Lady in RED || Taylor Swift & Travis Kelce

Breaking down

The hallway outside recovery was quiet in that awful, sterile way hospitals always were at night. The kind of silence that wasn't peaceful but just loud in its stillness. Machines beeped behind closed doors, a rhythmic reminder of lives being monitored. Somewhere farther down the corridor, someone was moaning in pain, a low, choked sound that rose and fell before fading into the hum of fluorescent lights.

Taylor sat in a stiff vinyl chair, arms folded tight over her chest, shoulders rounded inwards like she was bracing against something heavier than just exhaustion. Her game-night outfit, once bold and confident, now felt like a costume she couldn't wait to peel off. The denim pinched at her waist. Someone from the Chiefs staff had handed her Travis's duffel when she'd left the stadium in a rush. She hadn't even realized until the back of the SUV that she was holding it in her lap like it was something sacred. Now, instead of her custom game-night jacket, she wore his hoodie. The same one he'd worn early that day. Chiefs red and way too big, the sleeves falling past her wrists. She'd pulled the hood up and tucked her hands inside, like she could hide inside. It smelled like him. Faint cologne. She swore her heart settled for just a second when she slipped it on.

But that comfort was fleeting. The image of him motionless on the turf hovered at the edge of her mind, pressing against her skull.

She could've followed her fears all the way down. Let them swallow her whole.

But she didn't. Not in this hallway. Not in front of the nurse who passed every few minutes with a sympathetic glance. And especially not while somewhere, possibly, even probably, someone had a camera.

She had been told the area was secure. Cleared. Her security team had double-checked. But it didn't matter.

She always felt watched. A single photo of her right now, broken, would fetch hundreds of thousands if not a million dollars.

All the pieces of her shattered as the crowd was chanting "More." It would called an Easter egg. A rollout. A moment planned. Like pain could be branded. Like fear was part of the narrative. The world didn't want the fairytale. They wanted the fracture lines.

She wouldn't give it to them.

Her father's footsteps echoed before he appeared. A slow, steady rhythm that broke the stillness without jarring it, Taylor stood the second she saw him. "How's Rion?" she asked immediately, her voice low and tight, almost a whisper.

Scott stepped forward, arms open, and pulled her into a grounding hug. "He's sleeping," he murmured into her hair. "Your mom's got him. You know she's a pro."

Taylor nodded against his chest, trying to hold back tears. Before she could respond, the elevator down the hall chimed and the doors slid open. Donna and Ed stepped out, both still in their Chiefs gear, exhaustion written across their faces.

"Any word?" Donna asked gently as they reached them.

Taylor nodded faintly. "They said he was awake when they got him here. They were getting him stabilized and took him straight into surgery." Her voice wavered, but she kept going. "They promised they'd come out with a full update as soon as they could."

Time seemed to stretch and warp, the seconds too slow, then, finally, the doors opened. A doctor in blue scrubs stepped through, flanked by two younger interns trailing behind him with clipboards in hand. He had kind eyes, a practiced calm about him that made Taylor sit up straighter.

"I'm Dr. Levine," he said, nodding gently. "Neurology. I've been overseeing Travis's evaluation and coordination with the orthopedic team."

Taylor stood. Donna and Ed moved in behind her as Scott hovered protectively at her side.