+25 Bonus
Chapter 95
Taylor pov
Bright banners ripple in the wind like they are alive casting flickers of red and blue over the concrete walkway as we step out of the car.
Aiden walks ahead of me posture straight steps steady every inch of him pulling attention without trying.the community center doors are propped open letting out flashes of color laughter and the buttery sweet scent of popcorn.
i pause for a second at the threshold as if the moment itself won’t let me enter unless im ready.
inside kids swirl through the room like small chaotic storms laughing shouting darting between tables where volunteers juggle face paint balloons, snacks and board games that are already missing pieces.
the bright fluorescent lights from the gymnasium ceiling hum faintly tinged with the scent of old wood polish and spilled juice.Aiden steps through all of it like he belongs here. Not as an honored guest. Not as some celebrity people whisper about behind cameras.
But simply as one of them.
Maybe that’s what disarms me most.
a cluster of media people flank the entrance cameras hoisted on shoulders long wires slithering across the ground like restless shadows.
i stop near the edge of the room slightly behind him as if my feet instinctively know not to step too close.the sting of this morning still presses beneath my ribs a tight knot right behind my heartbeat.
i trace lines in the polished floor with my eyes focusing on the pattern of light instead of on him.
The cameraman shifts, tracking Aiden the moment he steps inside. A reporter clips a mic to her blouse. “thats the one,” she whispers nodding. “Keep rolling.”
The air sharpens around me. Of course they’re here for him.But he doesn’t look at them. Doesn’t even seem to notice.
hes too focused on the little boy who just crashed into him full speed tiny sneakers squeaking against the floor.the boy nearly topples but Aiden catches him easily one hand on the boy’s shoulder the other gently steadying his head.
((
you playing tag or flying?” He asks softly voice low enough that i almost miss the warmth in it.The boy grins, missing two teeth. “Flying.” And takes off again.
Aiden watches him go the corners of his mouth lifting not the usual restrained smirk he gives in interviews but something looser lighter.i feel it more than i see it.
My pulse stumbles.`
Another kid grabs Aiden’s arm, tugging insistently. “Paint with me!”
“i dont know,” he says dramatic hesitation. ” im not sure im qualified.“he lowers himself anyway kneeling right
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+25 Bonus
in the middle of the scuffed gym floor. Just like that, he disappears into their world–face paint, laughter, chaos and all.
A volunteer hands out brushes a little girl with braids and gap toothed smile smears blue paint across his forearm. Instead of flinching, instead of worrying about his pristine shirt or expensive watch, he offers her his wrist too.
“i need one to match “he says solemnly.The girl giggles so hard she hiccups.and then he laughs too.
It’s not the careful laugh he uses in boardrooms. Not the controlled one he gave me this morning. It’s something real. Something unguarded.
Ella’s voice creeps in, sharp and cold. “He forced me… made me keep it… ignored me after the miscarriage… he didn’t care.”
I swallow. Hard.
I watch him let another child paint his hand bright orange. He doesn’t look bothered. He looks–calm. Natural. Soft, maybe. And for a moment, anger and confusion wage a quiet war inside me.
this version of him is nothing like the man she described.
and I don’t know what to believe.
before i can get lost too deep in that thought i hear it a small trembling cry. So quiet it almost gets lost under the noise, but something in it slices through me. It’s not loud. Not dramatic. Just… hurting.
i turn toward the comer near the old bleachers.
a little girl sits curled against the wall knees tucked to her chest arms wound tight around her stomach.her breathing is fast and uneven like shes trying to hold herself together but the pieces wont stay.
her sneakers are scuffed one shoelace half undone.her face is blotchy eyes red rimmed tears drying on skin still trembling from them.
my feet move before my mind does.
i crouch slowly the floor cold and dusty beneath my knees.the fluorescent lights dont reach this far.it feels quieter here. Still.
“Hey,” i say softly.
She hides her face deeper into her sleeve. Shoulders shaking. Breathing too fast.
“im Taylor,” I whisper. “can i sit with you?”
no response but she doesnt pull away when i settle next to her. i leave some space not too much not too little.just enough for her to know im here but i wont push.
“i dont know if you want to talk,” i say keeping my voice low and steady. “you don’t have to.i will just sit with you for a minute okay?”
her breaths hitch and shiver.she curls tighter.
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a few strands of hair stick to her damp checki zmarly brak them wide,
“sometimes,” i say quietly, “everything taste worse when we de deg done
her head tilts barely just enough to show she heard me.
16 you are not alone now.”
her tiny hand creeps toward my sleeve hesitating them coaching the fabric te des frid will deayear for fingers tremble.
my stomach… hurts,” she finally whispers voice so thin i almost miss is
i nod gently,” thats okay sometimes our stomach herts especially when we are nervous or shy
she leans into me just slightly like a cautious animal testing warmth place my hand softly on her upper back slow circles. Nothing dramatic. Just rhythm. Something to breathe wo
Inhale. Exhale.
the crying slows.
she whispers, “i dont like when there is too many sounds”
i understand that more than she knows.
“Sometimes,” I say, “you just need one calm sound. One calm space“she nods and her forehead finds my shoulder like it belongs there.i dont rush heri dont ask questions this isnt about fixing anything Just being
here.
after a minute her breathing evens out the shaking slows. And just like that–quiet becomes safety. “Better?” 1 whisper.
she nods.i let the silence settle.It feels like something sacred when i finally lift my head my breath catches.across the room amidst face paint and balloons and cameras i see him.
Aiden.
He’s standing near a long table where a reporter is talking, where volunteers are handing out snacks. The cameras are pointed toward him… but his attention isn’t there.
It’s here.
On me.
On the little girl leaning against my shoulder.
On something he can’t quite say.
The microphone on him is still live, a red light blinking. The reporter says something, smiling But he’s not smiling back. He’s not posing, Not waving. Not performing
He’s just… watching
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+25 Bonus
No control. No mask
His eyes meet mine. And for the first time all morning–maybe longer–I see him without all the careful edges.
There’s no arrogance. No distance. Just something quiet. Something raw.Something that feels like a thread pulling between us—fragile, unspoken, undeniable.
Something he’ll never admit out loud.
Not today.
Maybe not ever.
