Taylor Swift & Travis Kelce inspired romance. Can you find all the Easter eggs? |
Trace Kelton, a charismatic NFL star, is on the brink of losing it all after attempting to save an intoxicated woman that ended with him hospitalizing three men. To p...
Six. Seven. And by the eighth shot, Syler's head was in the clouds of where her song ideas lived. A wonderland of dreams and melodies and heavens. She could see them, taste them, grab them. Birds drifted by a pastel pink lyric she had long forgotten about.
A laugh expelled from her lungs as she looked away from the imaginary clouds and laid eyes on her company. She expected to see his dazzling green eyes, his straight nose, and buzzed head. She expected to reach out and touch his muscles, for his arms to come around her like a fitting puzzle piece... but latching onto dark eyes instead scratched an unforgiving itch in the back of her mind. Trace wasn't here. Madds was.
She watched Madds down the ninth shot, swaying on the barstool, sweat beading at his hairline. Her brows knitted as she tried to grasp what she was here for. Though she wasn't sure of that, she was sure she wanted to stop drinking. And she wanted Madds to drink a lot more. Carefully, she put her shot glass down on the counter, confident in not wanting to refill it. It touched the ledge, tipped over, and fell to the ground, shattering to tiny, glittering fragments.
"Oops," she giggled.
"You're so silly." He laughed. Madds's brows turned up, eyes widening as he leaned in to say, "I love you. So much, Syler."
Hearing his gruff voice settled in all the wrong ways as she did her best to pour him another shot. The stream of liquor hit the brim and spilled over the surface. She blinked a few times and tried again. Enough alcohol made it into the glass. "Drink, drink, drink," she chanted.
Down two more drinks went. After the eleventh shot, his head smacked against the counter, eyes closed, and chest rising and falling softly.
A sense of relief bubbled up inside her, sobering her up just enough to remember why she chose not to continue drinking. The photos. Trace. For Trace. She reached into Madds's pocket and snatched his phone. The screen was impossible to read. Syler couldn't tell if she was even holding it the right way. But she kept at it. The faster she could delete them, the faster she could leave. She put up the phone to Madd's face to unlock it and began the process of searching. Words and numbers and apps blurred in her drunk mind.
Syler put her head in her hand, rubbing her eyes. Then, she slapped herself on the cheek, hoping it would force her to pay attention.
After searching for what felt like hours, she finally found the photos and deleted them. Then again from the recently deleted album. Her eyes shifted to Madds passed out, wondering how his mind worked. She took a deep breath to keep her focus, then opened his social media apps. There was more. She could feel it. He was more calculated than this when he wanted to be. Syler opened his drafts and saw photos of Trace punching her the night of his bar fight were ready to be released. Delete. Then, she opened his files and scrolled, finding them in a hidden folder. Fuck. They could be all over his phone. His messages. He even had sent them to himself.
Her head looked up to the front door, and it looked like a small, black smudge miles away. If she could just get there.
She took off her black heels and began the trek, Madds's phone clutched tightly in her fingers. Her legs felt more wobbly as she staggered closer to the front door. With a heart beating as loud and strong as a war drum, she kept stumbling closer to freedom. Her fingers, smeared in her own blood from Madds scratching her forearm, coiled around the knob, blowing the door open to see her security team standing by her car door.
"Syler?" one guard said.
"Help," she whispered.
In seconds, arms banded around her, lifted her, and tucked her into the car. As they buckled her in, she yelled, "Wait. Wait!" She shoved Madds's phone into the chest of one of her guards. "He has photos of me. Find them. Then do a factory reset. Please."
A husky voice answered, "I'm on it."
"Give it back to him. And grab my shoes. Please."
"You got it, Syler."
"And my blood is on the doorknob."
"I'll clean it."
A wave of solace washed over her. Her heart slowed and her eyes drifted closed.
She laid her head on the other guard's shoulders.
"Call her doctor," one hollered to the other.
Anxiety drilled through her mind. The doctor meant explaining who did this and why. Syler couldn't afford anyone knowing. She'd sleep this off, wake up fine, and try to perform at the upcoming show. "No. No."
"Yes, Syler," a deep voice ordered.
She shook her head, blonde hair falling over her face. "No. Take me home."
There was a moment of silence before a ringing sounded on one of the team member's phone. "Someone's at your front gate."
Syler didn't have the mental capacity to address more paparazzi or stalkers breaking into her home right now. Maybe she could sleep right here. In the car.
"Hello?" the guard answered. "How can I help you?"
"Hi, this is Trace Kelton. I'm... trying to get a hold of Syler."
Her heart thumped loudly at the sound of his velvety, rich voice. So much so that her mind seemed floated back into her safe space where her inspiration lived. And she wanted to stay there. Wanted to take Trace with her.
Her head popped off the guard's shoulder and rushed to say, "Let him in."
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This chapter marks 13,131 words total 🤯
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Did you find any Easter eggs?
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Check out my Rapunzel-inspired dark fantasy romance, "Body of Chaos"!
