Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
FRAIL
Wasp
A lazy morning saw Taylor and me sleeping late, cosy in our loft room in the shack and tucked around each other.
I made us a hearty breakfast which we ate overlooking the mountains, and happiness had my chest so tight I could barely breathe.
Twenty-four hours ago, I couldn’t have imagined this feeling—the sheer fucking joy of knowing she loved me.
My life had turned a corner.
My existence now centred around this silky-haired lass.
Perched on a white-painted wooden bench, tiny mountain flowers in clumps around her, she paused in her efforts of twisting her hair into a braid. “Will you do something with me?”
I glanced at her from where I packed the last of our things into the backpacks. “Anything. Always.”
That earned me a grin. Taylor finished the braiding job and leapt to her feet. “Follow me.”
I did, and we took the barely visible path around the shack and over to a rocky ledge. A rope marked the way to stop anyone from wandering over the edge.
Taylor stopped just in front of it and peered down. “Not quite a cliff, but it’ll do.”
I furrowed my brow. “What are ye talking about?”
“One of Charity’s diary entries was about standing on a cliff and yelling into a storm.” She waved a hand at the clear-blue sky. “The weather might be great, but I’m about to walk into a storm, so do me a favour and yell with me.”
I blinked at her then drew a breath.
“Aghh!” we both roared. Then I added a wolf howl, just in case anyone was listening and got worried.
Taylor faced me, small tendrils of hair framing her bonnie face. “I don’t want to leave.”
“We can come back one day. Or you might like the crofthouse just as much.”
I’d laid my heart on the line last night. Aye, I wanted her to live with me. I wanted everything with her, starting yesterday. She’d said the same, but now we had the broad light of day to contend with.
She had an existing life to unpack. Maybe jumping from that to life with me would be too much to handle.
She gave me a wary look from under her lashes.
Gone was the ballsy exterior she usually wore.
“I had this idea that I could go home with you. After I’ve seen my dad and when your work is done.
Not to sound too pathetic, but I don’t want to be apart from you. ”
“Aye, come back.” My heart raced. “We’ll call it a visit, then if ye want to stay, ye stay.”
Slowly, she nodded. “I don’t have much to bring. I could have my clothes and things shipped over, assuming Dad will kick me out. But I don’t own furniture or much of anything else.”
“I don’t own much either. Only what’s in my room in Castle McRae. The crofthouse doesn’t even have interior walls or plumbing yet. But it’ll be the priority as soon as we get back. We can stay at the castle until it’s ready, Callum and Mathilda won’t mind.”
Everything we’d buy would be ours. A bed, sofas, cupboards, plates.
Taylor inclined her head again, her hesitancy a counterpoint to my enthusiasm. I wanted this. She did, too. But baby steps. We had all the time in the world.
Fingers and lives now entwined, we made the hike back down the mountainside. After we’d handed in our rucksacks and thanked the outdoors store owner for the incredible stay, we returned to the car, ready to drive to Berlin. I felt a thousand times better.
Then I picked up my phone which had been abandoned to my luggage. “Missed calls from Reportage One,” I told Taylor.
She frowned, and I made the call.
“Mr McRae,” Claire, the office manager snipped. “I’m sorry, but we’re not going to change the plan now. Your replacement has been sent in for tonight.”
“My replacement?”
“You can resume the tour in New York but only once you’ve formally apologised to Mr Hamilton.”
Hamilton was Rex’s surname. “I’m not working tonight’s gig?”
“Did you listen to any of your voicemails?” Her tone turned sarcastic.
Well, fuck. I was in the shite. “My apologies. I’ve been out of network reach. I guess I’ll head straight to the States.”
“Do that. And try not to hurt any customers on this leg of the tour.” She hung up, and I swore at the phone.
Taylor pocketed her own phone and gave me a hug. “They cancelled your job?”
“Just for tonight.” I kissed her forehead and gazed into her eyes. “Where does Charity live? Can we visit her before my next job? I’m working the day after tomorrow in Manhattan.”
A smile spread over her face. “You really want to do that?”
“Aye. She’s important to you so she’s important to me.”
“You know, you are something else, William McRae. I doubt there’s another man alive who’s as perfect as you are. You must be worrying about your job but all you’re thinking about is how to make me happy.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“Yes!”
We pooled our efforts and found flights leaving Germany in the afternoon. Then we drove to the airport and got on a plane.
Taylor was right—I was worried about my job. My whole career, in fact. My chances of making it through probation were reducing with every step I took. Smacking Rex might’ve felt good, but I needed a career, and this opportunity had been hard fought.
“Note to self,” I said out loud as we settled into our seats and found an old movie to watch together. “Don’t hit the band. Repeat: Don’t hit the band.”
Taylor giggled then lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles. “I’ll stay far away so you just do your thing.”
“When will ye call your dad?” The plane sped down the runway, the G-force pulling us against our seats.
Taylor’s happy exterior evaporated. “Soon. I had a dozen missed calls and messages from him, so if I don’t speak to him, he’ll be looking for me. After we’ve seen Charity, though.”
“And together, if ye want,” I finished for her. “Then maybe if I still feel the need to punch someone, it can be him.”
We took off into the skies, heading for the US and a whole load of trouble. I had no idea what to expect from Taylor’s change of plans, but one thing for sure was I’d be at her side every step of the way. I’d make it right for her, if it was the last thing I did.
In a secluded, exclusive part of the Hamptons in New York, at a long, low building, Taylor rang the bell, her face pale and her fingers crushing mine.
After our flight, we’d slept the night in a budget hotel then driven out to meet her aunt.
All morning, Taylor had been quiet, her features pinched and an air of distress around her.
A small man dressed in a smart uniform opened the door. He took us in, then recognition dawned.
“Miss Vandenberg! I am delighted to see you again so soon. Please come this way.”
“Hey, Stefan.” Taylor greeted the man who gave me a handshake, and we followed him into a pleasant, modern hall then to a desk.
“I came here before I flew to Scotland,” she said in a low voice. “It was meant to be a reminder so I didn’t try to change my plans. Look how well that worked out.”
I gave her a squeeze. “I happen to think you made the best decision.”
“Oh yeah?” She grinned, but it was tainted with that same worry.
“Charity wasn’t feeling great when I saw her last. How’s she doing?” Taylor asked the receptionist.
“She’s still suffering, I’m sorry to say, but a visit from you will perk her up no end, I’m sure.”
The man signed us in then ushered us beyond another set of secure glass doors and into a sunny, wide lounge.
A green lawn spread beyond open doors, and patients sat with carers or visitors.
Not one of the patients looked over forty.
One woman played video games with headphones on, and a suited assistant read business emails to her charge.
“This is a care facility but also a rehab place for people who’ve had strokes or who have long-term conditions.
” Taylor’s gaze skipped over the people as we passed, and she smiled at one or two.
“It’s specifically for younger people. Charity used to say, before she lost her speech, that she would die of boredom in an old people’s home or a hospital. ”
“I didn’t know she couldnae speak.”
We exited the lounge and, in a colourful corridor of multiple doors, and with pop art on the walls, we came to a stop. Stefan poked his head around the door, and a nurse appeared.
She eyed me but spoke to Taylor. “Miss Allan has been under the weather. You can see her, but be aware that she’s become more vulnerable in the past week.”
Taylor’s shoulders rose an inch. But she blew out a breath and opened the door.
In the room, on a hospital bed with a bright blanket over her knees, Taylor’s aunt waited. Frail, she raised a shaking hand in a greeting. With her faded hair and high cheekbones on a gaunt face, she resembled Taylor so much it was like I already knew her.
But Christ, I didn’t expect her to be so poorly.
“Hello, I’m William McRae. I’m so happy to meet you,” I said gently and crossed to her bedside. I held back from taking her hand, not sure if I’d hurt her.
“My William. The one I told you about,” Taylor added, sidling up. Her gaze flitted over her aunt, her happy expression melting at what she saw.
“Ye talked about me before?”
Taylor bit her lip, and her aunt gave a weak nod, her eyes gleaming, and a sense of humour shining through her wasted exterior.
I chuckled, stifling emotion from witnessing this woman—Taylor’s most loved one—clearly so ill. So unlike the vibrant, joyful creature Taylor had described. All around us on the dresser and on shelves were pictures of them together. It was a shrine to their connection.
I clapped to dispel the heavy atmosphere. “Now I’m going to have to hear all about this. Come on, give me details.”
For the next thirty minutes, we sat at the woman’s side and talked, Taylor sharing stories of their previous adventures before starting on our more recent ones.
Charity’s nurse joined us and explained that the woman usually used an electronic speech programme but had been too tired after her recent illness to try.
Her hints were noted, and we made our goodbyes, leaving with a promise to visit again soon.
At the reception desk, Stefan approached Taylor, his mouth a thin line. “May I have a quick word with you in private?”
She flicked her worried gaze to me. “Be right back.”
They vanished into a room behind the desk, and I could only wonder at what news she was hearing. One thing about the morning’s visit had been patently clear—Charity wasn’t just in long-term care, she was gravely ill. I couldn’t imagine her leaving that room without suffering.
After she emerged, Taylor’s expression had changed from upset to anger. She strode outside, barely pausing for the doors to slide open.
I followed. “What happened?”
“Dad has stopped paying the bill for this place.” She gripped her elbows. “After I agreed to the engagement, he was meant to pay for a year in advance. He didn’t. I think you might be right in that he never intended to.”
“What does that mean for Charity?”
“The money runs out in under a week. They’ll transfer her to a state facility. They’re a business, you know? They don’t have a choice.”
I palmed the back of my neck, sticky with the humidity. “How much is it to stay here? Can we work something for a couple of months?”
Taylor named a figure. It was more than I’d earn for the whole of my Reportage One contract.
“That’s per week. The prices are insane.
It didn’t mean anything to my grandfather who started her treatment here a few years ago before he died, but what normal person can afford that?
I just handed over almost the entirety of my savings, and it has bought her a month.
A month! It’s because she needs around-the-clock nursing care now.
She didn’t before but she’s had pneumonia and—” Her voice broke, and she stopped.
“I asked Stefan how long she’ll need the extra specialist care for, and he put on this sad face, and I just knew he was about to say permanently.
I didn’t even get to tell her about her diary.
Ask her about the things she’d done or tell her how I’d followed them.
Do you know one of the longest entries is all about me?
She wrote how much she adored our visit.
I can’t just walk away from her. I can’t. ”
I wrapped her in a hug. “We won’t. When I get paid, we’ll add that money to the pot, too.” But at the rate this place spent money, we needed a longer-term solution.
Taylor remained rigid in my arms. “You’d do that without even blinking. You’re so wonderful. Do you want to hear the kicker?” I nudged her to continue. “Stefan isn’t even sure he can accept my money. Dad holds the decision-making powers over Charity. He can move her anyway.”
“Would he do that? Is there anything we can do to take over that control?”
Taylor didn’t answer; instead, her gaze distanced, and I didn’t like the look on her face.
We drove to the city, returning the car to the rental place.
With an hour to kill before I had to go to work, we needed food and to hug it out.
After the six weeks I’d spent in NYC, I would’ve been glad to steer clear of the place for a long while, but here I was again, in the centre of noise and fuss and just wanting to hold my woman until the angst went away.
“We’ll find a hotel for the night,” I decided, shouldering my camera bag and our holdalls. “When I get back, we’ll work on this.”
“I need to see my father.” She stared down the busy street, not meeting my eyes.
“Aye, we’ll go together. Call him. Set it up for the morning.” If she went now, I’d go with her, which meant a no-show for the gig. I’d lose my contract for sure, then I couldn’t help anyone.
For a moment, I expected Taylor to refuse, but instead she simply lifted her chin in agreement.
A wee while later in an overpriced box room of a hotel in Lower Manhattan, I kissed her goodbye. “I have to go.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
She offered up a ghost of a smile. “I know that, too.”
Pressing my forehead on hers, I stared into her blue eyes and tried to make an impression. “Don’t leave me, aye? I know today was rough, but we will find a way to make it work for her.”
Taylor pushed me to the door of our room then kissed me thoroughly. She stopped my heart, this lass, with her soft kisses and the tragedy she’d been trying to avoid facing.
“Go. Make your apology to that asshole Rex. Get your career back on track and stop worrying about me.”
That was impossible, but I left all the same. And every step I took away from Taylor, I felt the pull back to her. I just had to hope like hell that she’d still be waiting for me when I was done.