“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 tellher?”
“She’s my manager,” he said, jaw tight.
“She also wants to screw you, Jameson, but please continue telling me how confiding inherwas 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. Thisthingwill 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?
