Chapter Twenty-Two
THE HOUSE THEY PULLED UP to was not the one Daisy remembered.
A sudden sadness hit her as she realized Margot must have moved long ago.
No modest single-story near the park, no oak tree out front.
Instead, a stately white two-story stood before them, as if plucked from a Southern estate and dropped in the middle of San Mateo.
Daisy’s hands shook as she helped Amelia from the car. Jameson walked a step ahead, tension coiled tight in his shoulders, key poised at the lock. But before he could turn it, the door swung open.
The relief in him was visible the instant he saw his mother standing there, upright and whole. Margot grinned as if ready to scold him for fussing until she noticed the two figures behind him.
Daisy sucked in a startled breath. Margot froze, eyes wide, lips parted, gaze locked on Daisy and Amelia.
“Mum…” Jameson tried, but she didn’t budge. He glanced back, unsurprised by her shock. His had been the same.
“Mum, are you all right?”
Margot blinked, returning at last to her son. “I’m fine. I will be fine.”
Jameson’s eyes dropped to the bandage on her leg.
“I know the owners,” Margot said briskly. “The dog is up to date on vaccines. It was frightening, but Peter’s dramatic. He shouldn’t have bothered you.”
“I’m glad he did. Are you sure you—”
“Son, please.” She cut him off, voice sharp. “Just come inside. All of you.”
When she turned away, Daisy let out the breath she’d been holding. Amelia darted past Jameson into the house. Daisy hesitated at the threshold.
“I’m sorry about this,” Jameson murmured.
“Just make sure she doesn’t say anything.”
“She won’t.”
Daisy swallowed, voice shaky. “Okay.”
Margot’s home was beautiful, much like the house Jameson had grown up in, only larger, grander. Daisy followed him down a narrow hallway into the kitchen, where Amelia already sat on a high stool, giggling.
“… and that’s why Gus doesn’t stay here anymore,” Margot was saying.
Amelia blinked, wide-eyed.
Jameson frowned. “What are you telling her, Mum?”
“She asked where Gus was. I told her he’s no longer welcome after last week’s incident.”
Daisy nervously looked over at Jameson. “It’s a long story. Needless to say, he’s living with his uncle Lenny until I find a place.”
Margot rolled her eyes and put her attention on Amelia. “Would you like a cookie, sweetheart? I made a batch last night.”
Amelia’s eyes went saucer-wide as Margot set the plate down.
“Mum,” Jameson warned softly.
“Yes, son?”
“You need to ask.” He pulled out a chair for Daisy.
Daisy sat, her pulse racing.
Margot’s lips pursed. “May I?”
She nodded. “Sure. That’s fine.”
“Yay!” Amelia squealed, grabbing one.
“But only one, dear,” Margot cautioned. “We wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite for dinner.”
Amelia bit in, muffled, “What’s for dinner?”
Daisy interjected quickly. “We won’t be staying—”
“Why not?” Margot asked coolly.
“We wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“It’s no intrusion. I insist.”
Daisy looked up at Jameson, who bit his lip, eyes pleading. Against her better judgment, she whispered, “All right.”
“Perfect,” Margot declared, clapping. She turned to Amelia. “Would you be a doll and help me? I could use the extra hand.”
“I’d love to.”
“Wonderful. I’m Margot, by the way. Jameson’s mummy.”
“I could tell.” Amelia giggled. “You have the same blue eyes.”
Silence fell heavy over them. Daisy knew they were all thinking the same thing.
Amelia also shared those blue eyes.
She shared not only the same eyes but the same blood. The thought gave Daisy goose bumps, and an eerie warmth ran through her veins.
Margot cleared her throat. “Now out of my kitchen. We have work to do.”
“Mum, you just got bit by a dog. Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?” Jameson objected.
“I’m fine. Now shoo. Me and my new sous chef have to finish the meal.”
He sighed and nodded for Daisy to follow him.
She was hesitant but didn’t want to rock the already unsteady boat.
“Be good,” Daisy told Amelia, following Jameson out of the kitchen.
Behind her, she heard Amelia say brightly, “I’m Amelia, by the way. That lady’s my mom.”
Margot replied, low and warm, “I could tell. You’re just as beautiful as she is.”
The compliment lingered on Daisy’s lips as she joined Jameson at the foot of the stairs. Maybe Margot didn’t completely hate her.
“What’s that smile?” he asked.
“I think… everything is going to be okay,” she said softly.
“I’ll make sure it is,” he whispered, leading her upstairs.
The upstairs hallway smelled faintly of lavender polish, lined with modest art.
Daisy stopped at a wall of photos charting Jameson’s life, from diapers to stadium lights.
She blushed when she reached his Rolling Stone cover.
He was scantily clad in nothing but dark blue jeans, with a guitar slung low on his waist. Daisy’s face heated, just like it had the first time she saw the cover in the checkout line at the grocery store.
His face wore a velvety smirk, while his chiseled torso wore nothing at all.
“Like what you see?”
She jumped. Jameson’s face hovered just inches from hers.
Daisy rubbed her lips together and cocked her head toward the photo.
“I can see how some might find it appealing,” she teased.
“I didn’t ask about some. I asked about you.”
Her blush deepened. “Fine. You look… nice.”
“Nice?”
“Yes, nice. Though why your mother would hang such a nice photo of her son, I’ll never know.”
His laugh echoed down the hall. “She’s proud. Even if it’s too much skin for her taste, Rolling Stone is Rolling Stone.”
Daisy moved on, trailing the years of his career: London, Paris, Tokyo, their first Grammys. She remembered watching that night, against her better judgment.
She’d told herself she wouldn’t. But curiosity won. She had flipped on the TV just in time to see them win Best New Artist.
She should have been happy, ecstatic, even. Their Grammy win was everything they’d worked for, and she cheered on through the lump in her throat. But as the camera swept the audience, it stopped on her.
The woman at his side.
She was radiant, glamorous, and her fingers were possessively looped through Jameson’s.
His wife—well, now ex-wife.
Daisy’s pride curdled into something sharp, a reminder that the chapter of her life with him was not only over but rewritten without her.
“You’ve had quite the life,” she murmured.
“It’s been a wild ride.”
They moved on until she stopped at a small photo: the two of them, arm in arm, on prom night.
“We were so young,” she whispered.
“That was a great night.” Jameson chuckled.
“I’m surprised you remember. You and Kyler must have had ten of those god-awful wine coolers.”
“I remember.” He grinned. “The music, the dancing, and a rather fond Land Cruiser memory I’ll never repeat in front of our daughter.”
Our daughter.
Daisy blushed, swatting his arm. Despite his drunken state, it had been a great night.
“What’s in here?” Daisy pointed to a room with an open door.
Jameson led her through and said, “This is my current home.”
“You still live with your mom?” Daisy joked.
He plopped down onto his bed. “Temporarily.”
“I’m only kidding. You could probably afford six of these houses.”
Jameson didn’t disagree. “What can I say? My fans have been good to me.”
Daisy smiled at him over her shoulder, then began walking around his bedroom. It smelled faintly of cedar and cologne. She looked at his photos, browsed through his magazines, and tried to make small talk as she slowly paced.
“You know I don’t bite.”
“Huh?”
“Daisy, sit down. If I make you uncomfortable, I will stand and you can sit.”
“I’ve known you since I was fourteen years old, Jameson. You don’t make me uncomfortable,” she shot back, though her pulse betrayed her.
“Then sit.”
She did.
“I always knew I’d get you back in my bed.”
“Jameson—”
“Kidding!” His laughter broke the tension, and she found herself laughing too.
For a rare moment, she was content.
Then his voice softened. “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
“What happened after you left?”
The question knocked the air from her.
“After Los Angeles?”
He faintly shook his head once.
Daisy rubbed her sweaty palms together and took a deep breath. “I went home.”
She stared at nothing in particular as the memory unraveled.
“I got into a cab, told the driver to take me to LAX, and I flew home. My parents were shocked when I showed up on their doorstep. They questioned me endlessly, probably thinking I was on drugs, with how red and swollen my eyes were from crying, but I didn’t have it in me to tell them the truth.
I couldn’t bear the ‘I told you so,’ or the disappointment.
Honestly, it’s still a blur. I just remember going to bed…
then waking to find them in my room, holding me while I sobbed uncontrollably. ”
Jameson shifted beside her, his knuckles white where they rested on his knees.
She dragged a hand down her face. “I just kept apologizing, over and over, until finally I blurted it out: ‘I’m pregnant.’ It felt like my whole world collapsed again with those two words.
My mom started to cry. My dad just stood at the foot of my bed, stone cold.
I told them everything, and when I was done, all he said was, ‘Get some rest,’ before storming out. ”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes glinting with guilt. “God, Daisy,” he whispered.
“My mom stayed with me all night. But the next morning, my dad came in and told me I had an hour to pack. I was going to New York. At first, I thought he was shipping me off to Aunt Devya, which made no sense. When I asked, he said, ‘You’re going to college. You’ll make something of yourself.
Your mother and I will be there to support you, but you can’t stay here, Daisy.
’ I didn’t argue. I packed what I could, and my mom took me to New York.
I didn’t come back once in all four years. ”