“There’s something I think I should tell you,” Cole says.

My head pops up from where I was resting it on his chest. “Oh, no. You’re pregnant.”

His laughter rings through the bedroom. “You got me. I was gonna pretend the baby was yours and use you for child support for the next eighteen years.”

“I’m too smart for you.” I grin.

His smile fades a little, but not entirely. “Seriously. There’s something I want to talk about.”

Hmm. Seriously, huh? I don’t know if I like the sound of this. Conversations that start like this don’t go well for me, historically. I sit up, pulling myself from the delicious warmth of his embrace, gathering the blankets around me. “What is it?” I ask in a tight whisper.

“Hey, it’s nothing bad—at least, I don’t think it’s bad. I may be jumping the gun a bit, but I can’t pretend it’s not there.”

Relief makes me laugh. “What’s not there?”

He reaches for me, sliding a gentle hand down the side of my face, over my shoulder, down my arm. “The complete certainty that I can’t let you go. Not again.”

I gasp. No, that’s not what I expected at all. “Oh, Cole.”

“I don’t want to scare you off, but—”

I take his hand in both of mine. “A part of me is wildly happy, but another part of me is terrified. After what happened the last time.”

He snatches his hand out of my grip and lays two fingers against my lips to silence me, shaking his head, his eyes full of sadness and remorse. “Can we not talk about the past for once. I was just a kid, Taylor. I made the wrong choice. Everyone deserves a second chance. Even me.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “I’m a man now. I know exactly what I want. And that is you.”

“But how? My life is in LA and yours is here.”

“I don’t know yet how we will sort this, but if it’s what you want too, I’ll make it happen. I promise you that.”

I pull away from him. My heart is so heavy. I should be exploding with joy. He wants me. He doesn’t want to let me go. He just said so himself, but I can’t forget how easily he let me go the last time. How little his promises meant. He was my whole world and I truly thought nothing could break us up. But he shattered that trust and I don’t know how to repair it. It is like a broken antique vase that you stick back together because you can’t bear to throw something so rare and valuable away, but all the crack lines are still there to remind you of the time it smashed on the ground. To tell you that it has lost all its value.

“What is it?” he asks huskily.

I cover my face with one hand. I can’t show him my vulnerability or my pain and hurt that in the end, everyone I ever loved abandoned me. I just can’t trust anyone. Especially, him.

“Taylor?” he prompts.

“Nothing. I’m just not good at relationships. I’ve been a mess for such a long time.”

“A mess?” He sits up and his tone of voice changes to one of raw concern. “What do you mean? You’re the least messy person I know.”

I stare at him from between my fingers. He looks so sincere, so worried about me. I let my hand fall from my face and my voice is flat. “You’ve only been with me for a day, Cole. There’s a lot you don’t know.”

“Is there something I don’t know about? Something unhealthy, maybe?” He’s trying to be subtle, but I know what he means. It’s the business I am in. Simon is a good representative of the kind of people who populate show business.

“No, it’s not that. I’m not, like, blowing thousands a week, and shooting it in my arm or anything. I don’t even drink very much. I’m probably the only person I know who doesn’t. Sometimes they act like I’m from another planet, or like I think I’m better than them. I’m sure there are some who assume I’m in recovery. I don’t care if that’s what they think, as long as they leave me alone about it.”

“So what’s the problem, then? You live a good life, you’re responsible, you have the world at your fingertips. Why are you in a mess?”

I sit there, blinking, mute with disbelief. Can he be this naïve? He’s such a savvy person otherwise, Mr. CEO, Mr. Confident. Mr. I Walk Into A Room And Panties Melt. He just doesn’t understand because it didn’t happen to him. He was not the person with the broken heart. Oh, what will my therapist think when she hears about me diving headfirst into old patterns?

“Come on, babe. What’s really on your mind? You know you can tell me. You can tell me anything.”

I know he means it, too, which somehow makes it worse. He wants me to feel comfortable opening up to him, even when there’s no way to put my feelings into words.

He frowns and falls silent for a while. Then, he asks, “Are you disappointed? Is it too much pressure?”

There is so much I want to say: I want to say, No, until I was with you tonight, up there onstage, even I didn’t’ know what it was. You’re the piece I’ve been missing all along. Ever since that day at the audition, when I lost you, I lost the real reason I loved performing. Nothing is as fun as it used to be.

In the beginning when everything was still so new and there was so much to see and learn, I could fool myself into thinking all my dreams were coming true. When that got old, and it did very quickly, I realized I didn’t feel fulfilled. Something was missing. I told myself I was being immature and ungrateful, that I was one of the luckiest girl’s alive. I was living my dream and there were millions of girls out there who would give their right arm to be in my situation.

So I should just damn well get over myself.

Well, you proved tonight that there is nothing to get over. I’m not immature or ungrateful. I was the little goat who was starving to death while everyone around me was filling my plate with fillet mignon. You were what I needed. When you turned your back on me and left me alone, you took away everything that ever really mattered.

But I don’t say any of these things.

“Pretty much,” I whisper over the sound of my aching heart. I can’t tell him what I’m really feeling. He would never understand.

When he reaches for me, I let myself rest in his arms. It’s been so long since I’ve had the chance to rest, to really rest. No pretense, no façade. I can be myself. I can relax and let it all go.

“You know,” he whispers as his hand gently strokes my hair. So soothing. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. You’re a grown woman, and you probably have plenty of money by now. I hope you’ve been smart with it.”

“Of course. Super smart. I’m doing well.”

“That’s great. See? You don’t have to keep recording and touring. You can retire. Pursue something else. You’re young, you have the rest of your life to do what you really want to do. And if you feel like playing housewife I’m in the market for one of those too,” he says with a wry smile.

I love performing with you, but you already told me years ago that you don’t need it. You’re already rich, right? I will myself not to go stiff in his arms and give myself away. “I love performing though,” I say softly.

“So, perform on your terms. You’re the boss. Do what you want, sing what you want, where and when you want. You’re famous. Anybody would be happy to book you. You’ll pull in huge crowds.”

“I have contracts. I can’t walk out on them. Trust me, I won’t be nearly as comfortable anymore if I do that. If I had balls, they’d have me by them.”

He looks deep into my eyes. “Taylor, do you need money, because what’s mine is yours. Just say the word and—”

“No,” I say quickly. “I don’t need your money. I enjoy earning my own money.”

“Okay. Step back when you can. As soon as possible. I believe in you. You can do this.” When he says it like that, with his mouth against the top of my head and his strong arms holding me close, I can almost believe him. I can just step off the Fame Machine and be with him. I can imagine a life with him, away from the public eye. Maybe a house somewhere pretty, with a garden I can tend to and a room I can use as a library. We can curl up with a blanket and a cup of tea in that room on rainy days. I can enjoy my life. I can just about see it if I squeeze my eyes closed tight enough.

I can’t walk around with my eyes closed all the time, now, can I?

“Thank you for believing in me the way you do,” I whisper. It’s all I can say. It sounds lame, trite, but I feel like I have to say something. I wish I could tell him the truth. Things are going so well, the threat of pushing him away and losing the beautiful moment we’re in is enough to shut my mouth.

We stay that way for a long time until our breathing falls in sync and the only thing I can hear is his heart beating under my ear. His strong, steady heartbeat. It lulls me into a deep, soft sleep full of dreams. For once, they’re beautiful dreams. Dreams of love and fulfillment, connection to somebody other than another lost soul like me. Somebody real, somebody substantial, somebody I can lean on when I need a little extra strength. Somebody like Cole. I dream about loving Cole, and him loving me.