Chapter 22
When Taylor opens her eyes the next morning, she’s disoriented.
She stares at the ceiling for a few seconds, mind completely blank as she wonders why she’s so tired.
She feels like a freight train ran her over, and then the memories hit her like a wave: her onstage, the roar of the crowd, the lights, her voice echoing everywhere and then, Abigail against the wall of the trailer, her hands, her mouth…
Taylor sits up. Her throat is dry, her pulse racing, and she’s overheated.
She reaches for her phone. Last night, before going to bed, she’d had to silence it because it wouldn’t stop buzzing with messages and calls from people congratulating her.
When she looks at the screen, she’s shocked to see thirty-seven missed calls and sixty-two unread messages, plus hundreds of notifications on social media.
She skims through them and arches a brow when she realizes many are from people she doesn’t know and others from people she does, but hasn’t spoken to in years.
"Damn," she mutters, running a hand through her messy hair as she searches the messages for the only name she cares about, Abigail Stone.
To her surprise, Abigail texted first thing in the morning—brief as always, of course.
Just a hello and to come by her apartment as soon as she’s had a coffee.
Taylor smiles and heads straight for the shower.
When she’s done, she slips into comfy clothes, has a cup of coffee, and leaves the house quietly because Tiffany is still asleep.
"Hi," she says when Abigail opens the door to her apartment.
"Good morning," Abigail greets, stepping aside to let her in.
This time her laptop isn’t on the coffee table; Abigail is working at the dining table where, along with the laptop, her ever-present planner, and her phone, there are also some documents scattered across the wood.
"This is weird," Taylor says, hands shoved into her trouser pockets.
Abigail looks at her. To her, Taylor seems small compared to that big bad wolf she saw onstage yesterday. She agrees with her. It is strange; something is going to change between them starting tomorrow, and Abigail’s body language already shows it.
"Sit," she orders, pointing to the chair next to hers.
Taylor shuffles over and they both sit, eyeing each other for a moment before Abigail picks up the contract and sets it in front of Taylor.
"I take it that since you haven’t said anything, all the clauses look fine to you," the executive says, placing a pen on the papers as well.
"Tiffany doesn’t think you’re trying to scam me," Taylor replies, picking up the pen and rolling it between her fingers.
"But?" Abigail asks when she sees her hesitate.
"There is no but, I’m just thinking about Ethan."
Abigail pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a hard sigh.
"And I assume you’re going to share your worries with me." Abigail’s sarcastic tone grates on Taylor, but she ignores it.
"I’m not stupid. I know what Ethan did—it’s crystal clear. But I’m thinking maybe taking him on as a guitarist wouldn’t be so…"
"No." Abigail’s answer is so firm that Taylor drops the pen and looks at her, annoyed.
"You didn’t let me finish," she says, irritated.
"Because I know what you’re going to say: that he’s a good musician, that he can back you, that if you talk to him he’ll behave. Am I wrong?"
Taylor’s silence confirms Abigail’s theory.
"I told you from the start, Taylor, the offer is for you alone. Your brother stays," Abigail says, with that icy tone that chills the room.
"I know, but…"
"No buts. I know what’s going on with you.
He’s your brother and, even after everything he’s done, it hurts to tell him outright that you’re moving on without him, that there’s no room for his guitar in your career, and that you didn’t convince me to include him in the contract," Abigail lists, as if she’s inside her head.
"You need to understand something, Taylor. My job isn’t to please you; my job is to get you a great deal with any of the labels that have already made offers and launch your career. "
"They’ve made offers? That fast?" Taylor murmurs, impressed.
"Yes," Abigail answers curtly, "but there’s no point talking about that if you can’t make basic decisions. Do you want me to be honest?"
Abigail braces her forearms on the table and leans in a little, determined to be as ruthless as necessary with Taylor.
"Yes," the singer answers.
"Bringing your brother along wouldn’t be a problem.
He’s not a bad musician; with more practice, he could back you on tour.
But I’m not going to do it. I’m not going to let someone who keeps trying to intimidate you and make you think you’re not enough spend another minute with you—not if you want me as your agent.
" Abigail takes the contract and pulls it from Taylor’s hands.
"You don’t have to sign with me. Right now, anyone will want to be your agent.
You can choose, make your brother going with you a condition, and your moral problem is solved. "
"I don’t want another fucking agent," Taylor huffs.
Abigail might regret saying what’s on her mind, but she needs to get it out.
"You don’t want another agent because you think I can get you everything I promised, or because you like fucking me and think that if you sign with my agency we’ll keep doing it? Because I promise you the second one isn’t happening."
Taylor feels all that fury in her veins explode on her tongue.
"You’re a bitch. Cold, cruel, and heartless. I don’t want anything from you but the fucking contract," Taylor spits, so hurt her voice comes out hoarse.
"Good," Abigail replies without flinching, "then go home, or anywhere you can think straight, and make a goddamn decision already. You have until tonight to give me an answer. Tomorrow I’m going to New York, with or without your signature."
"Perfect." Taylor stands with such ferocity that the chair shoots backward.
Abigail doesn’t look at her as she crosses the living room, but her jaw tightens when the singer slams the door on her way out.
When Taylor walks back into her house, she doesn’t know if she’s nervous, angry, or on the verge of a meltdown.
This should be one of the happiest days of her life, but her chest aches, a pain that isn’t physical and seems to squeeze her lungs.
And it doesn’t hurt because she has to leave without her brother—it hurts because of her, because Abigail talks to her and looks at her as if nothing had happened between them, as if she hadn’t moaned her name while she came, as if she hadn’t held her in her arms and smiled when Taylor jumped on her, euphoric, or as if she didn’t feel that current that could light up entire cities when they’re together.
"What are you doing just standing there?" Tiffany asks, coming out of the kitchen in her pajamas with a cup of coffee in hand.
Taylor turns to her. She’s heard her voice, but she doesn’t know what she said.
"Are you okay? Where are you coming from?" Tiffany asks, setting the cup on the table and moving closer to her sister.
"From seeing Abigail."
Tiffany takes her by the hand and guides her to the couch.
"And what happened?" her older sister asks.
Taylor bites the inside of her cheek. She’d like to tell her that she was right, that she likes Abigail—maybe even more than that—and that now she wants to cry, but the last thing she needs is Tiffany saying she told her so.
"I have to talk to Ethan, tell him I’m going without him, and I don’t know how to do it," she lies, though not entirely.
"I think Ethan already knows you’re leaving, Taylor," Tiffany says. "You’d be an idiot if you didn’t.
" She smiles. "You don’t have to say anything if that makes you uncomfortable. Even though he’s my brother and I love him as much as I love you, he hasn’t behaved well.
He hasn’t earned any right to an explanation.
You don’t have to justify yourself, okay? You don’t owe him anything."
"He thinks I do," Taylor says with a sad smile.
"But you and I both know that’s not true. Everything Abigail’s offering you is something you earned yourself; he has nothing to do with it."
Taylor nods and stretches out on the couch, resting her head in her sister’s lap.
"Have you signed the contract yet?"
"No, Abigail gave me until tonight to do it," Taylor replies.
"Until tonight?" Tiffany asks, baffled. "Why? Why do you need that much time? Because of Ethan?"
Taylor shrugs. She doesn’t know what to say; she doesn’t even know if she brought it up with Abigail because she truly felt bad for her brother or because she hoped Abigail would decide to stay a few more days to convince her and buy her more time with her.
Now she feels stupid and childish. A lovesick brat’s tantrum?
No, she isn’t in love with Abigail, she can’t be, not in three weeks, and she won’t be anymore because Abigail is a ruthless bitch, she reminds herself like a mantra.
"What’s wrong, Taylor?" her sister whispers, making the singer open her eyes and try to smile, but her smile goes nowhere. It looks more like a grimace of terror.
"Nothing, I just had a bit of a fight with Abigail," she finally confesses, "about Ethan. I tried to get her to hire him as a musician," she lies again.
"Are you crazy?"
Taylor is surprised by her sister’s reaction, and even more surprised when her sister lays out the same reasons Abigail did for keeping their brother away from her.
"He’d drag you down, Taylor. It’s sad to say, but Ethan isn’t ready to watch you succeed. That’s why he needs to stay here, and you need to leave with Abigail."
Now her eyes truly brim over and Taylor cries for everything.
She cries from the thrill of what awaits her when she travels to New York.
She cries because she has a jealous brother who, instead of supporting her, sabotages her.
And she cries because she’s lost Abigail, and that last one hurts like someone is ripping her heart out of her chest without anesthesia.