Chapter Fourteen #4
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 the 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?”
“Of course not. But deal with it differently. Hire nannies. Three of them if you need to, so you can still take on all these commitments. Get rid of all the other distractions.” Sam stared in her direction again. “Now is not the time to complicate your lives. Keep them simple.”
Jordan handed her the bottle and a burp cloth with a reassuring wink. Assuming it was in everybody’s best interest for her to go, she headed for the living room.
“Pix, wait up,” Dred called after. Petal started to really cry. “Stay in here with us. Sam’s the one who’s leaving.”
Pixie wanted to crawl into a giant hole in the floor.
She was pretty certain she wasn’t the cause of the conversation, but she was being sucked into it whether she wanted it or not.
She focused on placing the cloth over her shoulder and positioning Petal so she could feed her.
The hungry little mite rooted on the bottle and drank as if her life depended on it.
“We aren’t done,” Sam said indignantly, a blotchy red flush to his skin.
“Yeah. We are,” Dred shook his head sadly.
“I’m done with you making us feel shitty about everything we do, Sam.
It’s never enough. We need you to be on our side, not constantly treating us like we’re errant fucking kids.
” Petal tracked her daddy with her eyes, and despite the tense situation, it was a lovely thing.
Sam stood and gathered his papers. “So, what. You’re firing me?”
“Not yet, Sam. But I am laying down some lines. We decide the kind of music we want to record, we decide what we do, not you. It’s your job to bring us opportunities, sure. But we choose what gets approved. And another thing, I’m separating my family and my career.” He held out his hand.
“What? Sam asked.
“Key. This is our family home. Family members get keys. You’re our work colleague, and to the best of my knowledge, if we all worked some fucking desk-jockey job in an office together, you wouldn’t have a key to my house.”
Sam placed his files on the kitchen counter and pulled the keys from his pocket. With shaky hands, he wound the key off the ring and dropped it on the granite.
“I’ll be in touch,” Sam said over his shoulder as he left the house. The room remained silent until the front door slammed.
Dred let out a whoosh of air. “Sorry about that, Snowflake.” He placed his hand on her lower back and led her to one of the armchairs. “You want me to take over?”
Pixie shook her head. “No, we’re good. Was it like that the whole time I was gone?”
The rest of the band followed them and sat down, and Dred perched on her chair arm.
“More of the same.” Dred turned to face the others.
“Guys, I honestly think we should see a lawyer. I don’t want to be with a label that sets us up to fail after everything we’ve already delivered.
I don’t want a manager who isn’t looking out for our best interests.
I don’t want a fucking house in L.A. when I own one here and my girlfriend lives in Miami. ”
Jordan and Lennon nodded, while Nikan rubbed his hand along his jaw.
“I agree,” said Elliott. “I think we should finish the album and the tour seeing so much has already been spent on both, though.”
“Yeah. Let’s keep those two things and get out of everything else. And let’s talk to a lawyer to see if we can get out of all our contracts when we’re done. Management and label included.”
Pixie shifted Petal to her shoulder and rubbed her back. A clicking noise stole her attention. She looked in the direction of the hallway. “Did you hear that?” she asked Dred.
“Hear what?”
“I thought I heard something in the hall. Didn’t you?”
Dred shook his head. “This old house makes all kinds of odd creaks and groans,” he said. He got up and peered his head toward the door. “Nothing going on,” he said, shaking his head as he walked back into the room.
Pixie smiled. “I’m probably hearing things.” Dred kissed the top of her head as he returned to his spot on her chair arm.
“There’s something else I want to run by you guys.” Dred looked at her, silently asking for her permission to tell them what they had decided in bed that morning. She nodded.
“Pix is in trouble. The kind of trouble we’ve spent our lives trying to get away from. I’m taking her to the airport later, but I need to be in Miami as soon as Petal’s passport arrives.”
Each of the guys looked at her, but she saw nothing but compassion from them, to the point it was too overwhelming and she returned her to attention to Petal, who burped.
“Chicks are hot in Miami,” Lennon said.
Nikan nodded. “I’m so over snow.”
“We might finally get inspired somewhere else,” Jordan added.
Dred lifted Pixie’s chin and kissed her sweetly.
“Miami it is,” he murmured.