“It’s not as simple as that, Dred, but get home quickly and we’ll figure it out together. I’ll have all the details for you when you land.”
“Six hours, seven tops. I’ll figure it out.”
“Fly safe, Dred. You’re all she has now.”
Dred picked himself up off the floor and rushed to the band who was celebrating with Sam. “I need to get back to Toronto. Now!”
“Let’s go,” Nikan said.
“Guys, wait up.” Sam ran up alongside them with their wall of security. “What’s going on? You should stay. Go to the after-party.”
“Petal has been placed in foster care. Amanda died today.”
“Let’s hustle. Sam, can you get a jet? We’ll need to go back to the house to get your passport,” Elliott said.
He heard Sam talking to someone, hopefully getting him on the next available plane, while the security team hustled them through the rear entrance of the Staples Centre.
“What the fuck,” Lennon said, once they were all in the limo and on their way to the Hollywood Hills. “What happened?” he asked, frantically. “Is Petal okay?”
Dread swallowed hard and nodded, trying to bank the overwhelming feelings from his childhood of being left alone. He reached for his phone and dialed Petal’s social worker.
He promised his baby girl that he would always be there for her, yet at forty-one days old she was going to spend her first night in emergency foster care.
And it sickened him to the very core that the pattern of his life was already repeating for her.
*
“It’s quiet today,” Trent said stripping the protective plastic wrapped around his tattoo equipment. He’d just finished up a neck tattoo for a regular client.
It was only three in the afternoon, but the studio was unusually empty. Eric was processing the credit card of a young woman visiting from Phoenix who’d wanted a spiritual saying tattooed on the inside of her forearm, and he’d done a kick-ass job with the calligraphy.
“Yeah,” Pixie acknowledged, heading to Eric’s station to clean it for him. “Although it’s a bit like the calm before the storm of the weekend.”
“Do you want to practice some more, Pix? We could work on lettering. You were starting to get the hang of it.”
The front door swung open and Cujo ambled in for his shift. “Hey, guys. Are we closed or what?” He looked around the studio at all the empty stations.
Eric’s client said good-bye and left.
“Was about to give Pix another lesson on lettering, unless you want to do it so I can head out early. Gotta get the painting I’m doing for Harper’s anniversary present finished then head to the airport for filming tomorrow.”
“Anniversary of what?” Cujo asked.
Trent laughed. “Of the day I kissed her on a pavement outside a pool hall.”
“Yeah, well, on our anniversary, Drea’ll get me as a gift, and that’s enough. Harper needs one of your paintings as consolation for ending up with you.”
“Asshole.” Trent shook his head.
Pixie watched as Trent and Cujo disappeared into the office. Thinking about how happy the two of them were hurt, but not as much as watching the New Music Press Awards on Sunday had, curled up on the sofa with her favorite ice cream. A pain akin to needles being driven into her eyes had tortured her as she watched Dred step out of his limo and walk the red carpet into the Staples Centre. But seeing him onstage with his mask firmly in place sucked the very life out of her. Beneath the frozen smile were flat eyes. To the average observer, the confusion of who was meant to speak could be attributed to the excitement of the moment. But Pixie knew different. The subtext between the band was there. Dred was off his game, and everyone else was covering.
It was nine days since she’d seen him. And each one of those nine days hurt. There was no lessening over time. Every morning she woke up thinking about what she’d lost, and it hurt all over again. She battled with the same questions. Would telling Dred the whole truth, with the risk of losing him anyway, be worse than the way she felt right now? She doubted it.
Pixie picked up her phone, tempted to break the silence between them. If she took the first step, made the first move toward reconciliation, what would he do? Ignore her, maybe?
But first she needed closure with Arnie, and so it all came full circle. He still had her trapped, he still had a measure of control over her life. And she hated it. He hadn’t been around since the incident and she was on tenterhooks, waiting to see if he would follow through on his threats to expose her. A na?ve part of her wanted to believe Dred had scared Arnie away. Lord knew he’d been furious when he hit Arnie, but it was impossible to believe that her stepfather would walk away from an opportunity to extort serious money.
Trent and Cujo returned from the office. “You ready for your next lesson?” Cujo asked.