The Unlikely Adventures of Bitchface and Go Fuck Yourself

Two Weeks LaterJanuary 29th: 2025Travis Kelce's Point of ViewI pace around the living room, the check trembling slightly in my hand. It's more than I ever imagined I'd write, more than I'd like it to be, but it's what I owe. $578,000. Over half a million dollars. I take a deep breath and walk over to Taylor, who's sitting on the couch with Zoë nestled in her lap. They're both engrossed in SuperKitties, Zoë's little giggles bubbling up every now and then.

"I have something to give you," I say gently, standing a few steps away.

Taylor looks up at me, her brows furrowing. "Oh. What is it?"

I sit down next to her and hand her the check. She glances at it, her expression unreadable for a moment—until her eyes widen and her face goes pale.

"Half a million dollars!" she gasps, clutching the check like it's a live wire. Her breathing becomes quick and shallow as she starts fanning herself. "I think you forgot to add a decimal point!"

"No, I didn't." I lean back, trying to appear calm even though my chest feels like it's about to cave in. "I talked to some lawyers. This is what I owe you, calculated from the day Zoë was born. It's all based on my varying salaries as I grew in the industry."

Her eyes dart from me to the check and back again, like she's waiting for me to say it's a joke. "This is... I mean, this is insane! Travis, I—"

"I assume you don't want to go to court," I interrupt gently, "so I wanted to settle things properly. From now on, you'll also be getting $25,000 a month. Every month, like clockwork. No strings attached."

She stares at me, completely stunned, the check still clutched in her hand. "This doesn't make up for everything," she says softly, her voice tinged with hesitation. "But... it helps. It really, really helps."

I nod, swallowing hard. "I know it doesn't fix the past, but it's a start. I want to do right by both of you, Taylor. For real this time."

She looks back at the check and then down at Zoë, who's still happily watching her show, blissfully unaware of how much her life is about to change. "Thank you, Travis," Taylor whispers.

"Now, I also got you something else," I say, standing up and walking toward the kitchen counter where I stashed the gift bag. "Just... a little something. A gift or maybe a nudge."

Taylor raises an eyebrow, still clutching the check like it might vanish into thin air. "Travis, I think half a million dollars is more than enough."

"Just open it," I insist, handing her the bag.

She rolls her eyes but takes it from me, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Fine, but this better not be something ridiculous."

Zoë, sensing the excitement, clambers over to her lap to investigate. Taylor tears into the tissue paper begrudgingly, tossing it aside. Her fingers pause when she pulls out a sleek, brand-new laptop, still in its packaging. She blinks at it, then up at me.

"A computer?"

I grin, sitting back down beside her. "Write. You have no excuses now. You've got money, time, and the tools. It's what you've always wanted, isn't it?"

Her jaw drops slightly as she stares at the laptop, running her fingers over the box like she's afraid it might bite her. "Travis... I don't even know what to say. This is... wow."

"It's not just a gift," I say, leaning forward. "It's a reminder. You gave up your dream to raise Zoë, but you don't have to keep putting it on hold. You've got stories to tell, and I know they'll be amazing. So get to it."

She laughs softly, shaking her head. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"Yeah, well, so are you," I reply. "And the world deserves to see it."

Taylor sets the laptop down and looks at me, her expression a mix of gratitude and disbelief. "Thank you. For everything."

"Just promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Write something that makes Zoë proud of her mom."

Taylor smirks in a way I haven't seen in years. "I think I can do that."

"I know that smirk," I say, watching Taylor as she stares at the laptop in her lap. Her lips twitch, like she's fighting off a smile she doesn't want me to see. "You've got an idea, don't you?"

She glances at me, feigning innocence, but I know her too well. "I might have one or two," she admits, her voice soft.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and grin. "Show me."

"Show you what?" she asks, but her tone gives her away. She knows exactly what I mean.

"The napkins," I say, smirking.

Her head tilts, confusion flickering across her face, but only for a second. "The napkins?"

"Yeah, the ones you used to write on at the diner," I remind her. "You'd come home with little poems and stories scribbled on them. I remember seeing that stack by your bed, all crumpled and stained with coffee."

She lets out a nervous laugh, shaking her head. "Those? Travis, those are nothing. Just random things I wrote when I was bored at work."

I raise an eyebrow. "Random things? Taylor, those were incredible. I used to sneak reads when you weren't looking."

Her eyes widen, and she looks at me like I've grown a second head. "You read them? Travis, those were private!"

"Yeah, private and brilliant. I'm serious, Taylor. You had something. You still do." I gesture to the laptop. "So? What's stopping you? Pull out those old napkins and see what you can do with them."

She hesitates, her eyes darting to Zoë, who's busy on the floor, stacking blocks and talking to her toys. Then her gaze shifts back to the laptop, and for a moment, she looks so much like the girl I used to know—back when the world hadn't taken so much from her.

"I don't even know if I still have those," she says, her voice quieter now.

"You do," I say confidently. "You saved everything you ever wrote, even if you told yourself you didn't."

She looks at me like I've just called her bluff, which, to be fair, I have.

"You really think I can do this?" she whispers.

I sit back, letting the weight of my words settle between us. "I know you can," I tell her. And I mean it. I've never been so sure of anything in my life. "You were born to do this, Taylor. And if anyone can find a way to turn a napkin scribble into something amazing, it's you."

"Come here," Taylor says, scooping up Zoë before heading toward the bedroom. Zoë babbles away in her arms, her tiny hands grabbing at Taylor's hair, completely unaware of the moment unfolding around her.

I follow behind, still caught off guard by Taylor's sudden determination. As we step into the room, I glance around. It's simple, just like her—practical, yet somehow holding more depth than it seems at first glance.

"If we're going to do this," I say, leaning against the doorway, "I don't feel like Zoë should be here. This is serious business."

"Shut up!" she fires back, teasing, as she gives me a playful shove. She places Zoë on the bed, surrounding her with pillows so she's safe.

"I'm just messing with you," I say, grinning.

She rolls her eyes at me but doesn't say anything. Instead, she heads over to the nightstand on her side of the bed. I watch as she pulls open a drawer, rummaging through for a moment before her hand freezes.

When she turns back to me, she's holding them.

Napkins. Hundreds of them. Scribbled words in smudged ink and faded pencil.

I step closer, and my eyes widen as she crouches down to open the cabinet below. Inside, there's an entire stack of napkins, each one carefully saved.

"As much as I like to say I gave up," she says, brushing her fingers over the edge of one napkin, "part of me never did."

I don't know what to say at first. Seeing this—seeing all of this—proves what I've been saying all along.

"Taylor," I whisper, my voice soft with awe. "This is...this is everything."

She looks up at me, a nervous smile tugging at her lips. "I don't know about that, but it's something."

"It's not just something," I insist, crouching down next to her. I pick up one of the napkins, holding it delicately, like it's a piece of her heart laid bare. "This is you. You didn't give up because you can't give up. It's who you are."

She stares at me, her eyes searching mine, and for a moment, it feels like the walls she's built around herself start to crumble.

"Maybe," she murmurs, almost to herself.

"No maybe about it," I say firmly. "This is the start, Taylor. You've already done the hardest part—you kept going. Now, it's time for everyone else to see what you're made of."

Zoë lets out a giggle behind us, breaking the tension. Taylor laughs softly, standing up and brushing off her jeans.

"Well," she says, looking back at me with that old spark in her eyes, "I guess I'd better get started."

"You better," I say, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall.

"Just one problem." Taylor looks up at me, her cheeks turning a little pink.

"What?"

"I don't...really know how to use the laptop you gave me," she admits sheepishly, biting her lip.

"You don't know how to use a MacBook?" I raise an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

"I've never used a MacBook!" she fires back, defensive but embarrassed. "I've only ever used desktops at libraries..."

Her honesty catches me off guard, and I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. "You've never used a MacBook?"

She shakes her head. "Nope. Never needed to."

I chuckle softly, the sound making her narrow her eyes at me like she's daring me to make fun of her. "Hey, don't look at me like that. It's not a big deal. I'll teach you."

"You'll teach me?" she repeats, skeptical.

"Of course. It's not a whole lot different. One's just portable," I say, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Taylor sighs, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Okay, fine. But I swear, if you laugh at me, I'm throwing it out the window."

I smirk. "Deal. But, fair warning, I'm not responsible if you accidentally send Zoë's first novel to the cloud."

She glares at me, but I can see the corners of her lips twitching as she tries not to smile. "Just show me how to turn the thing on, genius."

"Step one," I say, reaching for the laptop and opening the lid with a flourish, "is pressing this magical little button."

She watches closely, her skepticism melting into something softer—something like trust.

"Why isn't anything happening?" Taylor frowns, pressing the power button again, harder this time like sheer determination might will the thing to life.

I lean over to check, trying not to laugh. "You know... probably because we haven't charged it."

She freezes, her finger still on the button, and slowly turns to glare at me. "You gave me a dead laptop?"

"I gave you a new laptop," I correct, grinning. "You think they come precharged?"

"Well, they should!" she snaps, though I can tell she's trying to hide a smile. "How was I supposed to know? I've never used one of these fancy things!"

I hold up my hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. My bad. Let me get the charger."

As I walk over to grab the box, I hear her muttering behind me. "Unbelievable. Half a million dollars and I still get a dead laptop."

I turn around, raising an eyebrow. "Half a million dollars and a free tech lesson. You're welcome."

She rolls her eyes but laughs softly, and I take that as a small victory. Plugging the charger into the outlet, I watch as the screen finally lights up.

"See?" I say, handing it back to her. "Good as new. You're officially ready to take on the world."

She looks down at the glowing screen like it's some kind of alien artifact, then back at me. "This better be worth the hype."

"It will be," I promise. "Especially when you're typing out your first bestseller."

For a second, something flickers in her expression—hope, maybe. Then she smirks and shakes her head. "You're way too confident in me."

"Someone has to be."

—————Author's Note:

I imagine taylor getting a virus in the first 2 days