Chapter 14 #2
“Not this big. My mom’s theory was that I was overwhelmed and developing anxiety.
My world felt too big and my brain couldn’t figure out how to compute it.
So she’d make these little spaces—forts, mostly.
Sometimes just a closet with pillows and a flashlight.
Anywhere small and contained to make the world feel less big.
Said it helped reset my nervous system.”
“And it worked?”
“Every time. I’d crawl in, she’d bring snacks, we’d talk about nothing important, and eventually I’d pass out.
” He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it slightly.
“You said you couldn’t sleep after shows.
That your brain keeps running and you just lie there replaying everything. Figured it was worth a shot.”
My throat tightens unexpectedly. I think about all the post-show nights I’ve spent alone in hotel rooms, wired yet exhausted, doomscrolling until my eyes burned. All the times I wished someone understood what it felt like to come down from that high with no one to catch you.
“This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“It was nothing.” He shrugs, but I catch the softness in his eyes, the vulnerability he’s trying to play off as casual. “Tomorrow I should probably go back to being professionally distant and emotionally unavailable.”
“With no more hallway kisses?” I ask.
“No more hallway kisses.”
“Cool. Can’t wait.”
“But we still have tonight.” He gestures toward the fort entrance with exaggerated formality. “After you.”
I duck through the entrance flap, and the world shrinks in the best possible way.
Inside, the sheets filter the candlelight into something warmer and golden, transforming the sleek modern living room so it feels like a childhood memory I never actually had.
The cushions beneath me are soft but supportive.
Spices and sweetness and melted cheese perfume the air.
It’s cozy. It’s intimate. It’s the least fancy thing that’s happened to me in years, and yet this is the most luxurious feeling I’ve ever had. Seen. Supported. Dare I say…wanted? What kind of man builds forts for a girl he doesn’t want?
Taio follows me in, folding his long body into the space with more grace than should be possible for someone his size. He settles across from me, the cast-iron skillet between us like a centerpiece, steam still rising from the bubbling dip.
“Careful,” he warns as I reach for the bag of tortilla chips. “It’s still hot. I literally just took it off the stove.”
I scoop a chip through the dip anyway, blowing on it impatiently before taking a bite. The flavor explodes across my tongue—creamy cheese, spicy chorizo, the sharp kick of green chiles—and I actually moan.
“Mmmm. Oh my God.”
“Good?”
“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Oh fuck, it’s so good it hurts.” I dunk another chip into the dip, scooping out a greedy portion of cheesy, chorizo decadence. “So good,” I groan again through a mouthful.
“Okay, this is getting a little pornographic.”
I hand him a chip. “Dig in.”
“I would but I’m afraid of losing a finger.”
Another dip-loaded chip inches from my lips, I poke my tongue out at him. “I told you I was hungry.”
“Yeah, but I thought you meant ‘people’ hungry. Not ravenous-little-a-T-rex hungry.”
“Well, now you know I do not eat like a lady.”
He laughs. “My new favorite thing about you. Actually, nope. Eating like Cookie Monster is still second to your Looney Tunes T-shirt shrine.”
“Hilarious. Well, my favorite thing about you is the way you make cheese dip. What other hidden talents do you have in the kitchen?”
“Literally none. I can make exactly three things: this dip, scrambled eggs, and reservations.”
I laugh, nearly choking on my chip. He grins, reaching for his own snack, and for a moment we just eat—passing the skillet back and forth, occasionally reaching for Oreos or handfuls of Goldfish to break up the cheese intake.
Black Cat materializes from somewhere, using his truly unsettling ability to appear out of thin air. He inserts himself between us as if this spread is for him. He immediately begins stealing Goldfish from the pile near Taio’s knee, crunching them with aggressive satisfaction.
“Hey.” Taio nudges him gently with his elbow. “Those aren’t for you.”
Black Cat ignores him completely, selecting another Goldfish with deliberate care and consuming it while maintaining direct eye contact. Dominance established.
“He’s so obedient,” I observe, reaching for a gummy worm. “You’ve done wonders as a cat trainer.”
“I’m not fully convinced he’s a cat. He likes walks, belly scratches, and has stolen my shower on multiple occasions. I think someone bred this dog wrong. I genuinely don’t know why I keep him around.”
“Because you love him.”
“I tolerate him. There’s a significant difference.”
Black Cat, as if understanding the conversation, curls into a ball against Taio’s thigh and begins purring at a volume that seems medically improbable for an animal his size. Taio’s hand moves automatically to scratch behind his ears, completely undermining his protestations of mere tolerance.
Once my belly is comfortably protruding, I settle deeper into the cushions, pulling a throw pillow into my lap.
The combination of food and warmth and soft lighting is already working its magic—I can feel the tension from the concert starting to unspool, the hum of anxiety in my chest finally beginning to quiet.
“So,” Taio says, reaching for another chip. “Tonight. The concert. How are you feeling about all of it? Are you going to work in a piano performance for each stop moving forward?”
I groan, tipping my head back against the cushion wall behind me.
“Honestly? I don’t know. And I don’t want to think about it.
I’m sick of myself.” I stare up at the sheet-draped ceiling, watching the candlelight dance across the fabric.
“Tonight, I just want to talk about literally anything else. Tell me about you. Tell me something I don’t know. ”
Taio is quiet for a moment, his hand still moving absently through Black Cat’s fur. I prop myself up on my elbows to look at him—really look at him—and catch something vulnerable flickering across his face before he smooths it away.
“What do you want to know?”
“More about your mom.” I sit up fully, crossing my legs beneath me and setting the throw pillow aside. “You said she moved after everything happened? Was that hard?”
The silence stretches long enough that I start to worry I’ve pushed too far, asked for too much too soon. But then Taio exhales slowly, setting down his chip and brushing the salt from his fingers.
“It was all so sudden.” The words come out quiet, almost reluctant, like he’s not used to saying them out loud.
“I had a lot of guilt. All the nice things I had—my Bentley, my Stanford degree, my nice clothes and shoes. I can’t stop thinking about who actually paid for all of it.
But my mom didn’t feel guilty. She was angry.
She had no problem blaming my dad for what he did.
She wanted me to do the same. To choose sides. To choose her.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because my mom’s a wonderful human being. Her life will always be filled with love, friendship, and karmic blessings. I don’t worry about her. My dad? I’m it. The only person left who still wants to see him get out and get better. My mom has everything. My dad has…me. It was the only choice.”
“That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself.”
“Maybe. He’s my dad though, you know?”
“Yeah, I get it. Do you still talk to her?”
“Holidays. Birthdays. But no, not really. I think she’s mad at me for staying.
I think I’m mad at her for leaving. But I can only focus on one painful parental relationship at a time.
” He’s staring at Black Cat now, fingers still moving through his fur in slow, rhythmic strokes.
“Once Dad’s out and on his feet, I do want to see her again. Clear the air.”
The pain in his voice is so raw, so unguarded, that I have to physically stop myself from reaching for him.
“Taio, honestly? You have such a unique heart. I don’t think anyone on this planet deserves you.”
“Except for you, right?”
I flash him my most serious look. “Obviously. Because I’m perfect.”
He chuckles warmly. “You definitely are.” He waits for me to look at him, and there’s something in his gaze that makes my breath catch. “You’re easy to talk to, you know that? Dangerously easy.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant as a warning.”
“You don’t like talking to me?” I ask.
“No, I do. Way too much. I can’t seem to shut up when I should.”
I let the moment sit, giving him space to decide whether he wants to keep going or pull back. He takes a deep breath of relief and I take it as an invitation to go deeper. Get closer.
“What about your dad?” I ask softly. “You said he’s in Otisville. Do you visit?”
Taio’s hand stills on Black Cat’s fur. The purring continues, oblivious to the shift in atmosphere.
“Every other week.” His tone has gone careful, measured.
“I make the drive, sit across from him in that visiting room with the plastic chairs and the vending machines and the guards pretending not to listen. He’s fidgety and paranoid.
Otisville isn’t a maximum-security prison or anything, but the lack of freedom is driving him unhinged.
Sometimes I get glimpses of the man I remember from my childhood.
The one who taught me to ride a bike, who took me to Yankees games, who told me I could be anything I wanted when I grew up.
He’s more grounded when I visit. I’m a little worried about missing visitation this week, but he’ll be okay. ”
“You’re missing visitation?”
Taio shrugs. “How can I be there, when I’m here?”
“I feel like an asshole now. I didn’t realize what we were taking you away from—”