Chapter Eleven
DAISY PULLED HARD ON THE zipper of her carry-on.
It was official.
She had overpacked.
Three days. That was all she had in New York City, and yet she’d packed as if she were staying a week. She wished she were; her parents were barely comfortable letting her go for the weekend.
She’d been fighting this uphill battle for months—ever since Jameson handed her the tour schedule.
It was the final show of his first tour, a tour she’d missed because of school and art commitments.
But now that she was in the second half of senior year, ditching a day or two—maybe even five—felt survivable.
College applications were complete, and the grades that mattered were already posted. Freedom was coming into focus.
“Honey, are you ready to go?” her mother asked, peeking into the room.
Daisy grabbed her bag, giddy with contained excitement. “Yes! Coming!”
The flight from San Francisco to New York dragged on.
For nearly five hours, Daisy replayed the last few months—months she’d pushed through for the promise of today.
Her father had given her unrelenting grief about New York, quick with a “no” each time she asked for permission.
She wasn’t asking for money or even a ride to the airport, just his blessing.
Dena tried to reason with him, but his answer held.
Then came Aunt Devya.
Daisy had recruited her, and much to everyone’s surprise, it worked.
Philip had never cared for Devya. She was too outspoken, too artsy, too much, but he couldn’t deny she loved Daisy and Sean like her own.
After weeks of Devya advocating, he relented.
Not only because Daisy would stay with Devya, not Jameson, but because of Devya’s perfect argument: she’d tour Daisy through several colleges. Two birds, one stone.
“Don’t like flying, honey?” asked the elderly woman beside her.
Daisy had been wringing her hands and taking deep breaths. “I’m usually fine. I’m just… anxious to get there.”
The woman waited for more.
“I haven’t seen my boyfriend in five months,” Daisy confessed. “It’s been… hard.”
It was the first time she verbalized how difficult their time apart had been.
She preferred the armor of the proud girlfriend—the one who handled distance like a pro.
The version that didn’t show the nights she cried after they would hang up, or the afternoons she sat by the oak tree with their initials carved in, willing time to move faster.
“Aww, young love.” The woman sighed. “Nothing better. Is he away at school?”
Daisy shook her head. “No, ma’am. He’s a musician. His band is currently on tour.”
“Oh, how exciting.” The woman’s eyes dipped. “My Charles was a musician. Never took him across the country like your fella, but he was talented.”
Daisy noticed the past tense. “What happened to him?”
“I lost him to the clap.”
Daisy narrowed her eyes. She must have heard the old woman wrong. “I’m sorry—the clap?”
“Yep, good ole gonorrhea.”
Daisy’s mouth fell open; she shut it just as quickly as the woman continued.
“I knew he was fooling around with Mary McBride the whole time, but I didn’t say a damn thing! I waited and waited and when he finally came clean, I simply packed his bags and left all his belongings across Mary’s front yard.
“You see, her husband was known for frequenting the local whorehouse. I knew his revenge would not be done by my hand but by the hand of God Himself. And I must admit the big guy upstairs truly came through. Her husband gave it to her and she passed it along to mine. And you know what, good riddance. That man was a piece of work!”
“So he’s not…”
“Dead?” the woman finished her sentence. “Oh heavens no, but he is soon on his way to the grave. While he may have been one awful son of a bitch, he did give me the best gift in the world, my daughter, Jenny.”
“Is that who you’re visiting?” Daisy asked.
The woman smiled. “She moved out east with her husband and my grandbabies. I come when my health allows. They’re my whole world.”
Daisy smiled softly. She understood how it felt to place your whole world in another’s hands. She just prayed Jameson’s hands never got slippery.
They deplaned together. At the terminal exit, the woman touched Daisy’s shoulder. “I hope my story didn’t scare you, dear. Some love works, some doesn’t. Just always make sure to protect what’s in here.” She pressed a hand to Daisy’s heart, then disappeared into the crowd.
Daisy rushed to passenger pickup, eager to thank Devya in person. She scanned the frigid outside area carefully. No Devya. She turned to head back inside, took one more look—and stilled.
Not her aunt.
Jameson.
Piercing blue eyes she’d missed so fiercely. Leaning against a black SUV like something out of the songs he wrote. Daisy blinked twice, making sure he wasn’t a figment of her imagination. When he didn’t fade, she dropped her bags and sprinted into his arms.
“What are you doing here?” She laughed into his shirt.
“Seeing my girl.”
She didn’t care how; she only cared that he was real and warm and hers. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, darlin’. So much. Let’s never go this long again, okay?”
Daisy nodded in agreement.
He ran a thumb over her lower lip and kissed her. The rest of the world vanished. It was just them, stitching months apart back together.
A whistle from somewhere broke the spell. They grinned. “Come on,” he murmured. “We can continue this in the car.”
As they slid into the back seat, Daisy asked, “What about Aunt Devya?”
“We talked,” he said, arm around her. “And came to an arrangement of sorts.”
“An arrangement?”
“I haven’t seen you in five months. There was no way I was letting you stay across town. Devya okayed you staying with me, as long as you spend tomorrow with her. Which works; I’m stacked before the show anyway. And she promised to keep it between you two.”
Daisy smiled up at Jameson and whispered, “Thank you.”
Placing a kiss on her nose, he replied, “Anything for you.”
Before heading back to the hotel, they stopped to get lunch. After grabbing two slices of pizza and stuffing their faces with the greasy goodness, they arrived at the hotel just before his five o’clock band meeting.
“This shouldn’t take too long,” Jameson assured her as they entered his hotel room. The suite had an amazing view of the city. Daisy was mesmerized by the structures. She couldn’t wait to see it at night.
“This is beautiful,” she gushed, her attention still out the window.
“Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said—looking at her, not the skyline. He backed toward the door. “Tonight, after I’m done… we could see the city, grab a bite—there’s a place—”
“I’m not sure I’ll be hungry… at least not for that kind of food,” she said, batting innocent lashes. “How about I order room service—courtesy of your label, of course, and we spend the rest of the night… not resting.”
His breath hitched. “You’re too good to be true.”
“Then go,” she teased, shooing him out. “Hurry back.”
“Be back in an hour,” he promised.
Five hours later.
No calls. No texts. Nothing.
While she assumed he was with the band, she couldn’t help but worry.
Why isn’t he picking up?
She also tried Lenny and Kyler. Still nothing.
Daisy must have walked the length of the hotel suite two dozen times before she received a simple text stating, “Sorry, be back soon.”
While it didn’t explain anything, at least she knew he was safe.
She showered off her nerves, pulled on one of his oversized T-shirts, and curled into bed with a rerun of Friends.
Around midnight, the door opened.
He didn’t say anything as he pulled off his pants and button-down shirt and got into bed with her. He laid his chin on her flat stomach, eyes upturned, sheepishly.
While he may have discarded his clothing, the stench of smoke still weighed heavily on him.
“You stink.”
“I know. Erik Soriano made a surprise appearance at our meeting tonight. He’s in town for the show and wanted to take us to dinner. I swear I didn’t know or I’d have sent you with Devya.”
“It’s fine,” she said, fingers in his hair. “A text earlier would’ve been nice. Just so I knew you were alive.”
“Harley makes us stash phones for meetings… no distractions. Then she left them behind, and when we finally got back, Erik wanted to toast with cigars.” He winced. “Hence the stench. I’m sorry.”
“Go wash the smoke off. I’ll wait.”
“Okay,” he mumbled and hopped off the bed.
His shower was quick and his smell had drastically improved as he slid back into bed.
He rested his head on Daisy’s pillow, their faces inches apart.
Their noses brushed, breath mingling, and for a long heartbeat, neither of them moved.
His lips hovered—hesitant—until she trailed a hand up the warm line of his back and lifted to meet him.
She had missed his mouth, his nearness, the feel of his hands steadying her.
He wasn’t hurried; he wanted to savor this—being close again, the simple rarity of the same space.
He looked into her glistening eyes, reading what she tried to hide.
When tears slipped from their corners, Jameson stilled and brushed them away with his thumbs.
No words were spoken as Daisy bubbled out a cry.
She just looked at him, her hand stroking his face as she wept before him.
So vulnerable. So real.
He kissed the tears away, blinking back his own. He didn’t ask why; he already knew. The months had taken their toll, lonely nights, phone calls that never felt like enough, and now the joy of being back together was flooding in at once.
“I know, darlin’, I know,” he whispered, over and over, like a mantra.
They held each other and succumbed to the night, the distance finally closing.
Daisy felt eyes on her as she awoke to a dark room. The red digits on the clock read 4:15 a.m. Jameson lay awake, the glow outlining the line of his jaw.
She propped her back against the pillow and groggily asked, “Can’t sleep?”
A pause. Then: “We’re going on tour with NYX 5.”