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December 9, 2022
Someone shouted, “Refill!” as the ice bucket crashed open again, sending a fresh wave of cold, clinking cubes sliding into the highball glasses. The scent of bourbon, perfume, and December air mingled in the kitchen like a wild cocktail. Taylor already felt flushed from it all.
She swayed through the hallway with a half-empty wine glass, hips loose, deep-navy dress clinging to one thigh and hiked slightly on the other. Her hair was coming undone in layers. Her lipstick had faded but left a soft, bitten pink at the centre of her mouth.
Everyone was here. Or at least everyone that mattered—Abigail, Selena, Ashley, Gigi, Este, Danielle, Alana, Zoe, even Brittany and Lyndsay with their postpartum glows. Taylor had already rocked baby Sterling twice, and her whole body ached from how badly she missed it; the newborn phase. The weight of something brand new pressed against her chest. She hated herself for even thinking it.
Three. They had said three. And it had almost broken her to get there.
Travis was over near the bar in his office, leaning back with Ross, Channing, Harrison and Isabelle. Taylor’s heart flipped when she saw him like that—so at ease in his own skin, still the most beautiful man in any room. Not just because he was so damn tall or extremely wide or an amazing father, but because he was hers. He looked over just as she tilted the wine glass to her mouth.
She sauntered over, hips swaying. “Kelce,” she said, stepping into his space, finger tracing a line down the middle of his shirt. “You look like a million fucks tonight.”
Ross choked on his drink.
Travis raised his eyebrows, a slow smile spreading. “That’s what we’re going with?”
“That’s what we’re going with,” she said, sliding a hand to his chest, thumb dragging over the fabric like she was warming her palm. “Will you come dance with me?”
He set his glass down and took her hand, letting her lead him across the hall and into the living room. The music shifted to something sinuous; something with a beat that crawled under the skin. It wasn’t a fast song. It wasn’t even a classic. But it had that grind to it, that deep-down pulse that hit her in the stomach, in the hips, in the places she couldn’t name when she was sober.
‘Cause girl you’re perfect. You’re always worth it.
And you deserve it, the way you work it, ‘cause girl you earned it, yeah
She pressed her back to his chest, reaching up to loop her arms around his neck as she started to grind against him to the beat. She wanted to be good, she really did, but her body had a memory all its own. She rolled her hips more slowly, and the hem of her dress started creeping higher while Travis’s hands landed heavily at her waist.
“Oh my God, Taylor!”
“Bets on a pregnancy announcement in a couple months?”
“Hell no,” Travis muttered in her ear, voice a thread of heat. “Ignore them, baby. Don’t even let that shit get to you.”
She let her head fall back to his shoulder, laughing. Her neck was warm. Her cheeks were glowing. Her thighs trembled from the music and the wine and the weight of his hands on her body again, lighting her up. But even through the fog, she knew what they weren’t saying out loud.
“You remember New Year’s Eve 2011?” she asked distractedly, hips still rocking.
Travis froze, then groaned against her neck. “Baby, you’re about one second away from getting bent over this speaker.”
She cackled and kept dancing. He was so warm and glittery with sweat. She loved the feeling of being pressed so close to him when he was like this. She ground against him like no one else was in the room, like she couldn’t feel their friends watching or the cameras sneaking videos. Travis moved with her, restrained but hot under the collar, one hand drifting up to the side of her waist, the other steady low on her hip.
The song tinkled into a deeper beat, a sensual R&B track with a slow build, and that’s when Taylor turned to face him, arms slung loosely around his neck.
Her lashes fluttered. “That penthouse in New York. The dress. The first time you came inside me.”
“Stop it, Swift,” he whispered, but he kissed her anyway.
She kissed him back, mouth parted, tongue exploring, wine-sweet and demanding. It felt like time folded in on itself, like New York, like her twenties hadn’t ended and her body hadn’t bled out between babies, and this wasn’t the last time she’d ever feel this young. She moaned into his mouth, and he pulled her tighter.
We both still young, so what’s the rush?
The night is young and we not drunk enough
“You…are drunk,” his voice rumbled against her lips. “So fucking drunk, sweetie, you’re gunna regret it tomorrow.”
“It’s not every day you turn thirty-three.”
“Mmm, few days yet, baby.”
“So,” she said, brushing her nose along his cheek, “is thirty-three more fun than thirty-two, Mister I-know-more-than-you-because-I-am-older Kelce?”
He laughed into her mouth. “You tell me, birthday girl. You’re the one dry humping your husband at your own birthday bash. Sounds like a pretty fucking sweet birthday to me.”
“I’m just celebrating.” Her lips brushed his jaw. “And pretending we’re twenty-two again. That’s allowed, right?”
“Fuck, Tay,” he groaned, hands gripping her hips harder now. “You keep this shit up, I’m gunna carry you upstairs and remind you exactly what twenty-two felt like.”
She smiled dangerously and leaned in to bite gently at his bottom lip. “Promise?”
His breath stuttered. One hand anchored at her hip while the other slipped under the front of her dress. His fingertips grazed the soft skin above her knee, then higher, brushing the damp silk between her thighs. Her whole body jolted. Then he pressed in, just enough to make her gasp.
I’m not afraid to explore my body, ooh, gimme that feelin’.
Now we can watch TV or play a CD, maybe that sexual healin’.
She whimpered into his mouth. Her hips twitched forward, knees nearly buckling. The room was spinning now. She needed water. Needed a breath. She kissed his cheek, gave him a soft, apologetic look, and whispered, back in a minute, before slipping away barefoot through the hallway.
Taylor stumbled into the bathroom and let the cold water run for a while, pressing her wrists under the stream until her skin prickled. She bent over the sink, splashed her face, blinked back the wine-fuzziness, and reached for the hand towel. Her mascara had smudged in the corners, her lipstick was half gone, and her hair looked like it had danced harder than she had.
After chugging a glass of water and catching her breath, she slipped out of the en-suite, pausing to give the cats a few lazy head scratches on her way past. Her legs still felt a little wobbly as she stepped into the hallway. She could hear the party downstairs—someone cheering, the music kicking back in, the clatter of another round of ice hitting the bottom of the metal bucket on the bar cart. The sounds drifted up the stairs like the tiny bubbles in champagne, light and fizzy, rising fast and popping against her skin.
She pushed open Marnie’s bedroom door with two fingers and peeked in.
Pink neon light filled the room. Jack was passed out in Marnie’s bed, arms flung wide like he’d landed from a great height, all elbows and knees and already looking too lanky for six.
On the floor, Marnie and her two best friends, Ashley and Sienna, were sitting cross-legged in a nest of blankets and Squishmallows, whispering and giggling like teenage girls talking about their first crushes. There was something about the way their heads tilted toward each other, the conspiratorial closeness, the half-hidden smiles behind cupped hands, that made them look suddenly older. Older than Taylor was ready for. It hit her all at once, a flash of Abigail’s bedroom in high school, the two of them lying belly-down on the floor with Seventeen magazines and peanut butter M&M’s, whispering about boys and dreams and who they might grow up to be.
You’re the only friend I need, sharing beds like little kids, and laughing ‘til our ribs get tough
Taylor stepped inside and plopped herself down at the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle Jack.
“Well, well, well,” she said, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “What’s going on in here? Secret pillow fort meetings without your queen?”
“Hi, Mrs Kelce,” Sienna and Ashley giggled in unison, still focused on their plushie sorting system.
“Mom, you reek of wine. Oh my gosh.” The 10-year-old scrunched her face and leaned in for a dramatic sniff.
Taylor gasped and pressed a hand to her heart. “Excuse you.”
“You do,” Sienna said. “You smell like grape lotion.”
“Well,” Taylor said, raising her eyebrows, “maybe grape’s Tom Ford’s hottest new scent.”
“You having fun?” Marnie asked now.
Taylor nodded. “So much fun, Marnie-moo. You all coming down at some point?”
She reached over and brushed a hand through Jack’s hair. It was damp and tangled and soft, and he didn’t even stir. Andrea had taken Lila for the night, bless her, so for once there wasn’t a 2-year-old curled up under Marnie’s bed pretending to be a kitten or catapulting into a dramatic bedtime meltdown. It felt weirdly calm up here, cozy; a pocket of peace in the middle of the party.
“I think I heard your dad and Selena whispering about lighting the cake. And I’m pretty sure I saw Ross try to use a lighter earlier and nearly set the charcuterie board on fire, so we may be on a countdown clock.”
“Cake?” Marnie’s head snapped up.
“Cake,” Taylor confirmed. “But you gotta hurry. There are a lot of large football dudes down there, and they will absolutely inhale every last piece before I even get a chance to make a wish.”
The girls dissolved into laughter.
Taylor stayed a moment longer, soaking them in. The little knot of girls who had grown up right alongside her daughter, who had built forts in her basement and danced to Dua Lipa in the kitchen and still called her “Mrs Kelce” even though she begged them a hundred times to call her Taylor. She loved them. She really did.
Their parents—Steve and Marissa, Cory and Lorelai—were downstairs right now, probably still circled up near the island, drinks in hand, laughing like they always did. The six of them had been in it together since pre-K; side by side for every birthday, every school pickup and talent recital and chaotic sleepover.
Maybe it was the wine or the late hour or the way the house felt so full, but something about it made her eyes glisten. Her heart always felt a little too big when she looked at the three of them together like this.
Take pictures in your mind of your childhood room.
Memorise what it sounded like when your dad gets home.
Remember the footsteps, remember the words said, and all your little brother’s favourite songs…
She let out a quiet breath and stood, smoothing the front of her dress. “Alright,” she said, heading for the door. “Come down if you want cake. Or don’t. But if you wait too long, I’m making your dad blow out the candles and steal my wish.”
Marnie rolled her eyes and said there was no way she’d let him ruin her favourite birthday moment. Taylor grinned, winking. She tousled each of the girls’ hair as she tiptoed through the sea of Squishmallows, then pulled the door gently closed behind her, the echo of their laughter still trailing after her down the hallway.
December 10, 2022
Taylor shuffled into the kitchen with the hangover from hell. Her mouth was dry, her eyes were screaming in pain against the light, and her hair was a disaster. She’d barely managed to tug on a Chiefs quarter zip and a pair of grey cotton shorts before stumbling downstairs. She looked wrecked, but she felt worse.
Travis was already up, shirtless in sweatpants, leaning over the island with one elbow braced on the counter, flipping through game tape on his iPad. He looked steady and annoyingly awake, brows slightly pinched as he watched something back in slow motion.
“Morning, birthday girl,” he sang cheerfully, not looking up.
She grunted in response and wandered to the other side of the island, where he was already reaching to pour her a cup of coffee. She could smell it before she tasted it—strong and nutty and sharp in the best way—and she wrapped her hands around the mug like it might save her from barfing before breakfast.
“Is it still my birthday weekend, or did I sleep past Christmas?”
“That tequila fear is kicking in quick, huh?”
“Yeah. Fuck,” she winced. “Are the kids still asleep?”
“Like little logs,” he said, eyes still on the screen. “Didn’t even flinch when I popped my head in. Jack’s still in Marnie’s bed.”
Taylor yawned behind her mug. “I swear they’d sleep through a fire alarm. You know Lila’s probably been awake since four,” she snorted. “I haven’t even checked my phone yet. What’s the bet that my mom’s already texted asking when I’m coming to collect our feral child?”
He laughed and finally glanced up at her, offering her a wide smile.
Taylor let out a soft sigh and leaned her hip into the counter, hair falling into her face as she took another sip of coffee. She watched as Travis glanced down at his iPad again and she took a moment to really soak in her surroundings. The house was still messy from last night. A wine glass on the windowsill. A streamer on the floor. Recycling stacked by the porch doors.
“You have time for breakfast before the airport?” she asked, tilting her head toward him.
He winced a little. “Wish I did, sweetie. Told Coach I’d get to the facility early. Pat and I want to go over a few things before we leave.”
She pouted dramatically. “So rude. I was gonna make you toast or something.”
“Damn. My favourite.”
She leaned her elbows back on the counter, mug resting in both hands, and looked up at him through heavy lashes. “You’re so annoying. So jobful. So busy and important and always leaving me before I can make you toast.”
Travis smirked and pushed off the island, moving toward her with that slow, flirty swagger that made her whole body tense in anticipation. He came up behind her, one hand slipping beneath the hem of her hoodie and dipping into her shorts, his palm spreading over the curve of her ass. His other hand came up, grazing her ribs, then her chest, then wrapping gently around her throat from behind.
He leaned in close, his breath warm against the shell of her ear.
“D’you remember what you said last night?”
Her stomach flipped. “Mmhm. I wasn’t that drunk.”
“You sure ‘bout that?”
His hand moved lower, fingers pressing gently between her legs through the cotton. Her breath caught in her throat and she tilted forward, hips rocking back into his palm. He let out a quiet hum and rubbed slow circles until she gasped softly, both hands gripping the edge of the counter.
“Trav…”
But he was already sinking down behind her.
She blinked as her shorts and panties were tugged down in one smooth pull. The cool air hit her first, then his mouth. She braced her forearms on the counter, and her knees nearly gave out the second his tongue dragged from her clit to her opening.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. He hummed into her, and the vibration made her hips jerk. She was still so sensitive from the night before, and the shock of his mouth on her so early, and so suddenly, made her dizzy.
Travis licked her like he had all the time in the world; funny considering he didn’t even have time for breakfast just two minutes ago. Long, fluid strokes that lingered at her clit, then dipped low again, teasing at her entrance. He alternated his rhythm, like he was cataloguing every flicker of reaction she gave him. And she gave him plenty. Whimpers. Stuttering gasps. The occasional choked-off curse into her forearm.
One of his hands slid lower to hold her open, his thumb just barely grazing the underside of her. The other moved up, palm smoothing up her spine, then down again, soothing and steady as he worked his tongue deeper.
Her thighs had started to shake again, and the raw heat of his mouth, paired with the obscene wet sounds echoing in the quiet kitchen, roared in her ears so loudly she had a fleeting, half-dazed panic that one of the kids might wake up and wander downstairs. The worry vanished when his tongue lapped rapidly at her clit.
She gasped. “I’m gonna…Travis…I’m gonna come…”
He pulled back for just a second, groaning, and pushed two fingers inside her. “Mmm, do it then, sweetie. Come on my tongue,” he growled, and buried his face in her again.
Taylor bit her bottom lip so hard she tasted blood. He sucked at her clit now, tongue circling. Her whole body locked; she could feel the orgasm coiling deep in her belly. One of her knees buckled but he caught her immediately, one strong hand braced under her thigh, adjusting her stance without missing a beat.
Her hips ground into his mouth, breath catching, shattering open as her fingers curled against the counter. He held her through it—tongue still working her and coaxing out every last tremor. When her body began to shake and she whimpered a quiet, broken please, he finally slowed. But he didn’t pull away completely.
He straightened behind her, his hands still resting on her hips. Her shorts were pushed low around her thighs, and she stayed bent over the counter, dazed and breathless.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
“Y-yeah. Jesus.”
He leaned in close, lips grazing the back of her neck.
“Is it okay if I fuck you?” His hand slid beneath her sweatshirt, dragging slowly up her spine. “Right here, baby. Just for a minute.”
She arched slightly, hungry for more. Her breath hitched and she turned her head just enough to glance at him over her shoulder. “You really asking me that like you don’t already know the answer?”
Travis let out a quiet groan and pressed a kiss to her cheek, fingers already digging into her hip like he was trying not to lose it.
Taylor turned slowly, the fabric of her shorts slipping to her ankles as she faced him. Her hands landed on his bare chest, then slid up the back of his neck, pulling him in until their mouths met. He was already hard, pressing against her through his sweats. He reached down and pushed them low enough to free himself. She didn’t even wait; she hitched one leg up around his hip and guided him into place.
“Yeah?” he breathed heavily against her lips.
“Now,” she whispered, nodding. “Please, Trav.”
He pushed into her slowly, steadying her with one hand clamped beneath her thigh. Her broken gasp caught in his mouth, arms clinging tighter around his neck as her body opened around him. She dropped her forehead to his chest with a shuddering breath and choked on a whimper as he sank in deep.
And I want you now, wanna need you forever, in the heat of your electric touch
She was still slick from his mouth, still reeling from the wonderful orgasm. He moved carefully at first, letting her adjust. But it only took a few strokes before she was gasping again, breaths shaky and catching on every deep thrust, her heel digging into the back of his thigh to pull him deeper.
His grip tightened around her waist and then he was pounding into her with that delicious rhythm she craved. Her back slammed into the counter, the edge biting into her spine, her sweatshirt pushed up from where his hand clung tight at her waist—but none of it mattered. She didn’t care. Her second orgasm was rising fast, blinding in its intensity. The stretch, the noisy slap of skin against skin, his filthy grunts in her ear. Oh God. She let go with a ragged cry, shuddering as the waves crashed over her like an endless tide pulling her under.
“Trav! Don’t come inside me,” she gasped. “Pull out. Please.”
Travis growled, hips pumping once, twice, then pulled out quickly, wrapping a hand around himself. He bunched the sweatshirt up beneath her breasts and came in hot, thick ribbons across her belly, chest heaving, forehead still pressed to hers.
“Oh. Oh, mmm,” Taylor squeaked.
Travis let out a soft, breathless laugh and reached for the dish towel draped over the sink. He wiped his load from her skin, then tossed the towel aside and leaned in to kiss her again. His hand slid down between her legs, fingers stroking softly over her still-sensitive skin and spreading the wetness.
Wintergreen kiss, all mine.
“Don’t want you to forget me while I’m gone.”
“I won’t,” she whispered, arching into his touch. “God, I love—”
Thud, thud, thud. The unmistakable sound of tiny feet raced across the second floor, and they both flinched. Taylor blinked hard, lips still parted, heart suddenly pounding for a whole new reason.
“Shit,” she breathed.
December 13, 2022
Travis’s Hummer crunched up the long gravel drive toward Prairie Farm. It still felt deliciously rebellious, pulling the kids out of school early just because it was Taylor’s birthday and Travis’s day off from practice. Marnie had the window rolled halfway down despite the chill, her phone out and recording the approach. Jack, in the middle seat, was riveted with excitement, firing off multiple questions, “Do you think they let you chop the trees down yourself? Like with a saw? Or an axe?”
“You’re not getting an axe, Jack-Jack,” Taylor said immediately from the passenger seat.
Jack made a face. “Why not?”
Travis caught Taylor’s glance and smirked. “You want to explain to your mom why you’re missing a finger by Christmas, little dude?”
Taylor reached back and patted Jack’s knee. “You can help pick, not chop. Deal?”
“Fine,” he huffed, but his excitement barely dimmed.
Travis parked, and they all climbed out in a flurry of scarves, mittens, and puffy coats. One of Taylor’s security detail stepped out of the SUV behind them, quietly syncing up with the staff already posted at the farm.
The entrance to Prairie Farm looked like it had been plucked straight from a holiday movie—arched wooden gates wrapped in garland, red ribbons fluttering gently in the icy breeze, and the scent of pine and woodsmoke thick in the air. A sign near the barn read: Welcome to Prairie Pines Christmas Tree Farm—Tree Lot, Sleigh Rides, Cafe, Santa’s Workshop.
Taylor took a deep breath, and for a split second, it hit her like a snowball to the chest. The pine-heavy air, the ribbons, the rows of trees, it all tugged at something deep in her memory. She had grown up in a place not so different from this—a Christmas tree farm in Pennsylvania—where her birthday always collided with December chaos. Trucks rumbled in and out from dawn to dusk, families spilled across the gravel lot hunting for the perfect tree, carols crackled through tinny speakers, and steam curled from paper cups of hot cider. She remembered the smell of fresh-cut pine clinging to her clothes, her frostbitten fingers from helping drag trees across fields, and through it all, her parents worked tirelessly to carve out a pocket of celebration for her.
It had been magical and a little overwhelming. And now, standing here with her own kids, doing something not so different on her birthday, it felt bittersweet. Like she was straddling time. A mom now, but still that little girl somewhere inside, waiting for someone to sing to her over a cupcake while a tractor idled nearby.
“Okay, guys. Let’s make this quick-ish!” Taylor said. “We’re looking for three trees. The big one for the den, one for the dining room, and one for upstairs on the landing.”
They passed a pen of baby goats dressed in tiny plaid blankets that delighted Lila, who giggled and clapped in her stroller. A staffer first pointed them toward the cafe, and Travis gratefully accepted the suggestion. The kids were already pink-cheeked and chilly.
In my heart is a Christmas tree farm, there's a light in the barn, we'd run inside out from the cold
They claimed a table near the fogged-up window while a cheerful barista delivered hot chocolates in chunky, icy-blue mugs, each one piled high with marshmallows and a mountain of whipped cream. Marnie and Jack’s eyes nearly popped out of their heads. Lila blew on her marshmallows with such dramatic gusto she almost tipped her own mini mug, but Taylor caught it just in time.
Across the table, Travis was watching her. She could feel it. She looked up, met his eyes over the rim of her mug, and smiled.
“Happy birthday, Tay-Tay,” he said. “Thirty-three looks hot on you.”
She rolled her eyes and nudged his shin with her boot. “You say that every year.”
“Because it’s damn true every year.”
After everyone was recaffeinated and warmed, they made their way back outside. Snow flurries had begun to drift lazily down. Marnie marched ahead, determined to find the second tree. Jack dashed and ducked between rows, calling out things like, “This one’s shaped like a giant butt!” or “Too broccoli-looking!” Meanwhile, Lila was bundled and content in the stroller again, eating graham crackers and babbling to Taylor about every twinkling light she saw.
In my heart is a Christmas tree farm, where the people would come to dance under sparkling lights
Travis flagged down a tractor cart to help carry their first tree back to the loading zone. He and a farmhand secured the tree to the flatbed while Jack scrambled up onto the rear platform, little boots clanging against metal. He grinned over his shoulder, eyes bright with mischief and pride.
“Jack!” Taylor hissed, adjusting Lila’s stroller as she turned sharply. “Get down, please. You’ve been told already.”
“I’m just watching, Mommy!” He insisted, but he wasn’t steady. His footing slipped, one foot catching the edge of the rail. He tried to jump clear, but it was too fast and too off-balance. The sound of his body hitting the hard-packed dirt came with a sickening thud.
Taylor’s heart lurched. She dropped the diaper bag where she stood and ran, the stroller rolling a foot before stopping. She definitely didn’t feel the biting cold anymore, just the nausea in her gut and the desperate pounding in her ears.
Jack was crumpled on the ground, howling, one arm clutched tight to his chest. His little body was shaking, his knees scraped where his denims had torn, and blood pouring down from above his brow where he must’ve hit the edge of the cart.
Please, don’t cry no tears now, it’s Christmas, baby
Travis was already there, dropping to his knees like the wind had been knocked out of him. “Hey, hey, Buddy. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, okay? Let me see. Can I see?” His voice was calm, but Taylor could see the panic behind his eyes.
She fell to her knees too, tights soaking up the dampness, her breath fogging in front of her as her hands hovered uselessly. “Oh fuck, he’s bleeding, Travis, he’s bleeding!”
Jack howled again. “It hurts! It hurts, Daddy—my arm—my arm!”
Taylor reached out and brushed the hair from his forehead gently, her fingertips trembling. The blood made her stomach turn, it was so much.
Marnie came flying over, slipping a little on the icy path in her hurry. Her face was ghost-white. “Is he going to be okay? Mom? Is it broken?”
Taylor pulled her close with one arm around her small waist, stretching to kiss her cheek. “I don’t know, babe. We’re figuring it out.” She could feel Marnie’s heart racing beneath her coat.
From the stroller, Lila began to scream. Her wail was shrill, rising in volume until it cut like a siren through the tense silence. Taylor spun toward her, hands shaky, and hurried to the stroller. Lila was already thrashing in her seat, boots kicking, face blotchy with fear. Taylor fumbled with the buckles, finally freeing her and lifting her against her chest. The second Taylor’s arms wrapped around her, Lila clung to her, little fists tangled in Taylor’s coat.
Beside her, Drew appeared, crouching to press a warm cloth to Jack’s brow.
Jack’s sobs didn’t stop. “Don’t touch it! Daddy, don’t let Mr Drew touch it! It hurts!”
Travis glanced up at Taylor, eyes tight with concern. She nodded, barely able to find her voice. Her throat ached from the tightness. She looked down at Jack again, her heart breaking open, and whispered, “Jack-Jack, hey, look at me.”
He sniffled. “I don’t want stitches, Mommy.”
Jack looked so small, so sad, and she wanted to steal every ounce of pain from him. Lila whimpered against her collarbone; Taylor stroked her back with one hand, rubbed circles into her coat while trying to keep her own breathing steady.
The SUV suddenly came skidding around the path. One of her security guys hopped out before it fully stopped and yanked the back door open wide.
She followed Travis and Jack, her heart hammering so hard she could feel it in every pulse point. The moment they reached the vehicle, Travis climbed into the back seat with Jack. Taylor handed Lila to Drew for a split second so she could climb in beside them. Lila immediately reached for her again, shrieking with fresh panic at the brief separation. Taylor took her back, settling her on her lap as she buckled her in, shushing her. Marnie slid into the seat on Taylor’s other side, still pale and wide-eyed.
After a rapid-fire debrief on the hospital route, and Drew barking orders to someone over the phone to collect the Hummer, the SUV lurched into motion, tires spitting mud as the farm fell away behind them.
The analgesic shot knocked him out fast. Jack slumped in his booster, utterly still, sleep weighing down his small body. He tucked his good hand beneath his chin; dried tears streaked his flushed cheeks. His nose stayed stuffy from all the crying, and wet, congested snores slipped out of him, each soft, ragged exhale catching in his throat before fluttering away like a sigh. A temporary cast cradled his arm, thick padding guarding the swelling. Two fractures. Six stitches above his brow. In a few weeks, doctors would take another X-ray and decide whether he’d need surgery.
Taylor didn’t realise she was staring until she blinked and looked forward.
Travis had given Marnie his phone after her dramatic meltdown in the waiting room when her own battery died. Now she sat quietly sniffling beside Jack, earbuds in, watching the newest episode of Theodosia. The whole incident had shaken her; she was far too quiet for her usual self. Every now and then she flicked her eyes toward Jack, then back to the screen, as though she needed the reassurance that he was still breathing. God, she really was the sweetest kid.
Lila had entered her post-chaos chatter phase. She babbled non-stop, strings of nonsense syllables mixed with genuine words: “Jack fall…goat blanket…tree big…Mommy warm…doctor sticker…” Taylor leaned toward her daughter with the same earnest focus she used when listening to lyrics while editing in the studio.
“Oh really?” she replied, wide-eyed. “The goat said moo? That’s crazy. No way, Lils. And the tree had sparkles? Wow. You have to tell me more.”
Her tone was lovingly enthusiastic—every bit the mother trying to keep her shit together. Travis kept glancing over, the corner of his mouth twitching up each time Taylor pretended she understood every sound Lila made. He loved her like this: tired but tuned in, heavy with worry but still showing up for every moment.
He let one hand drop from the wheel and reached across the console, fingers finding the curve of Taylor’s thigh. But Taylor flinched almost imperceptibly.
“Don’t,” she said sharply, eyes still on Lila in the rearview. Her gaze slid to the window, her breath fogging a tiny oval on the cold glass. She sighed as the familiar gated entrance rose into view, headlights washing over the stone pillars.
Travis’s hand hovered for a moment too long before he pulled it back to the wheel. He tried not to let it show how much the rejection stung.
She heard him clear his throat—he only did that when he was frustrated—and the Hummer veered smoothly through the community gates. Taylor was replaying the hospital in fragments: Jack trembling while the nurse cleaned the cut; the way his little fingers clenched Travis’s shirt; the smell of antiseptic; the doctor explaining the two breaks; the temporary cast; the follow-up appointment for a plaster cast; the possibility of surgery.
But the memory that gutted her, the one she kept circling back to, was the moment Jack got his stitches. He had cried so violently that he’d made himself throw up. Travis had leaned over him, brushing his hair back, whispering, “You get one brave stitch for every year of your life. How sick is that, big guy? You’re gunna show them off at school. Your friends are gunna think you’re basically a superhero.” Jack had tried to giggle through his tears, lips trembling too much to manage it. But he had tried, because his daddy asked him to.
Travis swallowed hard as they rolled up the driveway, but the sound of it felt louder than the engine. Taylor winced at the thick, unspoken thing sitting between them. She kept staring out the window, trying to calm her mind by tracking the blur of their Christmas lights as they flickered past, but even that gentle brightness felt jagged tonight.
The house loomed ahead, welcoming and festive and entirely at odds with the sharp, brittle air inside the car. He eased the car toward the garage, and she could feel the weight of his glance—quick, pained, questioning—before he looked forward again. It hit her like a tap to a bruise she’d been pretending didn’t hurt. God, she wished he’d just be angry too—anger she could brace against. But the way he swallowed it down so it wouldn’t spill onto her was worse.
I lived like an island, punished you with silence.
Went off like sirens, just crying.
Taylor had barely been holding it together since the hospital, through the drive home, through the front door, through the chaotic shuffle of coats and bags and the weight of everyone’s frayed nerves. But as she lifted Lila onto the kitchen island and eased off her muddy wellie boots, she felt something in her chest finally start to split.
Marnie’s voice broke the fragile quiet. “Mom? Can we…have some birthday cake before dinner?”
“Sure, babe. Go ahead, grab the plates,” she managed, her voice paper-thin as she nodded at Marnie. She slid Lila gently to the floor and gave her a little pat on the butt. “Go find Daddy, Bubs.”
Lila toddled off, and Taylor didn’t even try to mask the wobble in her steps as she turned and walked away. She made it up the stairs with tears already spilling, streaking faster as she stumbled into their en-suite, the soles of her tights skidding on the tile. The sound that clawed out of her was barely human. She gripped the counter, shaking, as images of Jack flashed too brightly behind her eyes.
She twisted the cold tap on full blast, cupped her hands beneath it, and splashed her face again and again, until her skin burned and her mascara bled. She grabbed a rag and wiped the residue away hard. But when she lifted the towel away, she froze.
Travis was standing in the doorway behind her, reflected in the mirror—broad shoulders filling the frame with an unreadable expression on his face.
She sighed and tossed the towel onto the vanity. She turned sharply, crossing her arms so tightly it almost hurt, and stared straight past him instead of at him.
“Where’s Lila?”
“Marnie’s got her for a few minutes,” Travis said quietly.
Taylor shook her head and stepped forward to pass him, because it wasn’t fair to leave a 10-year-old with an upset 6-year-old and a wired toddler. She needed to move, to do something, anything, but Travis caught her. He brought his hands up, cupping each side of her jaw gently but firmly, and guided her gaze to his.
“Talk to me,” he pleaded. “What’s going on?”
Her lip trembled before she could stop it. “I-I’m mad. So fucking mad we let Jack get hurt. I’m mad at myself for not watching him closer. I’m pissed at you for not stepping in when he started climbing—God, Travis, you know he tries anything with an engine! And I was dealing with a screaming 2-year-old and trying to keep track of Marnie and—”
“Okay. No. That’s not fair. Don’t start this. Not today.” His thumbs brushed her jaw. “You love your birthday, Tay. And I feel just as shitty as you do.”
His breath came out in a harsh exhale she could almost see; the space between them felt frostbitten. But then he stepped closer, and his eyes softened, and Taylor’s lashes fluttered like she couldn’t decide whether to fight him or fall apart again.
“I’m sorry,” Travis said. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Accidents happen. Kids get hurt. You know that. So, please…please don’t ice me out, sweetie.”
Her composure buckled. She folded into him, arms curling around his torso as if pulled by gravity. “I’m sorry, too,” she choked into his shirt. “I’m so sorry, Trav. I’m just—” Her breath hitched and then the dam broke. “I-I thought I was pregnant.”
Travis stiffened, just for a second, then wrapped her tighter. She was crying too hard now for him to make out half her words: something about weeks of wondering, weeks of trying not to wonder, about hope that had snuck up on her anyway. How she’d taken a test…then another…then gotten her period. How she’d pushed it down, pushed it aside because everything in her life was about to spin up again. Rehearsals, meetings, album promo and the start of tour prep. It was the worst possible timing, and yet she’d still let herself feel that flicker of maybe.
I’ve been having a hard time adjusting.
I had the shiniest wheels, now they’re rusting.
He hadn’t known. He felt like an asshole for not knowing. His mind tripped back to last weekend in the kitchen, that rushed romp against the counter. Taylor had asked him to pull out. It wasn’t a strange request; she wasn’t on birth control, they timed everything carefully. But now, with hindsight gnawing at him, he remembered the way she’d said it. The request was thin and choked, almost desperate.
He shut his eyes, guilt sweeping through him so forcefully he swayed. “Baby…I didn’t know.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t even notice. Jesus, I’m such an asshole.”
He wasn’t sure if she was grieving, angry, or both, wasn’t sure where the edges of it were. But the pieces suddenly made sense.
“Is it not—” He cleared his throat. “Was that why you asked me to pull out that morning? Is it not something you want?”
“No…yeah…I don’t know,” she hiccuped. “To be honest, I just didn’t want to feel that whiplash again if you finished in me, didn’t want to give hope an opportunity again. It brought back a lot of fucked-up memories.”
“I wish you would’ve told me, Tay. You don’t need to hold all of this hurt inside. You don’t have to do any of this alone. That’s what I’m here for.”
“I don’t think I want to ever do it again, Travis. Try, I mean.”
“Okay,” he said instantly, without a hint of hesitation. “Then we don’t.”
“You’d be happy with three?”
“Sweetie,” he said, cupping the back of her head as he kissed her temple. “I am so fucking happy with everything we have in life. If it’s three, it’s three. If this is what’s meant to be, it’ll be. You already know this, we’ve talked about all of that, Tay. Our life can be whatever you want. I’m already living my dream.”
I just want you. Have a couple kids, got the whole block looking like you.
Taylor’s breath stuttered as she leaned into him further. His thumb dragged a reassuring path along the curve of her jaw. Little bits of him were everywhere: his beard trimmer charger crooked in the outlet, the faint scent of his aftershave lingering in the air, a fresh pair of socks tossed near the hamper. She felt safe, whole, complete.
You wrap around me like a chain, a crown, a vine.
Pulling me into the fire.
She reached blindly for the tissue box on the counter, but it was empty. A soft, defeated sigh left her as she opened the mirrored cabinet above the sink. Something tumbled out, a clatter against porcelain that felt too loud for the pounding in her head from crying.
A white pill bottle rolled in the basin.
Her heart lurched in a strange, off-beat rhythm. She picked the bottle up slowly: FullWell prenatal vitamins. She hadn’t seen these since the newborn blur. She’d stuffed them away and forgotten they existed. She wasn’t going to need them again…right?
Travis didn’t notice; he was rubbing at his eyes, sighing through his exhaustion. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she lied. God, she had to stop doing that. She pushed the bottle back into the cabinet with a soft thud and shut the door harder than necessary. “Let’s go downstairs. I want to be with the kids.”
“Yeah,” he smiled, entwining their fingers and giving her hand a protective squeeze. “Let’s go.”
Later that evening, they were all settled in the den, lights low, The Muppet Christmas Carol flickering across the TV in nostalgic bursts of colour. The fireplace hummed with a steady crackle, and the big Christmas tree stood patiently in the corner. It was still bare, branches settling, waiting for its turn to shine.
Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you.
Jack was snuggled into Travis on the oversized loveseat, using his dad’s bicep as a pillow, his broken arm propped carefully on a large throw cushion to keep it elevated. He was half-watching the movie, half-nuzzling into Travis’s chest like a sleepy puppy. On the floor nearby, Taylor sat cross-legged on a knitted blanket, painting Marnie’s toenails glittery red while Marnie wriggled from excitement and begged, “Can you do my hands too? The same colour?”
“I will,” Taylor laughed, steadying Marnie’s foot. “But if you wiggle, this is going to look like a candy cane painted it.”
A few takeout containers were scattered across the coffee table—ramen bowls, leftover dumplings, stray edamame pods from the little sushi place they always ordered from when no one had the energy to cook. Plus a smattering of birthday-cake crumbs the kids had tracked in from the kitchen earlier.
“Daddy,” Jack mumbled, “who’re you playing on Christmas Eve again?”
“The Seahawks, Bud.”
“It’s a home game, right?” Jack asked, eyes wide. “I can come, right?”
“You’re all coming,” Travis said, ruffling his curls. “Even Lila.” He shifted a little, adjusting the ice pack still strapped to his knee from the nasty fall he’d taken in Sunday’s game—Jack’s own matching one sat tucked beneath his forearm, blue corners peeking out against the throw cushion.
Jack grinned, a gap-toothed little beam of relief. “Are DeeDee and Papa coming too?”
Travis shook his head. “Nah, they’re going to Dallas to see Uncle Jase play this year.”
“Oh.” Jack considered that, then asked, “Does Santa bring extra gifts for kids who break their arm?”
“Nice try, little dude,” Travis chuckled, tightening his hold around him.
Taylor’s heart squeezed at the sight of them, her two beat-up boys leaning into each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. She smiled, brushing another stroke of glitter polish onto Marnie’s smallest toe. Her mind flickered, unbidden, to Travis’s Bye Week in New York a few weeks ago. It had been so indulgent and exhilarating. They’d wandered SoHo bundled in coats, ducking into the candle store she loved, shared lemon madeleines at Minetta Tavern, devoured cocktails and charcuterie boards in a dim corner at Zero Bond, and spent an afternoon strolling through MoMA.
And then there’d been that night. It started with a bottle of wine and ended halfway up the staircase of their Tribeca place. She’d had violet bruises on her knees for days. That had been an interesting conversation with her stylist during a tour-costume fitting the next morning.
It had also—her stomach tightened at the memory—been the weekend her body started acting just…off. Nothing major. Just a strange wave of nausea one morning, a tenderness in her breasts she couldn’t explain, a few moments of light-headedness that came out of nowhere. Ordinary things. Things she’d had for a thousand non-pregnancy reasons over the years. She’d pushed it down immediately, refusing to let a handful of symptoms rewrite her whole life for a week. She remembered the sting when she’d looked down at that negative test; but the sting hurt less now she’d opened up to Travis.
By now is it a lucid dream? Is it my fault for chasing things, a body clock?
Her assistant had flown in with her dad and the kids that Friday; the whole apartment had burst into life again the second they arrived. They’d spent a crisp, windy day at the Bronx Zoo, Lila shrieking every time a peacock crossed their path, Jack insisting he was brave enough to pet any animal, and Marnie asking the zookeeper at least fifteen questions about the snow leopards. That night, Marnie had looked around the New York apartment with sudden disgust and declared that she needed a more “grown-up room” there: “No more glow-in-the-dark stars, Mom. I want cool pictures. And those LED strips that are actually aesthetic.”
Taylor and Travis had promised they’d redo it in the spring.
Now the memory glowed faintly in the back of Taylor’s mind, warm as the fire. She looked over her shoulder toward Travis; he caught her eye across the room, his arm still curled protectively around Jack, and he gave her that small, knowing smile.
“Okay,” Taylor announced, tapping Marnie’s foot. “Other foot.”
Marnie beamed and dramatically stretched her leg.
Travis shook his head in amusement. “Drama queens, all of you,” he teased.
“Yeah? Wonder who they got that from.”
The scene on-screen shifted to swirling snow, and Taylor’s gaze drifted once more to the loveseat. Travis was rubbing slow circles on Jack’s good shoulder, and something warm unfurled in her chest—melting the last thin, icy edges of the day that had clung to her like frost.
This…this was the part of her birthday she’d been craving without even realising it. Not the plans, not the cake, not the drama. Just this room, these people, this quiet closeness that made everything inside her finally thaw back to blue skies instead of blue panic. Later, when the older two joined a sleeping Lila upstairs, she knew he’d pull her close and let her breathe all of this out. But for now, she let herself sink into the moment.
Sweet dreams of holly and ribbon. Mistakes are forgiven. And everything is icy and blue, and you would be there too.