Taylor sat on the edge of their bed, staring blankly at her phone, which lay face down on the nightstand. The silence of the house wrapped around her like a heavy, suffocating blanket. Normally, by this time, she'd be texting Travis, telling him how proud she was, congratulating him on another incredible game, or even sending him something silly to make him laugh during a quiet moment in the locker room. But tonight felt different. It felt empty.
She could still hear Travis's words from two weeks ago, replaying in her mind like a broken record.
"I can't have you there, Tay. Not for these away games. You know how it is. It's too unpredictable, and I don't have the security I do at home. It's not safe, and I need you to be safe."
He had begged her. Pleaded with her to stay behind. She'd protested, of course. Taylor, who spent most of her career surrounded by the chaos of crowds and fans, was no stranger to public scrutiny. But this was different. He was different. Travis was not just another part of the machine of fame—he was her safe place, her anchor in all of it. When he had looked at her, with that mixture of concern and guilt in his eyes, she couldn't say no.
So, for the first time since their relationship had gone public, she'd missed two back-to-back games. Away games where she couldn't be there to watch him play, to cheer him on from the sidelines, and to be the calm in his storm after.
And of course, the media had noticed.
The internet had noticed.
That's what hurt the most.
Every news outlet, every social media platform was flooded with questions, rumors, and speculation. *Why wasn't Taylor Swift at the game?* *Is there trouble in paradise?* *Has Swift's absence caused a rift between her and Kelce?*
It wasn't true. None of it was true. But the words, the headlines, the relentless noise—they cut deep. Normally, she could brush it off, put her phone down, and remind herself that the people talking had no idea what their lives were really like. But tonight, sitting alone in their Kansas City home, with Travis miles away in Los Angeles for yet another away game, it felt like too much.
Her hands trembled as she finally reached for her phone. Notifications flooded the screen the second she turned it over. She didn't even have to open the apps—just reading the previews was enough to make her chest tighten with a familiar, suffocating anxiety.
**"Swift MIA at Kelce's second straight game—is this the beginning of the end?"**
**"Kelce's performance falters without his leading lady in the stands."**
**"Fans outraged at Swift's absence—where is she?"**
Taylor could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Each article, each tweet, each comment felt like a personal attack, even though she knew it wasn't. It was just noise. She had told herself that a thousand times. But the noise had a way of sneaking in, wrapping itself around her and sinking into her bones.
She hadn't eaten today. She hadn't even realized it until her stomach growled, but the thought of food only made her feel nauseous. It had been hours since Travis texted her before the game, telling her he loved her, that they'd talk after. And now the game was over, and they'd won, but he still hadn't called. The dread started to settle deep in her gut. She wasn't mad at him—he had his team, his commitments. But the loneliness tonight was unbearable.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of her phone. It was Tree.
Taylor didn't answer.
A second call came through a few minutes later. Again, she let it go to voicemail. She didn't have the energy to explain how she was feeling, not when she barely understood it herself. But then the third call came through, persistent, and Taylor sighed, knowing her publicist and friend wouldn't stop until she picked up.
