Page 57 of The Princess

“It’s my diner, Taylor. I happen to keep an eye on what goes on around here. I wasn’t spying on you.”

It felt like he was, but Taylor kept that to himself. He bit his lip to keep all the asinine things he wanted to say from escaping. “An old friend resurfaced and he’s sort of fallen on hard times. I’m letting him stay for a while.”

“Does this old friend need anything?”

Taylor shook his head. “Just a place to crash.”

“You’re a good kid, Taylor. You’ve got a big heart.”

“Well, I sort of take after my dad.” Taylor was still irritated about feeling like a bug under a microscope, but he was too weary to hold on to any animosity toward his dad. It was his diner, after all. Taylor was only surprised that his dad hadn’t said anything before now.

“I hear your old man is a pretty forgiving guy. I think he wouldn’t hold it against someone for too long if they acted like an ass and hurt my—his feelings.”

This time Taylor did get up from his stool, and his dad didn’t stop him. His emotions were wrung out and tired from all the recent upheaval. The fight hadn’t gone out of him completely, but he definitely felt like he’d been ten rounds.

“Well, maybe my dad is a better person than I am, because I’m still pissed off at Colby.”

Taylor wanted to curl up and go to sleep. But not at home. He wanted to be with Nash and Damon the way he was last night. He was glad that Damon had reached out earlier and that Taylor had taken the opportunity to apologize to him.

Damon hadn’t done anything wrong, and Taylor had treated him like he was the enemy. But he didn’t think Damon would hold it against him.

Damon had only been trying to help.

Which was also what Colby was always trying to do.

Taylor’s shoulders slumped and he stopped in the middle of the kitchen. He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush, some of his lingering anger going with it. “I’m still pissed at him, but I think I’ll be able to get over it. If that’s what you were wondering.”

On his way past him and back to the front of the diner, Taylor’s dad patted him on the back.

“Proud of you, Taylor,” his dad said before getting out of Taylor’s kitchen and leaving him to his own devices.

Sure, Taylor was still mad about Colby’s hurtful accusations, but some of the sting had faded. The thing that still bothered him was the lack of privacy in his life, and the feeling continued to snowball throughout the day. Every minute he wasn’t too busy to think, it was there nagging at him. Chipping away at the last of his patience.

He practically flew through the door to his place after work. Mickey was curled up on the couch, looking unwell, but a little better than the day before.

“Hey, sorry I took off last night.” Taylor toed out of his shoes. “I’m probably going to crash at my boyfriend’s place again tonight.”

“I should go.” Mickey started to get up, but Taylor crossed the room and gently pushed him back onto the couch.

“You should stay. You’d be doing me a favor. See, if you leave, I’m going to spend so much time looking for you. Time that I could spend with my boyfriends. So, I tell you what—I’m going to shower and get changed and pack a bag. Then I’m going to leave and you’re going to stay put. There’s plenty of food. Help yourself to anything you want.”

Taylor turned to go down the hall to his room, but a quiet voice stopped him.

“Why?”

He turned and looked at Mickey, who was too thin, too sick, too forgotten about to last much longer out there. “Because you need help. Because I can. Because I’d rather be anywhere but here, and someone needs to talk to my plants. Take your pick.”

“You talk to your plants?”

“Sometimes. They’re shit at conversation, but they’re good listeners.” Taylor left Mickey to think about what he’d said. In his room, he grabbed a bag and shoved some clothes in it. Some general staples. On a whim, he added some of his nicer things, and a few pairs of obscenely adorable panties that he may or may not work up the courage to wear.

He showered in record time and styled his hair, taking his gel and his toiletries with him. After shoving his meager selection of cosmetics in his bag, he zipped it up. He didn’t know how many days he’d stay away. Maybe one. Maybe a week. Maybe he’d find a place to rent and move out. The future was both bright and uncertain.

The uncertainty bothered him. He’d always known what he wanted. To stay at home and work in the diner. He still wanted to work in the diner, but living at home exhausted Taylor’s patience. A sliver of privacy from his family would be nice.

Before he left, Taylor grabbed his old iPad out of his nightstand and unplugged the charger from the wall. He carried it out to the living room and set it on the coffee table.

“It’s not a gift, it’s a loan. You can use it to contact anyone you might need to, or you can play solitaire on it. Doesn’t matter.”

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