His new room has a bigger window and more seating, making it a more comfortable fit for the moments when all seven of us are gathered at his bedside.
Like right now.
What I wouldn’t give for a moment alone with the love of my life.
The cuts and bruises on Tay’s face kill me a little every time I look at him. I hate thinking about him being in pain. Not to mention, he would be mortified if he could see his skin. Purple and blue have faded to green. His lips are pale, and although his hair is free of blood, it’s greasy and matted to his head.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Tay’s mom pulls a tube of Chapstick out of her purse, which gives me an idea.
“Livvy, do you happen to have any makeup with you?” She immediately smiles, understanding my train of thought.
“I always have the essentials,” she says, reaching for her purse.
“Admittedly, I’ve never done this. Can you teach me?” I ask.
“Definitely. But I’m not as good as Tay,” she says with a sad smile, uncapping a small silver bottle. “This goes on first.” She squeezes some of it onto her fingers and then lightly applies it to his cheeks. When she starts to rub it in, I stop her.
“Do you have any brushes? He likes the way the brushes feel.” I doubt she needs me to tell her these things about her own brother, but I do it anyway. “They, um, help ease his tension,” I add.
“Oh, sure,” she says, digging around in her bag before handing me a brush with soft, smooth bristles.
While I’m working on the foundation and the blush, Livvy gets to work painting the nails on his right hand.
As soon as we finish, I place a kiss on Tay’s newly-glossed lips. Hearing a sniffle, I look up to find his mother staring at us, wiping her eyes. In a choked whisper, she says, “Thank you.”
Bill Landry stays quiet, but his expression has grown a little less severe.
“Isn’t it weird for you?” Damon asks, his tone slightly accusatory.
“Doing your brother’s makeup?” I ask. “Not at all.”
“No, I mean being with a guy half your age who seems to have a kink for turning straight, older men gay,” Damon explains. It seems now that we’re certain Taylor is going to pull through, some of Damon’s anger over the situation with Patrick has returned. Or perhaps it’s me he finds issue with now.
“Damon!” his father shouts.
“Come on, we were all thinking it.”
“No, we weren’t,” Livvy says.
My answer is immediate. “First of all, loving Taylor is the easiest thing in the world, regardless of our age difference. And yes, I had reservations at first because until a few months ago, I thought I understood sexuality and orientation…until your brother made me realize that sexuality is fluid and very few people are either completely straight or completely queer. I no longer see Taylor asa guy half my age. I see him only as the brightest spot in my day. The person I can’t wait to talk to and see after a long day at work. The person who can make me laugh when my lips barely formed a smile for years. So, no, Damon. Nothing about this is weird to me.”
“Well said,” Ashton offers with a nod before volunteering to grab dinner for everyone.
“I’ll come with you,” Francesca adds from the chair in the corner, following Ashton out the door. It’s clear some members of Tay’s family aren’t sure what to do with me just yet.
They’re appreciative that I pulled Taylor to safety, but they’re having a hard time accepting my role in his life, and I’m sure they’re also hurt that we’ve kept this from them—although, what did they expect after the debacle with Patrick?
No one believed Tay’s side of the story, so there’s some animosity toward them on my end, too.
Tay’s parents are on the couch by the window, Damon is in the chair in the corner by the bathroom, and Livvy’s next to the door on her iPad. The TV is on in the background just to keep the awkward silence at bay.
I’m still in the coveted seat next to Tay’s bed, holding his right hand in my left while responding one-handed to messages from the guys at the fire station, as well as the group chat from Phoenix and everyone, asking about Taylor’s condition when Livvy snarls behind me, sending my fight-or-flight response into overdrive.
“Thefuckare you doing here?” she asks.
I turn my head to see Patrick enter the room, his eyes on Taylor. Pain paints his features as he sees where Tay’s hand rests in mine.Good. I hope it fucking hurts, you bastard.
“Um, Damon called Liam. Liam called me,” Patrick says quietly, looking at Damon.
