’s nearly seven. We’ve been out for a while.”
Nikan shouted something as he walked up the stairs, and she heard his bedroom door close. If Nikan was back, it was highly likely the rest of the guys were too. And Petal. She lifted her head and squinted one eye at him. “I can’t wait to meet her,” she said, her voice still rough with sleep.
Dred grinned. He was as excited as she was. “So get dressed and I’ll go get her.”
“Eew. No. I need to shower. I’m sweaty and smell—”
“Sexy?” he said, pulling her toward him, kissing her soundly. “Delicious?”
“Well used,” she said with a laugh and pushed him away.
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 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 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.