Chapter Twenty-Eight
“NO, YOU HAVE TO TIE it like this so the bow perks up.”
“Does it really matter what the gift bags look like?”
Daisy didn’t even dignify that with a reply.
It was the night before Amelia’s birthday party, and she and Jameson were turning his house into a Goonies set—pirate paraphernalia, skulls, and a banner over the dessert table that read HEY, YOU GUYS!
It was a little odd, but Amelia had been on a Goonies kick for weeks ever since she and Jameson watched the movie.
She’d been obsessed with Mikey’s treasure maps and had insisted every guest get their own “truffle shuffle cupcake.” Daisy had to admit, it was kind of adorable.
They’d been at her parents’ for dinner when Amelia announced the theme. Nani asked when and where they’d host her birthday. That’s when Amelia said, “It’s going to be at my dad’s house. We’re having a Goonies party.”
“Goonies?” Nani balked. “What in heaven’s name is a goonie?”
“Only the best movie of all time!”
Daisy bit her tongue and offered carefully, “I know you love the movie, sweet stuff, but do you really want that theme? We could do a luau or a circus like we talked about.”
“I love a good kālua pig,” her father chimed in.
“Nope. Goonies it is. Dad even said we could get a pirate ship.”
Which he had. A whole portable pirate ship was currently sitting in his backyard.
Amelia was with her grandparents for the night while Jameson and Daisy prepped for tomorrow.
It was the first time they’d been alone since LA, and Daisy had been a ball of nerves when she arrived.
She’d prepped what she could at home, but her space wasn’t exactly forgiving.
And because she’d refused to let Jameson hire an event planner, an idea she was currently regretting, she had no choice but to work late to make sure everything was perfect.
“What about these?” He lifted a bag of balloons. “Please tell me we have a helium tank.”
“What if I said no?”
“Then screw your no-help rule, because I’d be calling reinforcements.”
Daisy rolled her eyes at his dramatics. “Thankfully, I added a helium tank to the order I sent you last week. Assuming you didn’t do the shopping on your own?”
He eyed her, amused. “You only said no event planner, not no assistant. Besides, Alice is basically family. So it doesn’t really count.”
And she was.
After meeting his assistant in LA, Daisy found herself talking with Alice more and more. The woman practically ran Jameson’s life.
“She’s a literal saint. Where would you be without her?”
“Seriously. I hit the jackpot. Ky has gone through seven assistants in three years. They are either half lazy or half crazy.”
“Why either?”
“Because before he met Riley, he shagged all of his assistants, which made them think they were something more and they’d either get lazy or went crazy.”
“That sounds exhausting.” Daisy paused, then winced at the thought forming. “Wait. Was Riley his assistant before…?”
Jameson tried not to laugh and failed. “She was. But she’s smart. She didn’t jump into the sack with him right away. All the man needed was a little chase. Now he’s happier than ever.”
Daisy eyed him. “Did you ever…?”
“Did I ever what?”
The question flew out before she could stop it. “Sleep with your employees? Or are you more the hook-up-with-a-groupie kind of rock star?”
Jameson squinted, pausing mid-knot. “You really want to go there?”
Heat crept up Daisy’s neck. “No. Sorry. It’s not my business.”
He went very quiet. For a second, she thought he might answer anyway. Then he stood abruptly. “Want something to drink?”
“Um, sure.”
“You like wine, right? I think I’ve got a few bottles of white.”
“Water is fine. I know you don’t really drink.”
“Like I’ve said, drugs were my poison. Wine is not. I’ll grab a bottle. I’ll need a drink if we’re going to have this conversation.”
“I—” But before she could finish, he disappeared toward the cellar.
Daisy had opened a can of worms. But she was curious. Had he let the rock-star reputation carry him from city to city, or was he more mellow, the kind who had a few regulars in a few towns? Either way, she was about to find out.
Jameson came back with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, poured two generous glasses, clinked hers, and took a long sip. “So you want to know about my sex life,” he said flatly, almost amused.
“Jameson, we don’t have to talk about this. It was a joke. Truly none of my business.”
He went on. “The answer is no. I never slept with my employees. I also didn’t do the groupie thing. That was more Kyler’s speed. Were there women? Sure. Did any of them matter? No.”
That surprised her. “They didn’t matter? Not even your wife?”
“I know it sounds cruel, but… honestly, no.” He swirled his wine and added, so quietly she almost missed it, “It was always laced with regret.”
“That does sound cruel.” She hated that she needed to ask—but she needed to ask. “Why the regret?”
He looked at her, soft but steady. “Because every time I buried myself in someone else, it brought me back to what I’d lost and what I wanted more than anything to find my way back to.
” He exhaled, vulnerability threading his words.
“You’re imprinted on me, Daisy. Whether I liked it or not.
The ties we knotted as teenagers were strong, and while I tried to cut them…
I could never find a knife sharp enough. ”
She didn’t meet his eyes, afraid of what she’d see in him, and if she were honest, of what he might even see in hers. So she drank. Not a sip but her whole glass. She stood, grabbed the bottle, and retreated to the kitchen to pour another.
He let her go. He was laying down his cards, waiting for her to show hers.
He went back to the party setup while she lingered by the sink, getting her breath under control.
In for four, out for six. Breathe. Don’t spiral.
She knew herself too well. She was close to giving in, recklessly abandoning her promise not to repeat LA.
For the sake of her daughter, she needed to focus on the task at hand: co-parenting well.
But it was hard when his words rang so true and his eyes found her like she was the only woman in the world.
Maybe because, for him, she was. He’d been with others, but he’d only ever thought of her.
Her phone buzzed in her back pocket, jolting her out of thought.
Matt.
Her heart skipped—excitement? Dread? She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t heard from him since they agreed on a break.
I miss you, the banner read.
She could see him starting and stopping that text a thousand times. Questioning whether to even send it.
Her chest ached. Matt deserved the world, the family he wanted so badly. How could she give him that when her thoughts kept drifting to the boy who still held the broken pieces of her heart?
I miss you, too, she replied. Then she set the phone on the kitchen counter to charge.
When she returned to the living room, Jameson had nearly finished with the balloons.
“You good?” he asked, one corner of his mouth lifting.
“Just peachy.”
“I like peaches.”
She rolled her eyes and started threading balloons into the arch strip, the brush of their shoulders now buzzing with awareness.
They worked until nearly midnight. Their fingers ached, their eyes were heavy, and Daisy’s head spun a little from the three glasses of wine.
“Okay, this looks pretty epic,” Jameson said, grinning at their work. “Amelia’s going to freak out.”
“Yeah. I was hesitant about the Goonies theme, but this is kind of awesome.”
“Would’ve been more awesome if I’d paid someone else to do it.”
“Har, har.”
“I’m kidding. It was fun doing this… together. You happen to be my second-favorite person to hang out with.”
“Let me guess—Amelia’s first?”
“Isn’t she yours, too?”
“Most definitely.”
She grinned.
“And thanks again for appeasing me. Next year, we can pull in some resources. I underestimated the effort.” Daisy hesitated. “Anyway, I should head out.”
“I can’t let that happen yet.”
She stilled. “Are you going to hold me hostage?”
“Tempting, but no. I just want to make sure you’re totally sober before you drive. It’s late. If you wanted to crash here, you know I wouldn’t mind.”
Weeks ago, that thought would’ve sent her running. Now, chills prickled up her spine at the idea of stealing more time.
“I appreciate you. I feel fine to drive, but I’ll have a bottle of water to be extra sure.”
He nodded and fetched one.
They sat on opposite couches, waiting for the other to speak. When neither did, they just smiled at each other, each reading the same electric charge in the air that sparked along the open space between them.
Daisy broke the silence first. “So… how’s the album coming along?”
Jameson leaned back, studying her. “Really well. I’ve been inspired lately, which shows in my writing.”
“That’s great, Jameson. I really enjoyed your last album. They’re all very good.”
“You’ve been listening again?”
She nodded. On repeat, though she didn’t say it out loud.
After the night at Bullets, something magnificently unruly had cracked open inside her.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so alive.
The days following were filled with the music she’d missed for years.
She bought every TKC album and crammed years of listening into days—car, house, and her studio.
Even Amelia was all for it. Daisy played the clean versions when she had to, but she loved the look on her daughter’s face when they were jamming to her dad’s songs.
The pride they both felt was indescribable.
Sometimes Daisy choked up thinking about it.
His once-dreams were now his reality, his music shared with the world, the legacy he’d wanted finally here. And once again, she was a part of it.
“You want to hear a cut?” he asked.
Her eyes went wide. “Of your album? I would love to. Is that allowed?”
He laughed. “Yes, it’s allowed. It’s my music. I can do whatever I please.”