Lady in RED || Taylor Swift & Travis Kelce

Written mine on my upper thigh

The house was quiet and unsettled Taylor more than she cared to admit. Without Travis home, everything felt too still like holding her breath for too long.

She paced from room to room, too wound up to sit down. Travis's old t-shirt stretched awkwardly over her belly, but she refused to take it off. The familiar scent of him a mix of laundry detergent, faint cologne, and warmth that clung to the worn fabric, making her feel just a little less alone.

The nursery door stood ajar, catching her attention again. She drifted inside for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.

Tiny clothes were scattered across the dresser where she'd left them, even though she knew they'd already been washed, folded, and sorted a dozen times. Still, she picked them up, smoothing each soft cotton onesie, folding and refolding, rearranging the socks by color and pattern like it might calm the buzz beneath her skin. The room felt like it was holding its breath with her.

She exhaled sharply, rubbing her belly. "We're okay," she whispered, though her heart didn't quite believe it.

The nightmare from the night before still lingered at the edges of her thoughts, but it wasn't just that. The house felt too quiet because the world outside wasn't. It was game day. A home game. Travis should be minutes away from warmups, and she should be in the suite with Donna, Ed, and her dad in her spot, cheering him on.

Instead, she was here, shuffling baby clothes around, feeling left behind.

She glanced at her phone on the dresser. No messages yet. She thought about texting Donna, but what would she even say? "How's warmups going?" She knew Donna was busy, probably surrounded by fans and family.

And texting Travis right now? Out of the question. He was deep in pre-game mode, focused and in the zone. She'd never want to break that for him. But God, did she wish she could.

Taylor let her thumb hover over Donna's contact for a second longer before shaking her head. No, it was fine. She could handle this.

Still, the restless feeling refused to let go. The same nagging thought looped in her mind. "I should be there."

Her hand trailed along the crib's edge, grounding herself as her heart raced just a little faster.

Reluctantly, Taylor left the nursery and made her way down the stairs toward the living room, where her mom was arranging a tray of snacks on the coffee table. Crackers, fruit, and a small assortment of dips, all comfort food in its simplest form.

Andrea glanced up and smiled. "Hey, you ready to watch our boy do his thing?"

Taylor smirked, pulling Travis's shirts down over her belly more as she shifted. "As ready as I can be. I feel like I should be in Arrowhead, not pacing around here like a caged animal."

Her mom chuckled knowingly. "You made the smart call. Being mobbed in the suite this pregnant? You'd be throwing ice cubes at fans."

Taylor flopped onto the couch, her belly taking up more real estate than usual. "You're not wrong." She pulled at the shirt again, honestly it barely fit at this point, but wearing it made her feel closer to him. "I just hate missing it."

"You're still part of it," Andrea reassured, sitting beside her. "Travis knows you're watching."

Taylor nodded, but the ache of not being there still tugged at her. She stared at the muted TV as the pre-game coverage played. Somewhere in the lockers, Travis was probably bouncing around like a golden retriever, headphones on, hyped for kickoff.

She reached for her phone again, thumb instinctively hovering over Travis's contact.

Don't do it, she told herself. It was their unspoken rule. No texts during pre-game mode. Still, the urge to break it burned like a fuse.