Chapter Thirteen #2
His shoes were by the door; last night’s clothes were draped over the chair. She tugged the hood of his sweatshirt over her head and went looking. She didn’t have to go far. He was on the balcony, elbows on the table, hands laced in his hair. Even at a distance, he looked distressed.
“Hey,” she said softly.
He didn’t answer. He let his hands fall and turned. The reason for his distress sat between them on the table: three pregnancy tests, lined up.
Daisy sucked in a breath. “Where did you find those?”
Jameson’s eyes dropped over her, to her face, then throat, then belly, and held. His expression shifted into something she’d never seen directed at her: revulsion.
“Say it,” he bit out.
She trembled, trying to gather air. He repeated, harder, “Say it, Daisy.”
“I… I’m pregnant.”
He stood so fast the chair scraped. He brushed past her and started pacing the suite’s entry, hands on his head. She’d never seen him so rattled; she was rattled enough for both of them.
“How did this happen?” he demanded. “We’re careful. We always use protection. How the hell—” He stopped. Miami rewound behind his eyes. She saw it land.
“But I stopped,” he said, stunned into anger. “I stopped before…”
She lifted a shoulder. “I guess not soon enough.”
He dropped his hands and came toward her. “How are you acting so—so calm about this?”
Calm? That lit her fuse. “I’ve been freaking out all night trying to figure out how to tell my boyfriend I’m carrying his child. I’ve puked. I’ve cried. I’m terrified. Calm is the last thing I am.”
He rubbed his eyes. “This can’t be happening. Not now. We can’t afford for this to get out.”
That hurt more than she would allow herself to admit. He wasn’t seeing her, just the band, the optics, the risk.
He grabbed his jacket. “I need a minute,” he muttered and walked out.
She thought about chasing him. Instead, she sank onto the couch and waited for him to return. Almost half an hour later, she heard the insertion of the key card and footsteps drawing closer to her.
He stood behind her when she turned. His head was low.
Sorry lived deep in the lines of his expression.
She stood and stepped into him, and he folded her in, mouth nuzzled in her hair.
For the hundredth time in twelve hours, she cried.
He didn’t hush her. He held on and let her soak his army-green tee.
Daisy clenched onto him for dear life. It was as if he were her anchor, the only thing holding her steady at that moment.
“It’ll be all right, darlin’.”
There it is.
“I promise,” he whispered into her crown.
Her body eased at his tone. The tremor left her hands and the tears slowed.
“Everything will be okay, Daisy,” he said, softer. “We’ll get this taken care of.”
Her heart stopped. Or at least Daisy could’ve sworn it did. While his voice was warm and tender, his implication only left her feeling ill.
“Take care of what?” she rasped, pulling back to see him. His eyes were bloodshot, swimming with a night she hadn’t seen.
He brushed a tear from her cheek and looked down at her flat stomach. “This… problem.”
The word made something primal rise in her. She didn’t answer. He rushed to continue. “I called Harley.”
“Harley?” The name scraped like nails on a chalkboard.
He ran a hand down his strong jawline and said, “Yes, Harley. I told her about the… whatever, and she set up an appointment for you.”
Daisy stumbled back and grabbed the couch to steady herself. Appointment.
She struggled to catch the breath that had just vacated her lungs. He couldn’t be serious?
Please, God, let this be a dream!
“How could you…” She accused, “You told Harley? The one person in the world who I may actually despise and you decided it was a bright idea to tell her?”
“She’s my manager,” he said, jaw tight.
“She also wants to screw you, Jameson, but please continue telling me how confiding in her was the right thing to do.”
“She’s our crisis person,” he snapped. “She fixes things. We need discretion. The clinic she—”
“Enough.” Her voice cracked the air. “Harley doesn’t get to make decisions about my body. I do. I can’t believe she scheduled anything when we haven’t even talked.”
“What’s there to discuss?” His hands went wide. “We aren’t ready.”
She stared at him and searched for the boy she loved, the one who would have sat with fear before leaping down this path. He wasn’t here.
“Jameson,” she said quietly, arms wrapped around her middle, “I don’t know what I want yet. But I’m not sure I can have an abor—”
“Don’t.” He was already unraveling. “Don’t do this.”
“Jameson—”
“I don’t want a kid. I’m not ready to be a dad. This thing will ruin everything.”
“Please don’t call it that.’”
“Think, Daisy. Use your brain for one second.” His voice sharpened. “I’m on tour until April. You’re going to Parsons—your dream school. A kid will blow it all up. For me. For you.”
She tried, one last time, to reach the part of him that listened. “There are other options—”
“I don’t care about options.” His face was stone. “I don’t want this. You need to get rid of it.”
Tears burned. Who was this boy?
“But—”
“Are you high?” he snarled. “Do you not understand? I don’t want this. I won’t do it.”
Daisy was taken aback by his tone and, in truth, she wanted to hurt him as much as he was hurting her.
“You think I’m high?” She let out a snicker, no longer willing to feign ignorance. “That’s rich… coming from the guy who’s high on cocaine right now.”
He went still.
“Don’t bother lying,” she said. “I know. Everyone knows. They’re just too worried about this stupid band to say it. But I’m not. Because your drug use has obviously fried some brain cells and you aren’t thinking clearly.”
He moved toward her, three steps, until his face was inches from hers. His eyes were wild.
In a low, feral voice, he said, “I’m thinking crystal clear. And I don’t want this.”
She whispered, “I don’t know—”
“Just. Fucking. Do it, Daisy!”
Silence detonated the room. His eyes flickered—remorse, verdict, and a thousand things she couldn’t catch.
No one had ever spoken to her like that… least of all him. She fought hard to keep her face neutral, but her emotion had won the battle. With pursed, coiled lips, she allowed a singular tear to spill from the corner of her eye. This time Jameson didn’t reach out to catch it.