Chapter Thirteen
LAS VEGAS IS WHERE SHE admitted it aloud. The understanding lodged like a rock in her core, and once it settled, she was physically ill with it. She had to tell someone.
She rapped on Lenny’s hotel door.
A groggy Lenny peered through the crack. “Hey, Double D.”
Daisy managed a small smile at the old nickname, even though she had never quite amounted to it. “Hey.”
“What’s up? You okay?”
Was she?
She shook her head. He opened the door wider and ushered her inside. Daisy went straight for the balcony, needing air. She gripped the railing and looked out over the Strip’s neon span, the city always buzzing. Lenny stood beside her, letting the heat soak his skin, waiting.
She blew out an unsteady breath. “He’s doing drugs. Cocaine, definitely. Maybe pills, too.”
She said it flatly, as if numbness might make it untrue.
Lenny scrubbed at his hair, mouth parting. “How do you know for sure?”
She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, turning from the view. “He’s not sleeping. Wired. Up all night writing and… wanting me constantly. He keeps going out at weird hours for ‘inspiration,’ but I don’t think that’s what he’s chasing. And… I think I saw him.”
“Saw him what?” Lenny pushed.
“I walked in on him with a couple of the roadies… They all looked like they were up to no good. There was clearly residue on the table, but Jameson ushered me out before I could really confirm it. I’m not sure what to do.” Her voice thinned on the last word, and she swallowed it back.
“If he’s using,” Lenny said, sliding an arm around her shoulders, “we’ll handle it. You’re not alone.”
“If?” She stared. “I know it, Lenny. There’s no question he’s using again.”
Lenny’s brow creased. “Again? Wait—this isn’t the first time?”
Daisy pressed her hands to her face and cursed into her palms. She’d promised to keep New York between them. And here she was, cracking it wide open.
Lenny tightened his grip on the railing and waited.
“No,” she said. “I caught him in New York a few months back… confronted him.”
“Shit.” The word barely made it out.
“He promised he wouldn’t do it again but… What are we going to do?” she asked, breathing out to the bustling below.
He blinked rapidly, fingers combing his already-messy hair. “California is next. San Diego, then Los Angeles. Both are big, but LA… LA could change everything.”
Her stomach sank. She could see the next part forming on his face.
“We have to wait.”
“What? Lenny, no.”
“Daisy—” He lifted his voice just a notch. “I want him better as much as you do, but we can’t let this blow up before LA. If we confront him now, he’ll spiral, the show will tank, and if anyone gets wind of it, we’re done. Bad press right now could kill the band.”
Daisy stared at him. She’d come to the “voice of reason” for a reason. Instead, she got a game plan.
How wrong she’d been.
Lenny loved Jameson, she knew that, but the taste of the thing they’d chased since garages and Bullets had sweetened on his tongue. He was thinking about the band’s future, not Jameson’s.
Bile rose. She swallowed, then spat, “You’re pathetic.”
He flinched.
No one said that to Lenny. He was the oldest, the steady one. Their fearless leader.
“I’m not saying do nothing,” he uttered. “I’m saying do nothing until after LA.”
She could have stayed and fought—fought for Jameson, for sense—but her fight had been leaking out of her for weeks. She just shook her head and walked away, discouraged by a choice that put the need for applause over a person. Her person.
Back in the hallway, indecision scraped. Should she take this on herself? Or wait?
She already knew which it would be. Not because she didn’t care, but because she did. Because he would hear her least when he was flying highest. Because LA could make or break them. Because she was scared of how he’d take it, especially from the people he loved.
She knew a storm was brewing; she felt the headwinds of it. Little did she know a bigger squall was looming, ready to sweep everything away in its wake.
Los Angeles.
The city of stars. Home to the most notorious and the most forgettable, all glittering under the same smog. Few arrived and thought, I hate it here.
Sadly, Daisy was in that minority.
Los Angeles was where everything came crashing down. The life she planned, the love that lit her heart, and the music—the sweet, sweet music that stitched two innocent souls together. In the end, it would be the thing that undid them.
It started after the San Diego show. Daisy tried to push the drugs out of her mind and focus on Jameson. She stayed close, but careful, her silent message that she was here, that she was on his side no matter how ugly his choices were.
After the show, the band forfeited meeting with any fans and made the two-hour drive to Los Angeles.
Her nerves clawed at her the entire way. Not only because of the confrontation she was putting off until after LA, but for something else entirely.
She was late.
Three weeks late. Panic late. Her cycle had never come like clockwork, but it had never vanished either.
Going through her bag a few days back, she’d realized she hadn’t even cracked open the new box of tampons. She hadn’t worried, until Miami flashed in her head: Jameson in post-show beast mode, dragging her to the bus once NYX 5 took the stage.
They’d gone at each other like they were famished. He’d muttered, “I’ll just pull out.” It was the first time without anything between them. There were a few more times after that because it felt better, and they were young and reckless and so sure love made them foolproof.
But we were careful, she told herself.
She kept telling herself that as they checked into the hotel.
But we were careful.
But we were careful.
But—
She woke the next morning with a heaviness in her gut and willed her period to show, as if her body could be argued with. It was 6 a.m. and Jameson, for once, was asleep beside her. A rare sight. The drugs often stole nights from him.
Nausea rose at the thought of the drugs. Then rose higher at the thought of a pregnancy.
What a mess.
She clapped a hand over her mouth and bolted. She made it to the bathroom just in time. When it was over, she cried quietly, small childlike sounds against the tile.
She didn’t hear the door, but she felt him. Jameson flushed the toilet, sat on the floor, and pulled her into him.
“Did you catch the flu that’s going around?” he said softly.
Daisy prayed to God that was all she’d caught.
“Maybe,” she whispered.
He wet a washcloth and laid it on her forehead. The quiet stretched, and Daisy bubbled out a short laugh.
“Remember when Sean punched you after he found out about us?”
Jameson huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Defending your honor.” He tipped his head. “Why?”
“The washcloth. I did the same for you. I cleaned you up.” She managed a smile. “It just… reminded me.”
He kissed her shoulder and stayed there, breathing her in. He was so sweet in that moment that she almost told him.
“Jameson…”
“Daisy…”
They said each other’s names at the same time.
“You first,” she murmured.
He pressed his lips together, thinking. Hope sparked. Maybe he’d say it, maybe he’d confess and make the next step clearer, easier.
“I think you should rest tonight,” he said instead. “Don’t worry about the show. We’ve got one more here.”
The spark sank. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s probably best.”
She slept most of the day, waking only to be sick twice more.
Maybe it really was the flu.
Jameson suggested bringing a doctor up, but Daisy refused. She wasn’t ready to face what might be growing inside of her.
When he left for the show, she showered, pulled on a TKC tee and oversized sweatpants, and took the elevator down.
The drugstore was next to the hotel. She walked the aisles, tossing chips, candy, orange juice into a basket like she was just anyone, not a girl with her life on the brink of disaster.
She stopped at the aisle she would have given anything to avoid, grabbed three tests, and bolted to self-checkout.
It took an hour to work up the nerve to pee on the first stick. She downed the orange juice and took the other two. She paced the bathroom, counting the seconds in her head, waiting while the plastic decided her future.
She took a deep breath, trying to ward off the onslaught of nausea.
Her hands shook as she reached to turn them over. One by one, her fate was sealed with a simple symbol.
Positive. Positive. Positive.
She crammed the tests into her bag, swallowed a sob, and wrapped herself in Jameson’s sweatshirt. She cried until exhaustion put her under.
Alone in a city she didn’t know, carrying the child of a boy who may have a serious drug problem.
Oh, how far the mighty fall.
Her father would be gutted. This was every one of his warnings realized—booze, drugs, and sex. And the band boys.
How were they supposed to raise a kid when they were just kids themselves? Did Jameson even like kids?
This can’t be happening.
Jameson was on the brink. Daisy was headed to college in the fall. He’d be in Europe before they could breathe the same air again, and by the time he got back, she would already have had the baby. None of it fit the plan they’d outlined.
This can’t be happening.
She had no idea how to tell him. Layer the drugs on top, and the fear multiplied until it was the only thing left.
She slept like the dead and woke with a startle. The morning light was just breaking through. She stretched out her hand to the other side of the bed only to find it empty. She didn’t recall Jameson ever coming back, but then again, she hadn’t recalled much after those tests revealed their results.
Ugh, the results.
She wanted to forget the whole night. In fact, she could’ve done without the last few weeks. A clean slate sounded perfect.