The Lucky One (2) - Taylor Swift

28

"You want to move back to Glenville?" Taylor slipped her palm on Grace's lower back as they walked towards the staircase again.

"No," Grace made sure to maintain her pace so Taylor would keep her hand there. She loved those small touches, everything Taylor did to make sure she felt loved. She had been doing her best to return that. Trying her hardest to remember her share of the chores and keep her voice level and kind even in moments of stress. She had slipped up once or twice but Taylor had noticed a major difference that she was so grateful for, nobody was perfect.

"Alan mooning the guy at the pizza place last weekend really did it for me, I think we should move there and get the house right next to his!"

"Not that there's any reason Alan should have mooned the guy, but in his defence, he just found out that the other child is not his either and I mean... we thought he knew... the kid is obviously Asian and he's four," Grace murmured with a confused face, "Regardless, I am glad I no longer associate with Alan."

"We'll avoid that restaurant next time we visit your brother if we see him outside again," Taylor chuckled and agreed. Michael had to let him go the month prior because Alan was snorting sawdust on the job. Sawdust is not a code word for some kind of drug, but just the fine shavings off fresh cut wood.

"I like that pizza," Grace sighed. It had been a weekend to remember after Thanksgiving the week before and they had both never been so glad to see the inside of their apartment.

"I like your accent," Taylor kissed her lips and said, "Good luck! You promise to text me right after?"

"Absolutely," Grace required one more quick kiss, "Goodbye, darling. I love you."

"I love you more."

Grace got back from her driving test which she had passed and wanted to show off her test results but as she was in the elevator, her phone started to ring. She pulled looked at the screen, a private number flashed across as the caller identification.

Grace slid to accept the call and held it up to her ear, "Hello, Grace Kent speaking."

"Hey, Grace," the voice on the other end of the line said unsurely, "How are you?"

"Hi, William," Grace furrowed her eyebrows as she recognized the voice, "How did you get my phone number?"

"I asked Louis to get it for me," he answered, "I wanted to call you before the tabloids got ahold of the story. The butler found father in bed this morning... they believe he suffered a heart attack and passed away. I thought you would like to know."

"Oh," Grace heard the elevator ding but she didn't step out right away, "Did you see the body?"

"Are you really asking me if I'm sure he is dead?"

"You know that I am," Grace finally stepped forward but she lingered in the hallway outside of the door. She had her keys in her hand but she only switched between them with her fingers with no effort made to jam it into the lock.

"He was cold," William sighed, "Yes, he is dead."

"Thank you for letting me know," Grace nodded to herself as she swallowed a lump of air. She didn't know how to feel about that, he was never good to her. Never good to any of them, really. She was okay with that, she was pretty sure she would just feel numb for a little while.

"I think the funeral will be on Friday if you plan to attend," William continued on, "Do you know if Michael is still at the same number he was last time he and I spoke?"

"Are you going to call him, too? Planning a family reunion over Satan's grave? Might as well call Eleanor and see if she'd like to shake his decaying, blood covered hand."

"I was going to ask for her phone number, yes," William said, "Would he accept my call?"

"I barely did," Grace said, "I wouldn't have if you had not blocked your caller ID. You kept the fact that you knew where he was from me, but for him... you didn't accept that he was suffering and you still don't. You had a brother who could never live up to your shadow and a sister who was getting just as hurt by the palm of his hand as your own mother and you stood by that man. For that... no, he wouldn't."

"I am sorry for that," William admitted. Grace could hear his voice tremble from the back of his throat, "I would like to admit that I wanted to join you when you released that information to the press but I have a child who has a future I am responsible for. I can assure you that now that I am taking over the family business, it will only do good."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Grace nearly laughed at his excuse. She lost more than he ever would have. If the roles were reversed, it would have been a slap on the hand for him. Robert played favourites, he had always played favourites. Michael was backup in case William were not able to take over, Grace was an unfortunate addition. If William was alive and well, the other children were not needed.

"And my son's name is not Robert," the sole remaining child in their father's will clarified, "We actually chose the name Thomas. I have my secrets too, Grace."

"Still doesn't fix the problem. You were my big brother and now you're just some dude who did too little too late. Thanks for calling, please don't call again."

Before William could answer, Grace stuck her key in the door and turned the lock with a click as her other hand hung up. Taylor was waiting for her in the kitchen, she was baking sugar cookies to celebrate Grace's license.

"Hi, baby!" Taylor smiled as Grace tossed her keys down on the table. She should have put them in the bowl, they wouldn't remember where she had left them the next time she went looking.

"Hi," Grace kept her face stoic as she met Taylor's gaze, "My father died this morning."

"What?" Taylor's smile faded quickly, "Are you joking?"

"No... William called. He had a heart attack."

"Oh my god," Taylor stopped working with the cookie dough and washed her hands off quickly. Grace remained still across from the counter as the singer's palms rested on her shoulders, "How- how are you feeling about this?"

"I'm not feeling anything at all," Grace replied softly, "Not a thing."

"Why don't you sit down, Gracie," Taylor pulled the barstool out and guided Grace onto it as the brunette's green eyes glazed over into a vacant state.

The former heiress settled onto it and pulled her feet onto the cold metal ring at the bottom to rest the pads them. She shook her head just a tinge with disbelief, "It's over."

"What's over?" Taylor asked gently after a brief moment of silent questioning. Her blonde eyebrows went together with curiosity.

"Feeling scared of what he'll do," Grace gulped, "He can't hurt me anymore."

"He can't," Taylor nodded, "You're right, he's dead. He isn't going to hurt anybody anymore."

"I think I want to go the funeral."