I feed her the line, and she recites hers. We go over it a couple of times and then move on to the next scene. She hits every cue like it’s no big deal. But it’s a huge deal, and I want her to know it.
“You’re doing amazing,” I tell her at the end. “I like the way you put the inflection on the question in that last line.”
She turns more fully to me, adjusting her seatbelt as she shifts in her seat. “You can give me notes.”
“Pass you a note like we’re in grade school?”
“Tell me how I could do better.”
I glance over, and my dick pays zero attention when I command it not to twitch. ++
“How about a song?” I suggest. “We’ve got about ten minutes until we’re at the rehab center.”
Taylor glances toward the back seat. “He’s drooling a little.” Her smile is gentle. “I don’t want to take a chance on waking him up.”
“I bought those noise-cancelling headphones,” I tell her. “They’re top of the line. It would take an act of God to wake him up.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, Tinkerbell.” I try not to let the emotion I can’t deny feeling creep into my voice. “I need something to distract me.”
She takes a deep breath. “Fine. This is one of my go-tos when I’m nervous. The year Mom and Dad put me in ski lessons, I sang it down the mountain every run.”
I laugh softly as she begins the first line to a song I recognize. She flashes a grin, but her voice doesn’t falter. Singing about whiskers on kittens and woolen mittens, her voice is like a balm to my soul.
The tight knot of nerves in my chest starts to loosen like she’s unraveling it one note at a time.
She might remember her favorite things when feeling sad, but I know what I’ll remember for the rest of my life: this moment. And the fact that, without a doubt, Taylor Maxwell is my favorite thing in the whole world.
While I’ve never considered myself possessive, it’s going to kill me to let her go.
Although maybe not as much as it would to risk keeping her and then losing her later. That would be more than I can handle, so I won’t try.
She finishes the song just as I pull into the rehab facility’s parking lot.
“Thank you,” I say. I want to lean across the console and gather her in my arms, but instead, I reach to the back seat and gently jostle my nephew’s knee. “We’re here, buddy.”
He opens his eyes and yawns. “Quick trip.”
“Easy peasy,” Taylor agrees. “I’m excited to meet your mom. Thanks for inviting me.”
“She’s the one who wants to meet you,” he says noncommittally, but I can tell he’s glad Taylor’s here. So am I.
I cut the engine, and the silence that follows feels deafening.
“I think we’re ready,” Taylor says gently, and something in her tone tells me she knows. Today is a strange sort of goodbye, and tomorrow, the careful distance we’ve been maintaining will become a chasm neither of us will try to cross.
“Yeah,” I lie, squeezing her hand once before letting go. “Let’s go.”
31
ERIC
I signus in at the reception desk, and we head back to the community room where Jen is sitting at her usual table. She’s curled her hair and is wearing a bit of makeup. I’m guessing this is for Taylor’s benefit, and not because my sister needs it. She’s beautiful even at her lowest moments, and now that she’s healthier, Jen is movie-star gorgeous with her dark hair, olive-toned skin, and light brown eyes.
She hugs Rhett, flashes me a peace sign—which makes me chuckle—then turns to Taylor. “I’m Jen Anderson.”
“Taylor Maxwell,” Taylor says with a warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you. You have a fantastic son.”