Chapter 35
"Does it hurt?" Taylor asks as Abigail massages the back of her neck as best she can.
They've been silent for so long during the flight that the executive startles when she hears her.
"It's just a bit of discomfort," she lies, dropping her hands. In truth, it hurts quite a lot; on top of that, her head is foggy from the hangover.
"You're always like this; you should see a doctor," Taylor comments, turning back to the window.
She's been that way the entire flight, staring off into space, but at least she's calm, as if a hush had followed the storm and left her drained. Abigail has tried to close her eyes several times and just can't. She can't relax, which is why her neck hurts so much.
When the plane lands, the same scene as in New York repeats itself. Taylor trails after her like an automaton while Abigail heads to the car rental counter and gives the clerk such an icy look that he rushes to help her so she'll leave as soon as possible.
Taylor sits beside her without a word, buckling her seat belt while Abigail adjusts the mirrors and enters the hospital address into the GPS.
She doesn't turn on any music; the only sound inside the car is the engine.
Abigail doesn't mind—she likes the silence and is grateful for it, because the ache in her head has intensified and now it hurts more.
"Do you want anything?" she asks when she stops at a gas station halfway there.
"No," Taylor answers.
Abigail gets out anyway to pump gas and goes into the shop. When she returns, she sets a sandwich and a bottle of water on Taylor's lap.
"Eat," she orders, starting the car.
"I'm not hungry," Taylor mutters.
"Eat," Abigail repeats with a growl.
Taylor huffs, but unwraps the sandwich and takes a bite, tasting nothing, yet keeps eating.
"What about you?" Taylor asks.
"I don't feel like it," Abigail answers.
"Then why do I have to eat and you don't?" the singer protests.
Abigail glances at her sidelong as she thinks about what she said.
"You're right. Don't eat if you don't want to," she replies without taking her eyes off the road, but Taylor keeps eating.
When they reach Smithville, Taylor feels a dizzy flutter in her stomach.
She's home again. Here the streets are narrow compared to the city; she missed the wooden porches, and she lowers the window to let in the smell of wet grass from the yards.
Abigail watches her in silence; even she feels a certain familiarity with this town where she spent just over three weeks and, somehow she can't explain, grew to like it.
When they reach the hospital, Abigail parks near the main entrance and turns toward Taylor, who remains motionless in her seat.
"Are you okay?"
Taylor exhales hard and her lower lip trembles frantically for a second.
"Yeah," she answers, though her voice shakes.
"Hey," Abigail says. "This isn't your fault. I need you to remember that every second you're in there."
"Aren't you coming in?" Taylor asks.
She knows she doesn't need Abigail—her family's inside and she's an adult more than capable of facing this—but she feels more confident with her at her side despite the mess they're in.
"I am coming in with you, but I need you to remember that," Abigail insists.
"I will," Taylor assures her, and they both get out of the car.
Abigail walks a couple of steps behind her through the hospital as they head toward the hallway they were directed to when they came in.
She just wants to stay close enough to step in if Taylor needs her, while giving her space to face this her own way.
As soon as they turn down the last corridor, Taylor spots her sister at the far end of the next.
Tiffany gets up from the chair where she's been waiting and goes straight to her, hair in a messy bun and dark circles carved deep.
"Mom must not have called you," she says, hugging Taylor tight.
Abigail stops several yards away and leans back against the wall, arms crossed, watching them. Her posture is completely rigid, uncomfortable in the presence of something that feels too intimate.
"How is he?" Taylor asks near her sister's ear.
Tiffany pulls back and flicks a glance at Abigail, who remains motionless like a marble statue, then focuses on her sister again.
"Stable."
"I want to see him," Taylor says, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her hoodie.
"Wait, Taylor, I want us to talk first," Tiffany asks.
Taylor frowns and lets her sister guide her to a spot near one of the windows. Abigail doesn't move from where she is, respecting their family space, but she can't take her eyes off Taylor.
"Ethan is physically fine," Tiffany says.
"What do you mean?" Taylor asks, a chill slicing down her spine.
Tiffany clears her throat and wraps her arms around herself, searching for the right words to make her sister understand.
"The doctor said the number of pills he took wasn't lethal, not even dangerous. In fact, he told Mom what he'd done as soon as he took them. He knew exactly what he was doing, Taylor," she says, biting her lips, not sure how to go on.
Taylor blinks, not understanding any of it.
"What are you saying, Tiff?"
"That he did it for attention," Tiffany explains, jaw tight. "I suppose he's testing a new form of manipulation. He knew Mom would call you, and he also knew you'd come running."
Taylor steps back, dizzy; suddenly her hands feel numb and her stomach churns.
"That's impossible," she murmurs, dazed. "Ethan wouldn't do that." Tears start pouring down her face.
Abigail goes rigid.
"He did, and if you go in to see him, you'll be showing him his method works, so he'll repeat it every time he wants your attention.
"Stop," Taylor whispers, feeling her legs give out. "Stop, Tiff."
Tiffany grips her by the arms and looks her straight in the eye.
"You can't go in, Taylor. If you want to help him, you have to leave."
"He's my brother, Tiffany," she murmurs, sniffling.
"And mine, sweetheart, but he's also a manipulator who just emotionally blackmailed you in the cruelest way I can imagine. And he didn't care about hurting our parents in the process. Don't play his game, Taylor, please," her sister pleads.
Taylor grabs her ponytail—she wants to yank her hair and scream at the top of her lungs—but instead she looks toward where Abigail is and meets her gray-green eyes watching her, telling her she's there only for her.
"I can't see him," she murmurs, more to herself than to her sister.
"You shouldn't," Tiffany says. "At least not now, not while he's here."
Taylor nods and wipes her tears again, though they keep streaming.
She feels a toxic mix of anger, pain, and a sense of loss she didn't know you could feel.
She has just lost her brother, and not because he's dead, but because she's just realized the Ethan she thought she knew apparently never existed.
"Go home with Abigail," Tiffany says, handing her the set of keys she pulls from her jeans pocket. "Get some rest, and tomorrow we'll talk more calmly."
"Are you staying here?" Taylor asks.
"I'll stay with Mom for now; I'll go home later."
Taylor takes the keys, but when she's about to walk over to Abigail, her father appears in the hallway and Taylor leaps into his arms as if she hadn't seen him in years.
"It's good to see you, sweetheart," Patrick Davey says, lifting her off the floor as he squeezes her tight.
Since Taylor is with her father, Tiffany takes the opportunity to approach Abigail. The executive tenses completely when Taylor's older sister stops in front of her, folding her arms just like she is.
"Thanks for coming with her," Tiffany says. "You didn't have to."
Abigail stares at her before answering.
"There are plenty of things I shouldn't have done with your sister, but this isn't one of them," she says flatly.
Tiffany nods, glancing for a second toward Taylor, who has sat down with her father in the chairs along the wall.
"You're right," Tiffany says, "and if it helps, I was the one who encouraged my sister to go out with other people."
Abigail holds her breath for a moment, pierced by something that makes everything sting inside, yet she keeps her expression impassive.
"It was good advice," she replies curtly.
Tiffany gives a bitter little smile.
"It was shitty advice, Abigail. My sister is in love with you, and she's not ready to be with anyone else yet—and I'd have realized that if I didn't live on the other side of the damn country."
Tiffany's words hit Abigail like a hammer blow. The air jams in her throat, and her heart feels like it's going to smash her ribs if it keeps pounding this hard. In love. Abigail doesn't even know what to say to that.
"I find it impossible to know what you think," Tiffany goes on. "You're the most closed-off woman I've ever met in my life, but if you can't give my sister what she needs from you, I'm asking you, please, to stay away from her. I know you have more people at your agency who can handle her career."
Abigail starts to feel her hands shake and the same pressure in her chest that threatened to kill her yesterday in her office, but she refuses to let it devour her. Right now she has to hold it together in case Taylor needs her, so she just nods at Tiffany's words.
Tiffany returns to her sister and father, and Abigail stays put, so emotionally drained she doesn't see Taylor coming until she's right in front of her.
"Shall we go?" the singer asks. "I'm tired."
Abigail looks a little further down and realizes Tiffany and her father are gone.
"You're not going in to see your brother?" the executive asks.
"No. I'll tell you in the car," Taylor replies.
And she does. On the drive from the hospital to Taylor's house, the singer explains the conversation she had with her sister. This time she doesn't cry, and all Abigail hears in her voice is anger.
"I'm sorry this happened," Abigail says after listening to the whole account in silence.
Taylor turns to her as Abigail is parking in front of the house.