Zac loved Taylor.
That four letter word seemed woefully insufficient to describe the way Zac felt for his brother. He needed him, too, in ways he didn’t need any of his other siblings. Maybe it was the age difference, but he found he just didn’t understand Isaac. He didn’t truly understand Taylor, either, but he knew that when he needed him, Taylor would be there, without judgment.
This tour was different, in ways that Zac couldn’t fully comprehend. Maybe it was because they were older now. There were girls around constantly, girls who didn’t just scream and giggle. Girls who wanted things from them.
Zac had liked Marion. She wasn’t a fan, and that seemed to make a difference, at first. But she wanted something, too. Isaac said Zac shouldn’t be surprised; she was older, after all. But Taylor had understood. Taylor had planned double dates for them, made sure that Zac and Marion were never alone long enough for her to get that look in her eyes. Zac didn’t know how to say thank you, because he wasn’t even sure what Taylor was saving him from.
Then there was the label, constantly reminding them that album and ticket sales were lagging. There was a sense of something hanging over their heads, some distant threat that hadn’t fully materialized yet. Zac couldn’t even begin to guess what it was.
When the other shoe finally dropped, it was in a way Zac couldn’t have predicted at all, not even in his most morbid fantasies.
None of them saw the guy coming. One minute, they were performing as usual. The next, there was a man in a dress on stage, clutching Taylor.
It seemed to take forever for the security guards to make it to the stage and pull him away, and it took all of Zac’s self-restraint not to jump up from his drum kit and do it himself. It wasn’t until the show ended—a few songs early—and he clutched Taylor’s hand in his for the final bow that Zac realized exactly what he had felt in that moment.
Jealousy.
Taylor was the first one off the stage, which didn’t surprise Zac at all. He ran straight into the venue’s bathroom, refusing to talk to the latest round of potential groupies and not making eye contact with anyone as he rushed straight to the bus.
They had a hotel that night, and luck of the draw meant that Zac and Taylor were sharing a room. In the elevator up to the seventh floor, Zac wanted to speak, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know what to say at all. So he didn’t say a word.
Taylor didn’t speak either, scurrying down the hotel hallway like someone might be chasing him. Zac had never seen Taylor look so scared before, so paranoid. He knew his brother wasn’t as confident as he seemed, but this was different. This had gotten to him, gotten under his skin, in ways Zac couldn’t even imagine.
Zac followed Taylor into the room, still willing the right words to somehow form themselves inside his mouth. They didn’t. Taylor tossed his suitcase down on one of the beds and began rifling through it; Zac realized he was gathering his toiletries.
“Didn’t you take a shower at the venue?” Zac asked dumbly, hating himself for it before he had even finished the question.
Taylor shrugged.
Zac wanted to say something else, something smarter, but no words would come. He watched mute as Taylor walked into the bathroom. A moment later, the shower squeaked to life, and Zac decided there was nothing more he could do. He tossed down his own suitcase and fumbled through it for a t-shirt and pair of pajama pants. They didn’t smell entirely clean, but Zac didn’t really care. At least he was clean; he had showered at the venue after Taylor.
He was half-asleep when the bathroom door opened. Taylor left the light on, and Zac watched his silhouette drop its towel and slide into a pair of boxers. He moved so slowly, so cautiously, and it made something tug at a spot in Zac’s chest.
“Taylor,” he said softly.
His brother spun around, but there wasn’t enough light for Zac to read the look on his face.
Zac patted his bed, hoping Taylor understood. When they lived in the old house, with the bunk beds, Zac had often crawled into Taylor’s bunk in the middle of the night. During those first two, long years of fame, Zac sometimes found that, even when he was exhausted from a long day on stage or with the press, he couldn’t sleep without being curled up against Taylor’s side.
That had all stopped when they moved into the new house; they still shared a room, but now with their own beds on opposite walls. Zac hadn’t realized until right then just how much he had missed it, missed the comforting warmth of Taylor’s body next to his.
After a long moment, during which Zac wished he could go back in time and do nothing, Taylor gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
As he moved closer, Zac could see that Taylor was trembling. He wondered if that had been true all along and he just hadn’t noticed. Zac inched backward to give Taylor room to climb into the bed next to him, then instinctively pulled the covers over him and tucked them around Taylor’s bare chest.
“Is this—I mean, let me know if it’s not okay. I just thought, you know, I always felt better when—”
“I know. I do, too,” Taylor replied, cutting Zac off.
“Okay,” Zac replied, wrapping his arm around Taylor’s thin waist. He couldn’t make everything okay, but maybe if he could just hold Taylor right then, he could salvage a horrible night. That would have to be enough.
His brother’s words had been minimal, but Zac knew without a doubt that they were on the same wavelength. They always were and, Zac hoped, always would be.