Chapter 34
Abigail wakes to the sound of the shower in the bathroom off her bedroom.
For a moment, she feels completely disoriented.
She hasn’t brought a woman home in months and, of course, when she does, she never lets them spend the night.
But then memories of the previous afternoon start hitting her: the whiskey, her sister holding her when she thought she was going to die, Liam, the talk, and the fucking peanut butter sandwich, and she concludes the one in the shower is Erin.
She gets up slowly. She’s still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, wrinkled, with her shirt torn.
"Fuck..." she mutters in surprise as she walks barefoot toward the kitchen.
She needs coffee and water, lots of water.
She moves on autopilot as she turns on the coffee maker and reaches for a couple of mugs in the cabinet and, while the coffee brews, she leans on the counter and closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.
She thinks about the panic attack and her pulse speeds up; she thinks about the conversation she had with Erin about their parents, how it was the first time she opened up to her, and then she thinks about Taylor.
Everything in her head is wrapped in a haze that’s maddening right now.
She never loses control, least of all like that.
She feels like something is broken inside her, and it’s the first time in her life she doesn’t know how to fix anything.
"My God," Erin grumbles, appearing in the kitchen with damp hair and clean pajamas, clearly planning not to set foot outside all day. "I feel like I got run over by a truck. Remind me to never drink whiskey again as long as I live."
She puts a hand to her head and winces as she comes up to Abigail.
"How can you look so fresh after everything we drank?" she asks, eyeing her sister, who is filling both mugs with coffee.
Abigail regards her sidelong; it’s obvious Erin’s not seeing straight, because she hasn’t even showered yet and looks awful, but it’s true that even though her head aches, she can handle it. She hands her a steaming mug of coffee and points to the bottle of aspirin she’s left on the counter.
"Practice," she answers, dryly, her voice hoarse.
Erin takes two pills and washes them down with the first sip, then leans against the counter and sighs with pleasure, as if the coffee were already clearing her head.
"How are you?" she asks softly, watching Abigail as she downs a couple of pills herself.
Her sister shrugs.
"Fine."
"Abby..."
"I’m fine, Erin," she says in her clipped way, making it clear she doesn’t want to talk about it.
Erin nods, understanding Abigail isn’t ready to talk about what happened in the bathroom, but the silence that settles over the kitchen after that isn’t uncomfortable for either of them.
Erin feels happy. Yesterday was a victory for her.
She knows the gap between her and her sister has narrowed, that somehow they’ve grown closer.
Now she understands why Abigail is so guarded and cold; she’s simply protecting herself from people like their parents, people who should have given her everything and gave her nothing.
"What are you going to do about Taylor?" she asks, taking another sip of her coffee.
Abigail goes so tense she feels a little pull in her neck.
"I haven’t had time to think about that yet," she replies coolly. "Don’t hassle me."
Erin lets out a little laugh; even though she now knows how to reach her sister, Abigail is still an impossible woman.
"I’m not hassling you, I’m just asking. It’s a subject that..."
Abigail’s phone starts ringing and interrupts the conversation. Abigail shoots her sister a small wicked smile. She leans to the side to grab it and, when she sees the name on the screen, the smile vanishes in an instant.
Taylor.
It’s eight thirty on a Saturday morning. Taylor never calls her, not at that hour or at any other. All the time she’s been in New York, she’s always respected that part of Abigail’s personal space.
Abigail meets her sister’s gaze for a second before answering without even hesitating.
"Talk to me," she replies with a calm that even surprises her.
What she hears on the other end of the line leaves her completely bewildered. Taylor is sobbing, hysterical. The words pile up incoherently in her mouth, she’s breathing unevenly, and she’s speaking so fast that Abigail can’t make out anything she’s saying.
"Taylor," she cuts in, her voice booming but laced with a concern that has her straightening and losing any sense of what’s around her. "What’s going on?"
Erin straightens too. The silence in the kitchen and standing next to her sister let her hear Taylor’s babbling perfectly.
"Abby, I..." her voice breaks again. "My mother just called me and..."
Another wave of sobs makes it impossible for Abigail to understand anything. She waits with a patience she’s never had for Taylor to calm down, but it seems that with every passing second the singer’s anxiety increases instead of easing.
"Taylor, stop," she growls again, but it’s a soft growl, just authoritative enough to make sure she breaks in. "Breathe slowly and tell me what happened. I can’t understand you when you talk that fast."
A small silence follows, filled with Taylor’s breathing.
"Ethan has tried to kill himself," the singer finally manages to say, in a whisper that comes out almost strangled.
"Shit..." Abigail mutters, going completely rigid.
"He’s in the hospital. My mother says he’s stable, but he took pills... Fuck, Abby, it’s my fault," she explains in a rush. "I left him there, I abandoned him, and now..."
"Stop, Taylor," Abigail cuts her off, sharp but without a trace of the cruelty she’s been using on her lately.
She knows Taylor; she knows guilt is eating her alive, and something inside her kicks in. She can’t be the tyrant she’s been this past week, and she doesn’t even feel like it, because all she wants is to protect her.
"Sorry for calling you," Taylor continues, unable to stay quiet. "I know I shouldn’t, but I don’t know what to do, it’s hard to think..."
"The first thing you need to do is understand that none of what has happened is your fault, is that clear?" Abigail says.
"Yes," Taylor answers after a pause.
"Good. Now sit on the couch and wait for me to get there. I’ll tell Patricia to book the first flight to Nashville. I’ll be at your apartment in half an hour."
"Okay," Taylor whispers, dazed. "Yeah, thank you."
Abigail hangs up and stands motionless for a moment, processing what just happened. She turns to her sister before leaving the kitchen and finds her trying to hold back a smile.
"What?"
"You’re going with her," Erin says, and it isn’t a question.
Abigail stops short, as if suddenly becoming aware of what she’s done.
"Shouldn’t I?" she asks, frowning, feeling insecure for the first time in her life.
Erin smiles and sets her coffee cup on the counter.
"It’s in moments like this that you need to be beside the people you love, Abby," she says with a warmth that makes her sister blink, more and more off balance.
Abigail feels dizzy for a moment when she thinks about her words. What if that really is what’s happening? That she wants Taylor in a way that goes far beyond attraction or that ravenous desire she’s always felt for her, that she loves her in a way she’s never loved anyone.
"I’m going to shower," she snaps, slipping past her sister.
Erin shakes her head and picks up her coffee again.
"Do you need me to do anything?" she asks before Abigail crosses the kitchen threshold.
"When Liam comes for his car keys, explain what’s happened. Have him cancel Taylor’s vocal training session for Monday at the very least. Tell him I’ll call him tomorrow when I know more," Abigail says.
"All right."
Before getting in the shower, Abigail calls Patricia to book the tickets, rent a car at Nashville airport, and let Loretta know to come pick her up.
While she’s in the shower, she keeps going over what Erin said, and now she doesn’t know if she’s overstepping by going with Taylor, but Ethan has tried to kill himself and the singer is in shock.
It’s logical for her to go, it’s what any responsible agent would do with one of her most important artists, at least that’s what she tells herself to soothe her unease.
When she comes out of the shower, Erin is in her room, her suitcase open on the bed, packing clothes for a couple of days.
"Take care of Taylor—and take care of yourself," Erin says, giving her a small hug that Abigail accepts a bit stiffly but without protest.
"I’ll be fine," Abigail replies.
"Call me when you get there," Erin asks as Abigail grabs her keys and her purse.
The executive nods and heads for the elevator.
Loretta is already waiting at the door and, as they head toward Taylor’s apartment, she thinks about Ethan and his inability to support his sister.
It doesn’t surprise Abigail that he’s resorted to something as terrible as this to get Taylor’s attention, and she’s well aware Ethan needs help, but she can’t help feeling a fierce anger toward him right now.
By car, Taylor lives barely five minutes from her building. Abigail goes up to her apartment and knocks on the door, unable to keep the image of the girl she ran into yesterday walking out from flashing through her mind, but she pushes it aside just as quickly as it comes.
Taylor opens immediately and Abigail is surprised to see she’s still in pajamas, hair mussed, holding her phone in one hand while running the other over her abdomen to wipe away the sweat her nerves are causing. Her face is red, her big dark eyes bloodshot from crying, and her nose raw.
"I haven’t packed," Taylor says, dazed, eyes fixed on Abigail’s stony face, who’s still standing stunned in the doorway.
"You haven’t gotten dressed either," Abigail points out.
Taylor looks down at herself and nods, but she doesn’t move.
Abigail does, stepping in and closing the door.
Then she takes Taylor by the hand and leads her to her bedroom.
The bed is unmade and Taylor’s clothes are scattered everywhere.
It’s hard for Abigail to be there without thinking about the fact that there was someone else in that bed with Taylor; her chest aches and she feels a wound inside her bleeding, but she ignores that too.
"Get dressed," she says, opening the wardrobe, "and just grab your ID. You don’t need clothes; you already have some at your house in Smithville. Patricia has booked the first available flight," Abigail continues. "Loretta’s downstairs waiting."
Taylor nods, grabs clean clothes, and starts undressing. Abigail turns away, feeling she has no right to look even though she’s seen that body naked often enough to have memorized it, and walks to the window, folding her arms while she waits.
"Done," Taylor says, pulling her hair into a ponytail.
She’s put on jeans and a sweatshirt. Abigail is also dressed more casually than usual, in light trousers and a long-sleeved sweater.
"ID?" Abigail asks.
"In my bag."
"Then let’s go." Abigail places a hand at the small of her back this time.
She guides her to the door and takes care of closing it herself.
The drive to the airport passes in a silence that’s somewhere between heavy and uncomfortable for Abigail.
Even Loretta, who normally never stops talking, stays quiet after seeing Taylor’s shattered expression.
The singer sits rigid in the seat beside Abigail, staring out the window, unable to process anything she sees, while the executive checks on her phone the flight details Patricia sent her.
Abigail keeps sneaking glances at Taylor, aware of her uneven breathing, the tension in her shoulders, and the silent tears that keep falling, which Taylor wipes away with the cuffs of her hoodie.
She wants to comfort her, but the words won’t come; something is stuck inside her.
So she focuses on logistics, on making sure she has that part under control, because that she does know how to do.
When they get to the airport, Loretta stops the Mercedes in the departures area and Abigail and Taylor get out. The singer stays by her door while Abigail walks toward the trunk, but when she gets there she stops and goes to Taylor first.
"I’ll come only if you want me to go with you," she says, making sure she isn’t imposing herself.
Taylor looks at her, surprised by the question. For a moment, Abigail thinks she’s going to tell her no, that it’s a family matter and she has no place there. Part of her feels relieved at the idea, but she also feels something else that twists her stomach and she can’t explain.
"I want you to," Taylor says, nothing more.
Abigail nods, grabs her suitcase, and taps twice on the hood so Loretta will take off.
"Let’s go," she says, placing her hand at the small of Taylor’s back again.
In the terminal, Abigail takes care of everything, guiding Taylor like a disoriented pup that has lost her pack. Taylor follows her as if sleepwalking, grateful that Abigail is there, handling everything with the implacable efficiency that defines her.
"Thank you," Taylor murmurs while they wait at the gate.
Abigail turns to her slowly. She still can’t find the right words, but she surprises herself by moving close enough to pull Taylor in with one arm and kiss her forehead. She may be hurt, but she’ll be there for her whenever she needs her.
Taylor shivers so hard at that unexpected gesture that she drops her gaze, sinks her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie, and clenches her jaw to hold back a cry that this time isn’t because of the fear of what her brother has done, but because of everything she feels for the woman beside her and the frustration of having nowhere to put it.