Page 50 of The Princess

Instead of going home, Taylor circled the block, parked his car in the lot of a nearby hotel and walked to where he could keep an eye on the back of the diner without being seen. Hopefully.

And then he waited. He crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his hands into his armpits to keep them warm. He’d stand there all night if he had to, but luck was on his side and Mickey appeared a few minutes later. Even from a distance, Taylor could see he was in bad shape. He covered his mouth a few times, his slow steps halting as he coughed.

Taylor set out after him, waiting until he was back behind the diner to call out to him. Mickey was crouched down, hacking and coughing, a thick, wet sound. He grabbed the bag of food and stood, flinching when he saw Taylor.

“I’ve been worried about you.”

“I’m fi—” Mickey couldn’t even speak he coughed so hard.

“Oh yeah, you’re totally fine. Right as rain. Not a problem in the world. How about you stop hiding from me and let me help you?”

Mickey leaned against the side of the building while he struggled to get his breath. “Why?”

“Because you need it? Because you’re sick? Because I want to? Because it’s the right thing to do? Take your pick.”

“What do you want?” Mickey looked at him with narrow, sunken eyes. His face was a sickly grey, his lips chapped and split.

“I want you to not die out in the cold.”

“Nothing else?” Mickey looked skeptical, like he’d been told that before, but people had lied to him.

“Dude, I’ve got a job and a place to live. Heat, light, food, and two boyfriends. The only thing I want from you is a little cooperation.” Taylor pulled his car keys out of his pocket and made a motion with his head over to the hotel he’d parked at. “I’m right over there. Get in my car, eat your food. I’ll whip by the pharmacy and get you some stuff for your cough and you can crash on my couch for a while, okay? We’re having people over tonight, and there’s going to be a bonfire and some guitar, but it won’t keep you awake. We’re not a rowdy bunch.”

Mickey looked around like he wanted to find a way to say no. A way to escape Taylor, but after a deep breath, he pushed away from the wall. “You’re pretty persistent.”

“Thanks.” Taylor slung his arm around Mickey’s waist, not caring that he clearly had been sleeping rough, without access to running water. Mickey needed a fucking hug, or ten, and Taylor needed to hug him. Plus, he looked like he might drop dead before Taylor got him to the car.

When they got there, Mickey leaned against the passenger side while Taylor unlocked the door. He practically fell into the seat, succumbing to another coughing fit. Taylor shut the door and hurried to the other side. Once the car was started, he turned the heat up full blast and pointed all the vents at Mickey.

He left it running when he went into the pharmacy. Thankfully, Damon was working and was already aware of Mickey, so with a quick explanation of how he found him and his symptoms, Damon helped him choose a couple of medications.

Taylor spent the rest of the evening bossing Mickey around. He made him have a long, hot soak in the bath. Mickey shyly asked if Taylor had more of that soup he’d made last time, so while Mickey soaked, Taylor threw together another pot of chicken soup.

Taylor loaned him the same clothes he’d let him wear last time, and again let him use the washing machine. The only difference was his sleeping location.

“You should take my bed,” Taylor told him. “I’m probably going to sneak away and crash with one of my boyfriends tonight. I changed the sheets when you were in the bath. It’s way more comfortable than the couch.”

One side of Mickey’s mouth kicked up into an almost smile. “I’ve been sleeping on cardboard in alleys. The couch is fine.”

“Take the bed, Mickey. I won’t be here to use it.” Taylor turned on his heel and retreated back to the bathroom to apply eyeliner and lip gloss. Everyone would be arriving soon and he didn’t have time to do much more.

When he came back out to the living room, Mickey was curled up on the couch, his eyes shut and his lips were parted. Clearly the medication had kicked in. Taylor covered him up and left him a note, demanding that he still be there when Taylor returned. He told him to help himself to anything he needed. Then Taylor went up the stairs to his dad’s half the house and threw the lock behind him. It wasn’t unusual for one or the other to lock it; they each had a key in case of emergency. Taylor didn’t want Mickey to randomly wander up the stairs. Not that he would in his current state.

“Hiding something?” Colby asked, leaning against the entry to the kitchen. His arms were crossed over his chest and he glared at Taylor.

Taylor scoffed and went to the fridge to see what their dad planned on cooking that night.

“I expected better from you,” Colby whispered, his voice hard and angry.

Taylor stood up. “Excuse me?”

“I know you’ve been sneaking around with Damon. And as if that isn’t bad enough, because he’s with Nash, I saw you get in the car outside of a fucking hotel today. With a guy who clearly wasn’t Damon.”

Colby’s accusation burned. It was a spear right through his heart. This was why Taylor thought of moving out. He lived and worked and spent so much time with his family that sometimes it felt like they were on top of him. Crushing him. The lack of privacy was clearly an issue, too.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Taylor tried to breeze past him, but Colby stepped into his way. He got in Taylor’s face, looking angry and disappointed, and it was that look that stung more than the anger.

“I’ve spent my whole life looking out for you. Protecting you. And you turn around and repay me like this? By fucking over my best friend?”

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