“That being said,” said Bud, “Walter was the love of my life. And fifty-five years is a long time to be missing a part of your soul. Fight for love with everything you’ve got, Taylor. You don’t always get second chances.”
Taylor brushes away the tears that have leaked out of the corners of his eyes. He can’t believe he’s going to listen to a figment of his imagination, but, yeah, he is. Within five minutes, he’s booked a flight home and ordered a taxi. He showers and packs up his stuff. The scent of coffee lures him downstairs to find Suzan breaking eggs into a bowl and a pitcher of pancake batter sitting on the counter.
Dark purple slides into orangish-pink out the window.
“Hey,” he says, dropping his duffle.
She whirls around at the sound. “You’re leaving.”
He pulls her into a hug. “I have to, Suze. Noah and Emma need me more than Bud does. Please understand. Please be the one person not giving me any grief about this. I love him and if I can salvage our relationship, then I have to try. And that means I have to be there before the hearing.”
“Okay, Taylor, okay…” she mumbles into his chest. “What am I going to tell everyone?”
“I’ll call Mom and Dad from the airport, okay? I’ll tell them the truth, Suzie Q. If this family can’t cut me some slack after everything I’ve done, then, I don’t even know. But funerals are for the living, not for the dead, and the best way for me to honor Bud’s memory is by going after my man.”
Chapter Fourteen
The last twelve hours have been a whirlwind of activity. Between the taxi ride from his hometown to the airport, the flight with a two-hour layover in Chicago, and a two-hour taxi ride home because of an accident, Taylor’d spent all day traveling. Add on the three days of crazy back home and not getting much sleep last night, he’s exhausted. He showers and repacks his duffel bag. He’s got a couple of errands to run and another three hours of driving ahead of him, though. He has to get to Noah.
He hits another McDonald’s for something really bad for him but comforting. The cashier does a double take when he hands her his debit card. The excited expression that takes over her face brightens his outlook a little. At least someone is happy to see him. With a wink he doesn’t really feel, he hands her an autographed picture from the stash in his glove box and a twenty-dollar bill. “For you. Have a good evening.”
Her “Oh my God, thank you” helps to thaw the cold ball of worry sitting in his stomach a little more.
Once he leaves the Fort Worth city limits, he tries to remember his and Noah’s fight, to remember again what he said, to work out what he’s going to say. Although there’s not much to say, really, except the truth about why he went dark, and hope that that’s enough to get Noah to agree to a conversation about his epic fuck up.
Even if things don’t end up working out, Taylor still needs to be there to show his support in whatever way Noah will let him. His knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel. The thought of Noah losing Emma makes him sick; he can’t imagine how Noah’s feeling.
It’s just after seven p.m. when he pulls up to the curb in front of Mrs. Drinkwater’s house. Noah’s truck is parked in the driveway. Taylor’s hand trembles as he pulls the key from the ignition.
Mrs. Drinkwater’s house is a three-story Victorian with a sky blue, teal, and cream color scheme. It’s comfortable-classy Bohemian and nothing like the farmhouse he grew up in.
Taylor grabs a couple of things from the back of his Wrangler and plods up the stairs. He sees lights on, so someone’s home at least. He rings the doorbell and waits. His heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest and his stomach gurgles with nerves.
The door swings open and Noah stands there in a pair of shorts and a turquoise-colored polo shirt that makes his eyes look like tropical lagoons. Emma’s perched on one arm. Noah’s mouth drops open and then snaps closed again, his jaw clenches. Emma spots Taylor a moment later and a gummy grin spreads across her chubby cheeks. She swings his direction, and Noah has to steady her with his other hand to her side.
Tears sting the corners of Taylor’s eyes. He’s missed his Pretty Pretty Princess more than he realized. He wants to swoop her up and cuddle her close. But he can’t. Not yet anyway.
Taylor holds up the mini Rotors jersey with Noah’s name and number on the back he bought in one hand—it was the only thing he could think of on short notice that signified Emma becoming Noah’s—and a large bouquet of coral-colored roses in the other. “Hi.”
Noah’s gaze skims Taylor’s offerings, Taylor’s slacks and button-down, and meets Taylor’s gaze. “What are you even doing here?” he asks. “I don’t need this right now.”
Noah’s terse, but not overtly rude. Taylor will take what he can get. “Look, Noah…”
“I can’t.” Noah steps back.
“Uncle Bud died,” Taylor blurts. “I flew home.”
Noah halts and his face contorts through several expressions. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Taylor. How was the funeral?”
Taylor shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s not until eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Noah blinks, cocks his head as if he can’t quite grasp what he’s hearing. “Tomorrow?”
Taylor nods.
“Why aren’t you in Foley?”
“Because I needed to be here.”
Mrs. Drinkwater appears at Noah’s elbow, a neutral expression on her face. “Hello, Taylor.”
“Hi, Mrs. Drinkwater, it’s good to see you again. I wish it were under different circumstances.”
“Me too, sweetheart.” She reaches for Emma, who’s wearing pink polka-dotted pajamas. She’s got one sock on and the other is missing. “Let me take her, hmm?”
“Thanks, Mom.” Noah hands over Emma.
Taylor hands over the jersey.
“Thank you, Taylor. This is precious.” She gives him a look and a nod that tells him she understands his intent. The ladies disappear up the stairs.
“Why aren’t you in Minnesota?” Noah asks again. “At your uncle’s funeral.”
Okay, so they’re doing this on the porch. Taylor’s fine with it. It’s happening; he’s not going to gripe over location.
“Remember what I told you about Uncle Bud?”
“Of course.” Noah’s blue gaze is steady, but his expression is wary. His hair and beard have been trimmed. He looks good.
Better than good and Taylor wants to hug him, and be hugged by him, so bad. He shrugs away the urge to pull Noah close. Noah may not want that ever again.
“As far as I know, I was the only one Bud ever told he was gay. And last night, or, rather, early this morning, after I’d listened to your last message—”
Noah presses his lips together, looking uncomfortable.
Taylor shakes his head minutely. “It’s fine. I was lying in my nephew’s bed crying, and—”
Noah’s eyes go wide now.
“—a conversation I’d had with Bud when I was seventeen came back to me, and I realized that if Bud were alive, he’d smack me upside the head and tell me to get my ass on a plane. To go get my man. So I did. Get on a plane, that is. No matter what happens between us, I knew I had to be here for you for the hearing.”
“Taylor, I—”
“I hope you’ll give me chance to explain, and I know now’s not the time, but I was your friend before I was anything, Noe. I care about you and I care about Emma. So whatever you need, even if you need me to go away, just tell me. But you have to know I’m so, so sorry about the things I said. I was stupid and wrong, and I’m sorry.”
“Okay.”
Taylor blinks. Did he just…? How can it be this easy? “Okay?”
“Um, yeah. Apology accepted?”
“Is it?”
Noah’s eyes close and he drops his chin to his chest. That broad, well-defined chest, encased in snug-fitting turquoise cotton, rises and falls several times before Noah looks up again and nods. “Yes. I guess you should come in.”
Holding up the roses again, Taylor steps into the foyer.
“Roses, really?” Noah’s brow arches. “Isn’t that a girl thing?”
“That’s why I didn’t get red roses, but I ran out of time today and I couldn’t get downtown to that old bookstore you like so much. But I didn’t want to show up empty handed, so…”
“Well, thanks.” The door whispers shut. Noah takes a tentative sniff and a soft smile appears on his face. Hope flutters in Taylor’s heart.
Taylor follows Noah to the kitchen.
He sits at the kitchen table, an old scarred thing with mismatched chairs. Noah digs out a vase and puts the flowers in it. The sound of singing floats downstairs.
“For what it’s worth, my phone died on the plane, just as I was going to text you. Once I got it charged, stupid thing after stupid thing happened to keep me from making that call. It seemed like some higher power wanted me to really think about things. I didn’t listen to your messages until last night.”
Noah leans against the counter and crosses his arms. His biceps stretch the sleeves of his polo. “You could have called. I mean yesterday or today from Minnesota. I would have understood. I mean, I do understand about funerals and family stuff. And your Uncle Bud. Cripes, Taylor, you didn’t have to come home.”
“But I did have to. Come home. Don’t you see? You and Emma mean everything to me. And I needed you to know that. Even if you don’t want to work things out, you need to know that.”
“Taylor…” Noah cocks his head, swallows.
“I’m so in love with you, Noah, it isn’t even funny.” It’d taken losing Noah for Taylor to realize just how much.
“What?” Surprise drops Noah’s jaw and he plops into a chair.
“I love you. I know I’ve done a shitty job of showing it, but I do.”
“God, Taylor, that’s…that means a lot to me.” A flush spreads up Noah’s cheeks and a shy, pleased smile tilts his lips. He reaches across the table and takes Taylor’s hands.
Taylor’s heart thumps hard and he clutches Noah’s hands tightly. He doesn’t want to ever let go again. If he gets his second chance, he’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen. He just hopes he hasn’t fucked things up so badly Noah won’t give him one.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to say it back, but I don’t want things to be over between us, Taylor. I missed you so much this past week. Emma did too. And I’m really, really glad you’re here.”
Taylor goes dizzy in relief and lets his forehead thunk to the table top. He doesn’t care that Noah’s not ready for I-love-yous. Taylor’s been nursing a crush for years. Noah’s only had weeks to develop any sort of feelings. Taylor can definitely wait.
“Hey, you all right?” Noah asks.
Taylor looks up. “I know we still need to talk about what happened, but I promise never to be that stupid again.”
“Hey, I’m sorry too.”
Taylor scoffs. “For what?”
“I’m not the easiest person to be with. I should have had more patience.”
“You’re allowed to get insulted or mad and to need some space. You don’t have to be sorry for that.”
Noah accepts Taylor’s words with a nod. “Okay. That goes for you too.”
“Okay.” Taylor offers Noah a small smile. “Can we try that conversation again later? I mean in a day or two or whatever. The one you wanted to have.”
“That’d be good.”
“You boys need more time to kiss and make up?” calls Mrs. Drinkwater.
Noah snorts, but Taylor’s grateful for the interruption. Even though he wants their relationship to be fixed right now, it’s an unrealistic expectation, and things are getting a bit deep. Besides, he wants to hold Emma.
“No, Mom. We’re fine.”
Taylor stands and presses a kiss to Noah’s forehead and mouth. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “for giving me another chance.” He turns as Mrs. Drinkwater and Emma enter the kitchen. “Pretty Pretty Princess,” he says, plucking her from Mrs. Drinkwater’s arms and cuddling her close. She smells the way babies should, sweet and powdered and like clean laundry. Emma burbles and smacks his face. “I missed you so much, Ems.”
“Noah, why don’t you and Taylor go out for a bit?” says Mrs. Drinkwater.
“What? Now?”
“It’s not that late. Aiden’s been asking about you.”
Noah looks over at Taylor. “You want to?”
“Yeah, sure. I’d like that.” It’s a start. Taylor’ll take it.
“Emma needs a bottle, Taylor. I imagine you can handle that while Noah changes?”
“I’d like that too.” He nods. “What say we get a bottle, Ems?”
“Why do I need to change?” asks Noah.
“Because, you do. Now go.”
* * *
Noah slips into the guest room he’s using and sags against the closed door. Perhaps his mother knows him better than he gave her credit for. Seeing Taylor had been a shock. And, yeah, he’s grateful for a few minutes to process.
Taylor’s back and their relationship isn’t over. No, he’s not thrilled about Taylor going incommunicado for three days, but he believes Taylor’s explanation. Since Noah needed some time, he needs to afford Taylor the same courtesy.
Noah takes a deep breath. He missed Taylor so much. More than seems possible after barely a month. Happiness and relief fill him in equal measure.
Taylor’s filled a void Noah didn’t realize he had. If you’d asked him six weeks ago if he was happy with his life, he would have said yes. Sure, he wanted a family and someone to spend his life with, but he’d fully expected it to be years before that happened for him.
To end up with a kid and a boyfriend in the span of three weeks is some wicked karma. To lose one of them within another three was a blow.
Aside from the sexual aspect of their relationship, Taylor’s easy and entertaining to be around. He adds a dimension of fun to Noah’s life that wasn’t there before. His acceptance of Noah’s asexuality had been an amazing surprise. The fact that Taylor loves Emma as if she were his own blood is icing on the cake.
And even though Taylor had gone about resolving an issue without Noah’s input, Noah can see now that he was trying to do the right thing. The fact that he’d been willing to forgo sex rather than just take what he wanted without thought for Noah’s needs or break up with Noah rather than go without sex says a lot about Taylor’s feelings for Noah.
Breaking up with Taylor over the phone had been hard and shitty and so not what Noah’d wanted to do. It seemed like his only option if Taylor wasn’t going to communicate for days on end. Lack of communication had gotten them into that mess in the first place.
But Taylor’s back and things between them are forgiven if not yet completely ironed out. Yes, they need to have a few more conversations, but Taylor’d flown home to be here for Noah and that’s…that’s everything.
And although he wants to be mad at Taylor for missing his uncle’s funeral, Noah’s so glad he’s here, so glad he’ll be at the hearing that he can’t hold on to any sort of anger. That’s pretty crappy, but he’ll apologize for it later.
Enough contemplating though. Taylor’s downstairs and Noah’s had enough being apart.
He shucks his shorts and pulls on a pair of slacks.
Noah stops in his tracks as he comes around the corner into the living room. The sight before him warms him so deep, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be cold again.
Taylor’s sitting in the rocking chair, with Emma cradled close. She’s got her hand on his cheek and there’s such an expression of adoration on Taylor’s face that Noah’s breath stalls in his windpipe. He certainly couldn’t ask for a more loving co-parent.
He pulls his phone out as quietly as he can and snaps a picture. Taylor looks up then, grins, and sticks his tongue out. Noah laughs and snaps another picture. He’s going to hang those up.
* * *
O’Leary’s Pub has a brick façade with three sections
of lead-paned windows on the first floor and two sets of casement windows on the second. Warm light shines brightly from the lower windows, the upper windows are dark. A neon sign hangs on the brick between the sets of windows. A pair of old barn doors make up the entrance.
Noah snags Taylor’s hand as they walk to the door.
Taylor tugs Noah to a stop. “Is this a date?”
“I guess it is, yeah.”
“We’re seriously doing this?” asks Taylor.
“Going out on a date? Looks like it.”
Taylor lifts up their hands. “Being a couple in public public.”
“Of course. Do you not want to?”
Excitement and happiness thrum in Taylor’s veins. He can’t believe they’re doing this. They should probably shoot a text to Jimmy and Shae in Media Relations, but it’s his and Noah’s first date. Surely the two of them can enjoy this momentous occasion without involving the team?
“No, I do. I just…” Okay, so he’s a little nervous. Which is so not like him, and he’s not even sure why. They’re in Ten Rigs, which is probably the best place, outside of his own hometown, to come out to the world. It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. Nothing’s going to happen. He takes a breath and smiles at Noah. “Let’s do this.”
“They’ll probably be showing one or the other of the playoff games.”
“Meh.” Taylor shrugs. “I think I’m ready for some hockey. So much has happened since our season ended. And after all the excitement of this week, I could use something soothing.” He knows hockey, he loves hockey. The sting of not making the playoffs after getting so close had been erased by Emma’s arrival and the change in his and Noah’s relationship.
Noah snorts, but he’s nodding. “A playoff game soothing?”
“It’s soothing by virtue of being hockey and us not being exhausted and playing with injuries.”
A large cheer erupts as they enter, and, sure enough, Taylor sees hockey on a handful of screens. Baseball plays on most of the others. One TV shows a cable news network.
Rock the Cradle of Love Page 14