Chapter 39
Abigail's eyelids feel heavy when she wakes. She’s immediately aware she isn’t in her own space—she has been all night, drifting off and waking up over and over—but she can’t say she didn’t rest. She knows she’s alone in the bed even before she reaches for the side Taylor occupied; she knows because she doesn’t hear the soft murmur of Taylor’s breathing, the thing that kept her anchored to the bed all night long.
Abigail pushes herself up carefully and instantly feels a stiffness in her neck that makes her grit her teeth and hiss.
She moves it slowly and manages to turn all the way to the right, but when she tries the same to the left, she has to stop halfway because the tension locks her up.
She sighs and sets her bare feet on the floor.
It doesn’t feel that bad. Yesterday, when she heard the crack and felt the lash of pain, she thought she’d be stiff as a statue for days.
Then she looks around and, for a moment, the disorientation floods her again.
Not being in her room, in her space, wrapped in the safety of an environment she controls, makes it hard to breathe.
Everything here smells like Taylor, that soft perfume that’s seeped into her lungs and she no longer knows how to expel.
Her heart starts racing, but then her gaze lands at the foot of the bed, where Taylor has left a pair of shorts and a gray T-shirt beside a towel and a new toothbrush.
Something eases in the executive’s chest without her quite understanding why—maybe because it gives her a bit of freedom to shower without having to ask, or simply because Taylor is giving her the space to do things at her own pace.
She stands and walks naked to the bathroom, stepping under a shower so hot her pale skin turns red. When she comes out, she pads barefoot through Taylor’s apartment, looking for her until she finds her in the kitchen, seated at the table in front of a huge bowl of cereal with milk.
"Hi," she greets, almost whispering, leaning against the doorframe.
Taylor looks up and quirks one of her crooked smiles, taking in Abigail with those huge brown eyes and a warmth that disarms her.
"Morning. My clothes look good on you."
Abigail arches an eyebrow and looks herself over. Her bare legs because the shorts are very short, the overly loose T-shirt hanging off one shoulder.
"I’ll bet they do."
Her biting tone makes the singer smile. Taylor stands and approaches slowly, as if afraid she’ll spook her with any sudden move.
"Hi," she says again when she’s in front of Abigail, taking a damp strand of her hair. "Can I kiss you?"
The question catches Abigail a little off guard, but it pulls a half smile from her.
"My understanding is that’s what couples do when they see each other," she replies in that dry tone she uses for everything.
Taylor lets out a little laugh as she closes the distance and kisses her. The touch is soft and warm; it has nothing to do with the wet, furious kisses they usually share, and Abigail is so startled she doesn’t even move.
"Want to try that again?" Taylor laughs.
Abigail’s laugh slips out as a sigh.
"Yeah," she says, and Taylor kisses her again.
This time, Abigail does respond; she kisses her back, and she likes the feeling of closeness.
"How’s your neck?" the singer asks, eyes fixed on her collarbone.
"Better. A little limited to the left, but nothing serious."
Taylor slides a finger along the line of her neck. She does it very slowly, from the base of her ear to her collarbone, tracing back until she stops over one of the hickeys.
"Mine..." she repeats in a soft whisper that raises goosebumps all over Abigail’s skin.
When Taylor lifts her gaze, she finds the executive’s gray-green eyes fixed on her.
"Do you think I belong to you?" Abigail asks, her voice so sharp Taylor tenses.
"No one belongs to anyone, but I like to think that when you’re here, you’re just mine."
"Good answer. I hope you didn’t rehearse it."
"No," Taylor smiles. "Are you hungry? I can make you breakfast. We’ve got eggs, bacon, toast, cereal..."
"I’m surprised you’re not offering me a burger," Abigail cuts in.
Taylor wants to give her a playful nudge, but she stays still, watching Abigail as she absorbs the fact that she’s here, in her kitchen, after spending the night with her.
"Burgers are for dinner."
"Right. Coffee’s fine," the executive says.
"Just coffee? You don’t want me to make you breakfast?"
There’s a hint of disappointment in Taylor’s tone, almost imperceptible, but Abigail notices.
"I don’t usually eat this early. I just want coffee."
"Okay, sit," Taylor says, moving to the coffee maker to pour her a cup.
Abigail looks at the table. Taylor’s half-eaten bowl of cereal, the chair across from her, the space supposedly reserved for her, and she zones out, rooted in some other place she isn’t even aware of until Taylor sets the steaming cup of coffee on the table and turns toward the executive.
"Are you uncomfortable?" the singer asks, not coming closer, once again respecting her space.
Abigail’s gaze roams the room. It’s not her kitchen; she doesn’t know where things are or what she might find in the fridge if she decides to open it.
Taylor might be used to this—spending the night at strangers’ places or sharing space with people around her and not feeling uncomfortable—but it’s hard for Abigail, even if she wants to be with Taylor.
"I’m not uncomfortable," she answers as she walks to the table.
"You are," Taylor says, sitting across from her.
Abigail wraps the coffee cup with both hands, burning herself, but she doesn’t pull away because it forces her to stay anchored to reality.
"Look at me," she asks Taylor, with that commanding tone everyone obeys.
"What?" Taylor asks when she lifts her gaze and meets hers.
"You’ve got me beat at this, by a landslide. I’ve never done it, I’m not used to it, and it’s hard for me. I’m not uncomfortable with you, but I am out of my element and that makes me nervous, and you can’t expect me to adapt in a day," Abigail explains as best she can.
"You’re right. I’m sorry."
"I don’t want you to apologize," the executive goes on. "I wish I were different. I do nothing but complicate everything that should be simple, especially with you. Maybe I’m the one who should apologize."
Taylor smiles and slowly shakes her head as she dips the spoon into her bowl of cereal.
"I don’t want you to apologize either. This is who you are—I’ve always known it. Do you know you’re tense even when you sleep?" she asks, amazed.
Abigail frowns.
"That’s not true. You can’t know that."
"Why not? I’ve slept with you," Taylor says, not hiding how pleased she is about that fact.
"Because you fell asleep practically the second you closed your eyes," Abigail says between sips.
"But I woke up later, and you were sleeping stiff as a board."
Abigail stares at her, not knowing what to say. It’s probably true; sometimes she wakes up and every muscle in her body aches as if she’d spent the whole night bracing.
"You’re pretty even when you sleep, you know?" Taylor blurts. "Pretty and tense."
The executive feels her cheeks warm and decides to change the subject.
"I didn’t tell you yesterday, but I’m proud of you," she blurts out.
Taylor goes very still, spoon suspended in the air.
"Why?"
"For the contract, but mostly for staying true to yourself, for not letting anyone change who you are," Abigail says.
Taylor swallows.
"Even when I acted like a brat in that meeting?" she asks, feeling herself turn red.
Abigail laughs, and the way her eyes crease with the laughter makes Taylor’s pulse speed up.
"Especially then," the executive admits. "I could’ve strangled you with my bare hands at the time, but you were only defending who you are, and there’s nothing braver than that. I hope you don’t forget it."
"Thank you," Taylor murmurs.
"Come here," Abigail says, turning in the chair to rest her back against the wall as she pats her thighs.
Taylor blinks, a little confused, but she’s quick to get up, come closer, and sit in her lap, looping an arm behind Abigail’s neck.
"I’m really sorry I was such a bitch to you..."
"Abby..." Taylor says.
"Don’t interrupt me." Abigail looks her straight in the eye, brow furrowed as she brushes the hair from Taylor’s forehead. "It wasn’t okay. I could’ve handled things in a lot of ways, and I chose the worst."
"You were scared."
"That doesn’t change what I did, and stop interrupting me," she demands flatly.
"Okay," Taylor smiles, overwhelmed.
"I’m still really scared," Abigail admits. "I’m scared I’ll mess this up with you, I’m scared I won’t know how to adjust, and I’m scared you’ll think I’m not trying—but I swear I’m going to make an effort."
"I know you will," Taylor says, "and I’ll help make it easier."
"Oh, yeah?" Abigail raises an eyebrow.
"Yeah," Taylor smiles, leaning in toward her mouth.
"And how are you going to do that?"
Now she moves to her ear.
"By loving you every day."
Abigail walks into her apartment after lunch.
Erin is on the couch, feet on the coffee table and the TV remote in one hand as she flips through channels looking for something that catches her eye.
She looks up and arches an eyebrow when she sees her sister dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie that is obviously not hers.
"My God, I swear it’s like you’re ten years younger," she says, sitting up straighter.
Abigail sighs. If this had happened weeks ago, before her panic attack, she would’ve simply greeted her sister and walked to her room to change, then grabbed her laptop and gotten to work. Now, however, she walks over and sits beside her, though she isn’t quite sure what to say.
"Looks like things went better than well," Erin comments with a mischievous smile, leaning in to move a lock of hair from Abigail’s neck.
The executive bats her hand away with a smile, but she can’t keep Erin from seeing the hickeys because they’re too obvious.
"It didn’t go badly," she answers, sinking her hands into the front pocket of Taylor’s hoodie.
"Is that all you’re going to tell me?" Erin gets up, drags a chair over, and sits right in front of her sister.
"What do you want me to tell you?" Abigail frowns.
"Whatever you want, Abby, but give me something. You spent the night with her, and for you that’s, well..." Erin smiles. "You must be a little disoriented."
"A little," Abigail admits, smiling, "but I’m fine."
"I’m glad." Erin gives her a gentle tap on the leg. "So now what?"
"Now?" Abigail asks, thrown.
Erin huffs, frustrated.
"You are so difficult sometimes," she says with a resigned shake of her head. "You and her, Abby. What are you going to do? Keep fucking? Try for something more? Leave it as a fling?" Erin spreads her hands.
Abigail feels like she can’t quite breathe. If the situation is new to her, defining it is even harder.
"We’re going to try," she snaps.
Erin wants to bang her head against the wall, but she takes a breath and calms herself, knowing Abigail is like this and she can’t push her.
"You mean you’re dating? As in, a couple?"
Abigail blinks.
"Yeah, I guess."
"You guess?"
"Erin, you’re stressing me out," Abigail snaps.
Erin lets out a loud laugh.
"Okay, sorry. You’re dating," she confirms. "And how do you feel about that?"
The executive looks at her while she thinks over her answer.
"I feel nervous, disoriented, and scared," she admits slowly, "but I’m also happy and excited; it’s all a very weird mix. Starting something serious with Taylor is like a new stage, like launching a new project where I have no idea what tools I need to make it work, and I don’t know how to work without tools—but even so, I’m willing to go find them wherever I have to. "
Erin smiles at her fondly.
"I’m very proud of you," she says, leaning forward to take her hand. "And I’m really glad you have this, Abby—you deserve to be happy."
"I stepped down as her agent; I’m no good for her if I’m both," Abigail blurts, as if she needs to make that clear.
"I know. Liam told me at dinner when you went out to the balcony to find Taylor," Erin replies.
Abigail nods.
"Do you think I did the right thing?" the executive asks.
Erin squeezes her hand tighter.
"I think that only shows how good you are for her, and I think you’ve finally chosen to put your feelings ahead of business—and it was about time you did, Abby. Fuck, I’m just so happy for you." Erin throws herself at her, tipping her over to one side of the couch.
Abigail lets out a groan in the middle of the hug when her neck protests, but Erin doesn’t let go and she doesn’t push her away either; they just settle in and, while Erin puts on a movie, Abigail lets herself close her eyes and rest for a while instead of getting to work.