“I really do. I hate you. Now leave me alone.”
This time, he obeyed. The SUV pulled away, and when it was out of sight, she finally succumbed to her grief and let it all spill over.
Not completely comfortable with walking the unknown streets of Los Angeles, Daisy stopped at the first decent hotel she came across, booked a room, and collapsed under the shower spray. She scrubbed at her skin until it was raw, but the filth clung. Wrapped in a towel, she cried herself into a dreamless sleep.
When she woke before dawn, panic hit first, then the sick realization of why she was there. Her phone was dead and her body felt equally so.
But her mind, clearer now than yesterday, settled on one truth: she couldn’t keep living like this. Something had to change.
Dressed in yesterday’s clothes, she had the front desk call her a car and rode back to the band’s hotel. As she stepped into the lobby, nerves clawed at her. She wanted to believe Jameson had spent the night sick with worry, searching for her, aching the way she ached. She wanted to believe he still cared enough.
But when the elevator doors opened to his floor, her hope shattered.
The hallway was littered with bottles and clothing. A man with neon sunglasses lay unconscious by the wall. The suite door hung ajar, the mess spilling out like week-old trash.
Did Jameson have a party?
The thought made her sick. While she was curled up in a frail mess last night, he was here, hosting an after-party.
Inside, the destruction was worse: liquor bottles everywhere, the room heavy with weed, the coffee table dusted in white residue. Bodies sprawled across the floor and women draped over bandmates like discarded clothes.
Her stomach churned.
And then she saw the bedroom door. His door.
Be strong, she told herself and pushed it open.
At first, she saw Jameson. He was sleeping peacefully with his head nuzzled into a pillow. Daisy almost smiled at the innocent look on his face. But that was before she saw the second sight. It left her feeling only one way.
Shocked.
Pure, unadulterated shock.
It was a woman. A woman she despised, pressed against Jameson’s bare back. And she was quite clearly naked.
Daisy stilled, taking in the image before her, one that she’d never be able to wash from her mind. While she stared, her dreams of their forever came crashing down. Had he really done the unspeakable, the unforgivable?
In that moment, she could actually feel her heart break.
The lifestyle, the music, the love, it had broken her.
She was nothing more than a shell; hollow and empty.
Averting her eyes from the incriminating scene, she rushed into the closet and grabbed her small travel bag. She didn’t care about all her possessions still on the tour bus. As far as she was concerned, they were now tainted, property of Luxor Records, just like everything else on this tour.
After gathering her items, Daisy rushed out of the closet, taking one last look at the sight that she’d never do away with.
She watched as Jameson’s eyes cracked open, grinning at the arm cuddling his abdomen. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, helooked across the room directly at Daisy. His face contorted in perplexity and it took him all but two seconds to realize that the naked body hard-pressed against him was not the one he thought was there.
Jameson hastily sat up from the bed and stared down at the naked blonde woman to his right.
Harley.
“Shit,” he whispered to no one in particular and swung his eyes back to Daisy. Her face was stone cold as she stared at a passed-out Harley.
Jameson was frenzied to explain, but when he jumped out from under the covers, no explanations were needed. He was stark naked as well.
Daisy gasped in pain, like someone had stabbed her directly in the stomach. He was quick to cover himself.
