Honestly, it was on me for not having anticipated something like this. But I'd been so relieved just to have Wyatt gone that I hadn’t let myself consider he’d retaliate. It’d been a rookie mistake. Naive to the core.
I nodded, feeling frustration rise inside of me. “He did.”
Taylor’s exhale was slow and controlled, the way he breathed when he was trying very hard not to rock the boat by saying the wrong thing.
“Can we go inside?”
The car had been off long enough that the cold was beginning to seep into my clothing, and I could see Taylor’s breath fogging in the air.
“It’s freezing out here.”
“Oh shit. Yeah. Of course.”
Snow began to fall as we raced up the front walkway and tumbled through the door, him flushed and warm, me shivering. We took off our coats and scarves, depositing them in the closet, removed our wet shoes, and headed for the kitchen, where Taylor filled the kettle.
“Go sit down.”
I dropped onto one end of the sofa, pulled the throw blanket off the back, and draped it over my legs, watching him prepare two mugs of herbal tea.
A few minutes later, he joined me, handing me mine before settling onto the opposite end and tucking his feet under the blanket.
“So what now?” he asked, picking up the thread of our earlier conversation.
I blew on my tea, stalling. He wasnotgoing to be happy with what I was about to say, but it needed to be said.
"I can see the wheels spinning in your head. You have a plan, so spill it."
“The thing is," I began, parsing out my words, "I'd understand if you want to take a step back from us until everything settles down. I?— ”
“No. Absolutely not. I will never do that, so don’t ask again.” Taylor's face flushed scarlet, his nostrils flaring.
"I couldn’t forgive myself if it blows back on?—”
"I said no."
“Taylor. Be reasonable.”
“You be reasonable, Sebastian.” He set his mug on the coffee table and crossed his arms over his broad chest.
“This is going to get really ugly,” I warned.
“And you, what? That I can't handle ugly. I can fucking handle it.”
I stared at him over the rim of my mug—at this man who had every reason to put distance between himself and the blast radius of my life, but who had instead told me in no uncertain terms there was no way that was ever happening.
I had spent most of my adult life surrounded by people who viewed relationships not as partnerships but as negotiations. People who calculated the value of affection before they offered it. In my world, love was currency.
But not Taylor. He loved fully. Unconditionally.
I felt my throat tighten and my eyes begin to sting. I took a long sip of tea to cover my reaction.
“Come here,” he said, grabbing a few of the decorative pillows to stack them behind him.
I set my tea aside and fitted myself into the space he’d made between his legs, settling against his chest.
Taylor traced patterns on my arm, grounding me.
“I’m not going to deny it,” I whispered after a long stretch of silence. “When they come asking—and I guarantee they will—I’m not going to lie. I'm so fucking tired of lying.”
