Page 32 of Wish We Were There

Parker wanted to say more, but Taylor was already walking away, heading for the narrow staircase. He couldn’t manage to get anything out before Taylor had disappeared down the stairs, leaving Parker alone in the green room. He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair in frustration. As much as he’d tried to go into the day without expectations, somehow this still felt like a setback, especially after the conversation they’d just had.

But he really did think it was best to take things slow. Wasn’t it? Surely Taylor wanted the same thing as him—to proceed with as little risk as possible to the friendship they already had. He’d even said he didn’t want to paint Zach in a bad light after his death, so waiting before jumping into a relationship only made sense, too.

Clearly, though, he was missing a piece of the puzzle—not that Taylor seemed keen on telling him what it was. So with a sigh, he pushed the thoughts away, before standing to follow Taylor down the stairs. He had a job to do, and if he kept busy, he wouldn’t dwell on the unsatisfying conclusion to their conversation.

Chapter Thirteen

Taylor

There was something wrong with him. There had to be. That had to be it—that had to be the reason why, after everything, Parker still rejected him.

Everything in Taylor’s body had become numb the moment Parker started talking about taking it slow and stepping back—it was all just a nice way of turning Taylor down. Again. Last time, it felt like shame would set him on fire; now, though, cold seeped from his heart through all his extremities, like all the will and warmth had finally been sapped out of him.

The rest of the afternoon went by in a blur—he wasn’t even sure if he and Parker spoke at all after their conversation in the green room—and then he went home, where he immediately stripped naked and stood in the shower. Hot water streamed over him, but he still shivered with cold. He put his face directly in the spray until his hair was soaked, and he almost couldn’t breathe.

It didn’t help.

Taylor choked, turning his face away from the hot water. Half-coughing, half-sobbing, he pushed his wet hair out of his face and pressed his back to the wall of the shower, sinking down until he was sitting in the tub with his knees pulled up to his chest, water splashing on—

His cast.

“Fuck!” he cried, yanking his arm out of the way of the water. It had become such a habit that he just held his right hand above his head whenever he showered, but now he hadn’t been as careful. It wasn’t too bad—it hadn’t been directly under the water for more than a few seconds—and he stumbled out to dry it off quickly. Still, it only made him feel more stupid, more worthless.

He couldn’t do anything right. He hadn’t been able to keep Zach with him. He hadn’t been able to convince Parker to be with him. He couldn’t even manage to get the damn cast off his arm that had probably been healed as long as it’d been broken by this point.

When his cast was dry, he ended up sobbing in a heap of towels on the bathroom floor, the shower still running. He wasn’t sure how long he spent there.

Had he cried this hard for Zach? Had he been this miserable when they decided to split? When had he fallen out of love with the other man, that parting ways didn’t hurt nearly as bad as being rejected by Parker?

He didn’t even have the band anymore. All that was left was him. And the Caesura Room.

Taylor stayed in bed all the next day, ignoring the texts that he got from Parker and Kylie and everyone else. He didn’t want to deal with any of it. He didn’t want to do anything at all.

When the sun had started going down, his bedroom dim enough that he began mustering the willpower to get up and turn on the lights, his phone rang. It was Kylie—he let it ring a few more times before guilt prompted him into finally answering.

“Hello?” he croaked out, his voice raspy with disuse.

“Jesus, Taylor, are you alright?” Kylie’s voice came from the other end. “You sound like shit.”

Taylor sighed, unsure how to answer. “Uh... I’m okay.”

Kylie was silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her tone was far less teasing. “What’s wrong?”

“You called me,” Taylor huffed. “What do you want?”

“Mostly I wanted to make sure you were alright. You usually text me back,” she replied. “You don’t sound okay, though. Should I come over?”

“No,” Taylor said automatically, then groaned. “Well... Maybe. I don’t know.”

“I’m coming over. Have you had dinner?”

“No.”

“I’ll pick up takeout on the way, then. Text me what you want. I’ll stop at that Chinese place on the corner.”

“Kylie,” he started to protest, already regretting that he’d caved so quickly. “You don’t have to, really.”

“I’m already getting ready to leave, Taylor,” she retorted. Her voice sounded more distant; she had put the phone on speaker, and he could hear rustling and movement in the background. “Don’t try to lie to me. It’s been long enough now that I can recognize your voice when you’re spiraling, and I promised I’d get you through this. So I’m coming over.”

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