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She feels it the second it happens, but she can’t let it show.
She drops her head for a second, focusing on step-kicking at the right times, and ignoring the throbbing pain that is radiating across her right ankle.
It would be sensible to stop, she knows this, but it’s so early into the show and she doesn’t feel she can let her fans down. A reminder of her people pleaser nature, maybe, but she also just loves what she does. Up on this stage is where she feels most wholly herself, apart from with him, so up on the stage she will stay.
Besides, she did it more than once with an utterly broken heart, she’s pretty sure she can do it with a twisted ankle.
Glancing toward the VIP tent as 22 comes to an end, she knows that he noticed.
While her wince at the crunch as her foot rolled under her was almost imperceptible, she knows he saw it. He can read her like an open book.
He’s looking at her with so much worry and concern, yet all she can do is flash him a sweet smile and ever so slight nod. This seems to console him slightly though, as he grins back.
He knows she can do it, but boy is he glad that this is her last show before a two-month break. That ankle is going to hurt like hell.
He thinks back to the past few months, and how it’s been bothering her more and more frequently.
The first time, they were hiking together. She had jumped down a ledge, seemingly landing fine but her pace had soon slowed. He noticed the hitch in her step not long after that, when the look on her face made it obvious that it was now too sore to disguise. He had just scooped her up and piggybacked her up to the car.
Other so-called ‘ankle incidents’ included on dates, at award shows, on staircases, and even just dancing around the kitchen together.
She always brushes it off, claiming that she’s fine and it’s just a tweak, but he knows better. Repeat injuries are no joke, and what she did just then was far worse than other recent pain-inducing activities. And she still has about two and a half hours of performing (in heels!) left. He makes a note to get her an appointment with the best physio when they touch down in KC.
She almost doesn’t notice it for the rest of the show, too high on the adrenaline of being surrounded by 90,000 people that adore her to pay any attention to the pesky twinge in her ankle. She knows she’ll pay later, but she doesn’t care.
He notices for her; watching the way her dances become less energetic and less ambitious, observing the way she seems to sigh with relief whenever she is afforded the luxury of sitting on stage. He’s not entirely certain that she’s not feeling the pain, because her smiles aren’t quite meeting her eyes, but she keeps going nonetheless.
If she’s not going to allow herself to take care of her own body, then he will do it himself.
The main thing Travis doesn’t understand is how nobody else seems to realise that Taylor is in pain. Sure, she’s good at putting on a brave face, but she’s not that good.
He almost wants to scream at the fans that are going crazy, but he knows that it isn’t fair. They don’t know. They aren’t privy to the little ‘tayisms’ as he’d dubbed them one evening when he was explaining some of the cutest things she does. They can’t recognise when something isn’t quite right like he can.
Suddenly the songs from her newest release make a little more sense to him. She’s always up there putting on her best show, no matter what’s happening backstage or behind the scenes. And he’s so proud of her, but it doesn’t stop him from wishing she didn’t have to.
He walks with security during the midnights era to meet her under the stage. He’s not quite sure what to expect when she comes down on the stage lift, but he’s ready for almost anything. He’d wrangled security to grab him an icepack, a heat pack and some painkillers, so there he waits, prepared for anything.
However, what Travis wasn’t prepared to see as the lift lowered to the floor is Taylor sat dead centre, curled up in a little ball with her head pressed to her knees. If he’s totally honest, she looks more sweaty than normal, and maybe even a little green.
Footsteps approach, both of them still rooted in place, Taylor’s back to Travis. But she notices the noise. Of course she does, always on high alert.
He watches as her head snaps up.
“They didn’t see me, don’t worry.” She bites in the direction of the footsteps that have no come to a halt, with perhaps more malice than intended.
“Not what I was worried about, and you know that” Tree grumbles back, tired of Taylor’s deflection and defence. “Just wanted to make sure you were ok, but I’ll give you space” she finishes, mouthing ‘take care of her’ to Travis as she passed, leaving them alone once again.
“I know you’re there too, Trav” Taylor says flatly, still seated on the floor of the stage lift.
“Really?” Travis says, feigning shock, “how?”
She puffs out a laugh at this, grateful for a distraction from the pain that is now certainly there, even if she wants to deny its existence.
“You’re always here when I finish.”
It’s his turn to smile now. He’s so grateful that she’s learning to expect his presence. He never wants her to worry about being able to find him, and he never wants her to feel like she has to hide or sneak around away from her fans to be with him. He’s in this with her, one hundred and thirteen percent.
“Well, since I am here” he starts, trying to tread lightly but not skirt around the issue, “I come armed with ice, heat and painkillers…”
He waits to gauge her reaction, but nothing comes immediately.
After a short pause, she turns to him, innocent eyes and all, asking “What for?” sweetly.
Damn, she’s stubborn. He should’ve seen this kind of reaction coming, considering it happens almost every time. But this time had seemed different, and he was hoping that after two and a half hours of performing on an injury that she would’ve come to her senses a little.
“You know what for, Tay” he replies, circling to crouch in front of her, supplies still in hand and knowing look plastered across his face.
She shakes her head a little, but the furrow of her brow gives her away. The green tinge to her skin is unmistakable, and he can see the unshed tears pooling in her eyes. It must be hurting a hell of a lot, because he’s never seen her like this before. But still he waits. She’ll admit to it and tell him what she needs on her own terms. They’re similar in that way, he muses.
It takes a minute of her sitting there, head on her knees looking into his eyes, searching for safety, before she gives in. Before she trusts that he only wants what’s best for her. Which isn’t pain.
“It hurts” she whimpers quietly, her voice breaking as tears begin to spill over.
She’s aware this is pitiful, and that she could be likened to a child right now. But she doesn’t care. It hurts, and she feels like a child that just wants to be picked up and taken care of. He is willing to do that for her.
“I know” he replies softly, reaching out to rub his thumb over the back of her hand.
She tilts her head in confusion; she had thought she’d disguised it well, and now that was unravelling. What if her fans had noticed? What if she hadn’t given it her all? What if her performance was sub-par? What if-
As if he could hear her thoughts, he starts speaking again, explaining.
“I saw it the second it happened during the 22 kickline” he starts “your ankle, the bad one, rolled and your face fell for like, half a second. While you may be a master of disguise to the rest of the world, Tay, I know you. I know when something isn’t right.” He sighs, heart breaking at the look on her face, but his explanation seems to have calmed her. ‘Nobody else in the VIP tent even suspected a thing baby, just me.’
“Ok” She chokes out, afraid to say anymore.
She goes to stand, putting the smallest amount of weight on her foot before she suddenly plops back on the floor looking even greener than before.
He knows what’s coming, immediately jumping into action.
The random stagehand bucket that he’s not exactly sure the purpose of is barely in front of her face before she’s emptying the contents of her stomach into it. He’s behind her, pulling her hair back into a hair tie he started keeping on his wrist ‘in case of emergency’ not too long ago. It reminds him of that time a few years ago that his brother’s family had all gotten sick, and he had spent the best part of the day looking after Wyatt. He thinks back to the first time Taylor had met his nieces and smiles fondly at how gentle and perfect she had been with them.
He continues to trace shapes on her back as she coughs into the bucket, the pain-induced nausea finally passing.
“You done?” he says after she’s been quiet for a minute.
She nods, and he takes the bucket, passing it off to one of the crew with a $10 bill for their troubles.
He sits in front of her again, holding the supplies out for her to take.
She sighs, pulling off her boot before taking the ice from his hands and covering her ankle completely.
She takes the painkillers next, looking around in search of a nearby water, or something else she can take them with.
“Water?” he says, breaking her from her thoughts as he produces her favourite reusable bottle from the pocket of his shorts.
She smiles, taking it from him gratefully and swallowing the pills before reaching for his hand and squeezing three times. Their signal.
They shift and sit for a minute, her snuggled into his side, before she speaks again.
“My fans are still going to be waiting aren’t they?” she murmurs.
“Probably” he replies, leaning to look at her face. “What do you want to do? Get back in the cleaning cart?”
She sighs, contemplating her options. She loves her fans, and she loves their excitement, but she’s still crying. She’s exhausted, and in pain, and she’s not sure she can face them. Not sure she should.
“Tay?” he questions, recognising the far away look on her face. “It’s up to you, babe, I will back your play.”
She takes a second longer to decide.
“I don’t want to hide, not completely, Trav. I want them to know that I’ve left the stage. With you. But I don’t think I could actually walk out there if I wanted to. I want to be back in my dressing room, and I need to call the tour doc to meet me there.”
He’s proud of how much she’s just admitted. They’ve been together for a year now, but she still struggles being vulnerable sometimes, and he doesn’t hold that against her considering all that she’s been through. But he’s almost bursting with pride at how much she’s just told him, and so unbelievably happy to hear her talking about taking care of herself.
“You stay right here, Tay” he tells her, getting up, “I’ll see what I can do.”
It’s been almost 15 minutes when he reappears, security in tow. She looks at him inquisitively.
“Ok game plan!” he states, almost excited that he’s come up with a course of action for her. “I’m gonna carry you out from under the stage. Security will drape your favourite blanket that I got from your dressing room over you so that nobody sees the tears, but they’ll know your there.” He pauses for a second before continuing, “there’s a wheelchair waiting down at the bottom of the ramp, but I thought you wouldn’t want the fans to see that.” He’s right. “Oh, and the tour doc is already in one of the other dressing rooms waiting to tape up that ankle for you!”
“I love you” is all she can respond as she looks at him, tears of relief this time rolling down her face steadily. How lucky is she to have someone that knows her so well?
True to his word, he scoops her up effortlessly, and the baby blue fluffy blanket is placed over her.
“I’ve got you sweet girl” he whispers before stepping out from under the stage.
He makes haste in getting her to the bottom of the ramp and out of sight, but even from her sheltered position she can hear how the roars of excitement and manic clapping fade as they realise she’s in his arms. She can almost hear their concern.
But she shuts it out. Choosing to focus instead on breathing through her own pain and the strong arms that are holding her up. Supporting her like always.
It’s not much after that they’re back at the house she’s rented, her ankle freshly taped and causing considerably less pain than before.
He takes such good care of her that it’s easy to forget.
Soon, after going through their night routine slowly, him holding her weight for most of it, she’s tucked into her side of the bed, fresh bag of ice on her right ankle.
He joins her, having checked all the doors and turned out all the lights, before climbing into bed and pulling her into his side securely.
“Thank you” is all she can whisper into his side as she drifts off, eternally grateful that such a wonderful man found his way into her life.
“Always, Tay” he mutters back, pressing a delicate kiss to her hair.