Taste of Commitment (Whisky and Risky #2)

28. Taylor

Taylor

Factually, I know we all live under the same sun, but damn, the sun in Ireland hits differently. I swear the golden hues actually have flecks of gold in them. A breeze laced with the scent of primrose floats through open windows, and the sheer forest green curtains twist around the room. Knox’s bedroom is warm and homey, just like the main house. A touch less eclectic, but that’s to be expected from someone who hasn’t lived here in years.

The bold, earthy scent of coffee hits me a moment before Knox enters the bedroom.

“That. Smells. Phenomenal.”

He hands me one of the mugs as he slides back under the covers. Soft music plays out of my phone on the nightstand as we lay here having coffee in bed.

“I like this song, what is it?”

“It’s called Slingshot .”

“It’s nice,” he says, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me in closer to his side.

“It’s my current hyperfixation song.”

“You’re what? ”

“Usually when I find a song I like, I’ll listen to that song over and over and over again.” I run my fingers over the tiny strings in the waffle-woven blanket covering us.

“You don’t get tired of it?” There’s no judgment in his voice, only curiosity.

“Eventually I will.” I take a sip of the nutty coffee. “It happens with things other than music too. It’s part of the reason I never wanted to devote myself to a job. I’m terrified of committing to something because my brain tells me I would enjoy it, but only for now.”

“Your mind is fascinating, Taylor,” he says, while his hand brushes up and down my arm. My nose burns and my throat crunches as I swallow down the emotion. I’ve always known my brain worked differently than most peoples, but I also knew there were so many other people out there like me. People who can’t relax all day if they have something as small as dinner plans that night. People that have an overwhelming sense of justice and fairness. People who can’t stand slow talkers. People who buy planners and calendars and never use them—that one might be specific to me, I’m not sure, but I’ve known. I’ve always known certain things I do are because of my ADHD, but It’s not something I hyper fixate on daily anymore. I am who I am, and for a long time, I’ve always been good with that. I wasn’t prepared for how overwhelming it would feel to have someone compliment my mind.

“Okay, what’s the best feeling in the world?” Two coffees later and it’s almost noon and Knox and I have made no attempts to get out of his bed today.

“Easy,” I say. “When you’re on a tropical vacation and you spend the whole day out in the sun at the beach and then you come back to your hotel room to shower and get ready for dinner. The moment before when you’re sitting in your big white fluffy bed, with only a white towel, your skin is tanned, and sucks up all the lotion.” I motion up my arms. “That’s some good shit.”

Knox attempts to hide his smile behind his mug but I don’t miss it.

“Okay, Mr. World Traveler.” I swat his warm, bare chest and a rumbly laugh escapes him. “What’s your best feeling ever?”

“Surprisingly, it has nothing to do with traveling.” He takes another drink, pulling me back down to him. “When I was young, like twelve or thirteen, during the summer I would wake up and if the vacuum was going it was the final step that let you know Mum had just cleaned the house. My windows would be open, just as they are now.” He motions to the curtains still blowing in the breeze. “And the birds would be chirping because there were no threats. It was this moment of perfect peace, and you didn’t have to worry about anything for those few minutes. And then Liam and Dax would usually be at my window shortly after, badgering me to get on my bike so we could take off for the day.”

“I can remember a similar feeling.” My voice is distant like I’m back in Camila’s old bedroom, with Amor Prohibido by Selena filtering through from where Mrs. Sanchez would be cleaning downstairs. I clear my throat at the memory. “Okay, how about your favorite smell?”

“Mmm, it’s like what the ground smells like after it rains but mixed with.” His fingers thrust into my hair as he pulls me in closer, dipping his nose to the top of my head. “Some kind of.” He breathes in deeply, and my heart sills. “Flower, but sweeter. ”

“Desert rain and cactus flower.” The words are no more than I whisper as I sit up and look at him.

“Is that what it is? It’s been driving me crazy for weeks.” Pressure builds in my throat and I sit up, dipping my head in an attempt to hide the salty sting lining my eyes.

“That is so much better than what I was going to say.” I choke out a small laugh, and his fingers find my jaw, lifting my face to him.

“Tell me anyway.”

“I was going to say the water on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride.” I laugh, hiding the way I sniff back my tears and his shoulders shake when he lets out a deep rumbly laugh.

I look at him now, really look at him. His beautiful brown eyes with a little speck of gold in the top left one. His calloused hand trails up and down my exposed arm, causing goosebumps to erupt in its wake. This morning, in bed with him, gives me those feelings. The feelings we were just talking about, those moments that are so peaceful and so perfect you don’t realize at the moment how badly you’ll yearn for them later. But right now, I know. This is a moment I’ll feel a longing for, forever.

I’m pulled from my thoughts by a pouncing weight around my feet, and I register black hair before meowing.

“Jesus.” Knox looks from the open window to the black cat now bumping her head into my leg and I make no attempt to stifle my laugh.

“I told you, she’s your cat.” I quickly bat away the liquid around my eye and set my coffee on the nightstand.

“She’s not my cat!” He drags one of those large palms over his face as his head falls back to the headboard.

“Well, not yet.” She crawls up my leg, cautiously and I rub the soft spot between her fluffy ears. “You have to name her first.”

“I’m not naming something that’s not mine.”

“How about Salem?”

“How about no.”

“Yeah, you're right, too basic. And you’re not basic, are you sweet baby?” She smashes her head into my hand, demanding I keep petting her.

“What about Rose Dewitt Bukater?”

“Nova—” His warning growl doesn’t deter me.

“Penny? Neville Furbottom? Mi Hamburguesa?”

“What?”

“It means my hamburger.”

“I’m aware of what it means, Nova. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“What?” I notice the slight hitch in his breath.

“My first night here. My last name.” A quiet second passes, and Mi Hamburgusa begins kneading my stomach. She’s definitely not someone’s lost cat, judging by the way her long claws are digging into me. Knox shifts around in the bed, sitting up before he grabs my shoulders in both his hands. His eyes dance back and forth between mine, and he drags one of his rough hands through my hair.

“Taylor, I don’t call you Nova because it’s your last name.” I blink in surprise, but rest my head into his soft touch. “I call you Nova because it’s a name they give to the brightest stars. The ones that appear suddenly out of seemingly nowhere and release the most powerful energy.” The pad of his thumb runs along my bottom lip. “And that’s exactly what you are.” A rapid beating begins in my chest but continues throughout my entire body.

“Knox— ”

“I want to ask you something.” I nod my head, too afraid to use my voice. “Have you considered extending your trip?”

There it is.

There’s the question we both seem to have been avoiding but seemingly both thinking about.

“Is that something you would want?”

He sits up a little straighter, cupping my cheeks in both of his hands until we’re eye to eye. “I’d crawl over broken glass in nothing but my underwear if it meant more time with you, love.”

Fuck. I’m so far gone for him that I can’t even see the surface anymore.

My hands tremble, but a slow smile spreads across my face. When he says things like this, I believe down to the most cynical parts of my bones that he means it.

“But it’s not just about me and what I want. Is that something you would want?

The truth is, I do feel at home here. I haven’t felt the kind of parental love from someone like Isla since I was back in Miami with The Sanches. Even though I actively avoid anything more than surface-level friendships with people, the reality is that I like these people. I imagine saying goodbye to Liv, Sophie, Liam and Dax, hell even Alfie, and for the first time since leaving Camila, I feel a lump in my chest. The idea of leaving Knox physically makes my stomach cramp. Sure, I can be impulsive, but to my core, I struggle with change. When I look into Knox’s gold-flecked, pleading eyes, I’ve never wanted to jump so hard.

I swallow down the fear and blink back the uncertainty. “I could look into it,” I say, and the smile I’m rewarded with is the kind that makes the muscles in my chest lift. Like my heart is physically smiling back at him. His hands wrap around my face, pulling me into a deep kiss. A kiss that feels like something more. I melt into him, fingers digging into his bare chest like a safety net. I could stay here wrapped up in him forever, and it’s that feeling that gives me the confidence to stay.

I had to practically shove Knox out the door to avoid being late for practice. After all the words exchanged and decisions made this morning, it was exceptionally hard to pull away from him. But when he went running down the steps to his truck, sweatshirt half on half off and threw his black Sundevils hat on backward, I stood in the doorway, coffee in hand, smiling at his retreating back. It’s an image I’ll keep with me all morning while I look at flights before heading up to the main house to help Isla start the dinner prep.

I’m in the middle of comparing flights for another three weeks from now, or just canceling my flight altogether and booking a ticket whenever I’m ready, when my phone rings on the kitchen counter. Since Camila and Jonas are the only two people who dare call me, I contemplate sending it to voicemail, but by the third vibration, I’ve lost my concentration. I get up from the couch, jog over to the counter, and pick it up without even looking.

“Taylor!” the voice beams.

All the blood drains from my face.

“Mom?”

“Oh, are you going to pretend like you don't recognize my voice now? ”

“It’s not hard to pretend when I haven’t heard from you in almost a year.”

“Always so dramatic,” she sighs.

“It’s not dramatic. It’s the truth.” I walk back to the couch and her voice is a whisper as she ignores me, talking to someone else.

“Taylor, I talked to you a few weeks ago, but if you want to give me a hard time, maybe I’ll think twice before calling again.” I don’t correct her because as petty as I am, I do feel—something—hearing her voice. It’s not a voice I miss, so good doesn’t seem like the appropriate word. “Anywho, I was home for a few days last week and talked to Mrs. Sanchez for a bit, she said you were in Ireland? I won’t even comment on how I have to learn your whereabouts from Elena.” Yes, way to not comment on it. “Taylor?”

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Jesus. Pay attention. What are you doing in Ireland?”

“I’m—I’m taking a vacation.”

“From what? Dog walking? Or did you finally choose a career path? Wait, wait, wait, don’t tell me. I’ll just call Elena and ask her.” She chuckles to herself like she’s sitting front row at a comedy show, and my hand tightens around my phone in a death grip. Caroline and Greg Nova have been traveling African Safari Wildlife Vets my entire life and have known this is what they would do since the ripe age of fifteen. I know this because they love to remind me at every opportunity of how unmotivated I am. I never bothered to correct them that it has nothing to do with motivation and everything to do with fear. Fear of planting myself in a position I won’t be enough for and everyone will see that and let me leave. Or worse, fear of committing to something I’m interested in only to get physically sick of it a few months later. But admitting that is a million times worse than letting them think I’m lazy, which they love to blame on my ADHD. Not that they’ve ever taken a moment to learn anything about me or how ADHD affects me, though—if they did they would understand I’m also not lazy, I just get so overwhelmed sometimes to the point that it paralyzes me.

“Taylor!”

“God. What?”

“You wonder why I don’t call you. The lion I surgically removed a nail from his paw this morning had more to say than you do.” I look down at my open laptop, and the countdown in red at the top warns me to make a decision. My opportunity to cancel my flight is ticking away. Along with my patience.

“No, Mother.” I stand aggressively up from the couch. “You don’t call because you’re a terrible parent. You left me at every opportunity possible, and when I wanted to come with you, you said I was better off staying home. What child is better off without their parents around? You’ve proven to me over and over again that on your list of priorities, I’m nowhere to be found. So no, you don’t get to call and complain about not knowing my whereabouts now.” I inhale a deep, shuddering breath, and she doesn’t take the time to say anything before I continue. “You want to know why Mrs. Sanchez knows more about me than you do? Because she actually checks in on me, like she has my entire fucking life. And by the way, it wasn’t a few weeks ago that you last called. It was thirty-fucking-seven! You know how I know? Because it was two weeks after my birthday. A birthday that you forgot about, again !” I pinch the bridge of my nose and wait. Wait for the regret to take over or wait for her outrage to come, but I’m met with silence .

I take another deep breath and sit back on the edge of the sofa. “I know I sound mad, Mom, but honestly, I don’t give a shit anymore. I used to.” I nod my head even though she can’t see me and I fight to keep my voice even. “I used to wonder why everyone else had parents who were home all the time. Or parents who threw them birthday parties, or hell, even a graduation party. I used to watch in jealousy while other kids had parents who moved them into their dorms or when I would see parents and their kids at the wharf on a family vacation. But not anymore. You didn’t care enough then, and I’m done caring now.” It might be the equivalent of a parent saying ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed’. But frankly, I wouldn’t know.

“Alright, Taylor.” Her cool voice hasn’t changed at all. Not a lick of surprise, sadness, understanding, or even anger. “I see I’ve caught you at a bad time, and I’ve got to get back now, but I’ll call you later and hopefully you’ll be feeling better.”

Unbelievable. I wasn’t expecting some giant epiphany from her or anything but goddamn, getting nothing from her is so much worse than any kind of fight.

“Don’t bother.” I hang up, tossing my phone onto the coffee table with a loud clank. When I look back at my computer, the time on the clock has run out.