Chapter 5 Bastian
BASTIAN
The heat of the shower pounds against my shoulders, but it does little to ease the deep ache in my muscles.
I brace my hands against the tile wall, letting the water cascade down my back.
There’s being stage fit and farm fit. I’ve managed both most of my life, but damn, I’m starting to feel every single one of my forty-five years.
Gouta’s bleats drift through the bathroom window, a sound that pierces what I’d hoped would be my first moment of solitude today.
I left her in the barn with the cows just an hour ago, even made her a special bed of fresh hay, but apparently, she has other plans.
Now she’s out there calling for me like some sort of four-legged conscience.
I can’t decide if she’s a gift or a taunt from Taylen—probably both, knowing him.
Taylen.
Huh, that man.
My mind is stuck on the way he looked this morning, leaning against the fence in just that Henley, like the cold couldn’t touch him.
Even with his hair sticking up everywhere when he came into the farmhouse kitchen with his apples, he couldn’t have looked more like someone I’d happily have in my bed.
Twelve years younger and somehow, he makes me feel like the rookie, like I’m the one who needs to prove himself. This stupid attraction is inconvenient at best, inappropriate at worst. He’s Jackson’s little brother, for Christ’s sake.
I turn off the water with more force than necessary. Water drips from my hair onto my bare shoulders as I step into my bedroom, towel secure around my waist.
The sight that greets me almost makes me jump. Gouta, whom I thought was outside, is currently curled like a white cloud on my pillow, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
“This is not a petting zoo,” I tell her, trying to sound stern. She responds by stretching luxuriously across my pillow, her red ribbon—which she’s refusing to let me take off—slightly askew. “The barn has perfectly good hay. Fresh, even.”
She blinks at me with those oddly intelligent eyes, then settles deeper into my pillow. The moonlight catches her white coat, making her look almost angelic. That is, if angels were small, stubborn goats with boundary issues.
I sigh and cross to the bed, reaching out to scratch behind her ears. Her fur is soft under my fingers, and she leans into the touch with a contented sound that’s almost a purr. “You’re as bad as your dad,” I murmur, then catch myself. Dad? If Taylen is her dad, what does that make me?
The last thing I need is to start thinking about Taylen while standing here in just a towel, so I move with purpose toward my dresser.
I pull out jeans and a flannel shirt, aware of Gouta’s watchful gaze.
What I need right now is noise, conversation, something to drown out the thoughts that keep circling back to this morning and Taylen’s challenging smirk.
“Come on,” I tell Gouta as I finish dressing. “You’re going outside because I need some human company.”
She bleats what sounds suspiciously like an argument and refuses to hop off the bed.
“Fine,” I say, grabbing the pillow from under her. She follows me to the living room, where I place the pillow on my couch, prancing like this was her plan all along. “Please don’t eat my stuff while I’m gone,” I plead as I grab my coat and head to the door.
Joe’s looks exactly the same as it did when I was finally allowed inside for my first alcoholic drink. Same neon beer signs, same scarred wooden bar, same people sitting on the same stools. The familiar scent of stale beer and wood polish wraps around me as I push through the door.
A chorus of greetings rises from the usual crowd.
Not the screaming of fans, but the quiet acknowledgment of neighbors.
Old Jim raises his glass from his perpetual spot at the end of the bar, while the Peterson sisters pause their eternal argument about fence lines to wave.
I love this as much as I love the cheering of the fans.
“The usual?” Joe asks, already reaching for a glass.
“The usual,” I reply, settling onto a barstool that feels like it’s been waiting for me.
Ellie from the feed store leans over, her gray hair escaping its practical bun. “How’re those Holstein heifers settling in? And I heard you switched to that new mineral supplement for the milking herd.”
The conversation flows easily into talk of milk production and feed costs. Nobody here cares about platinum records or stadium tours. Here, I’m just another farmer trying to keep my herd healthy and productive.
Joe slides a bowl of peanuts my way, his movement practiced and smooth. “Good to have you back properly,” he says, voice gruff with sincerity. “Place needs more young blood taking up the old ways.”
“Thanks, Joe.”
He waves me off. “Anyway, don’t want to keep you. You’re probably here for Finn.”
The sound of familiar laughter draws my attention to a corner booth, where Finn and Taylen huddle over what looks like far too many empty glasses.
Taylen’s head is thrown back, his throat exposed in a way that makes my mouth go dry.
His usual sharp edges have been softened by alcohol, making him look younger, more like the kid I remember.
Finn leans close, his hand on Taylen’s arm. Are they…together?
It’s none of my business, but I don’t recall my brother ever mentioning that he’s seeing someone, or even the last time he mentioned a guy. My mom would have spilled the beans by now. Right? Especially if Finn and Taylen were together.
I chew the salty peanuts, trying to ignore them, but my eyes keep going back to the same corner. So much for coming out to find some inner peace and good conversation.
Taylen waves off whatever Finn’s saying, his movements loose and uncoordinated. His Henley has slipped to reveal the edge of a tattoo I can’t make out from this distance. I watch as he reaches for his glass again, missing slightly before correcting.
Finn’s protectiveness is obvious in the way he shifts closer, trying to block Taylen from the rest of the bar’s view. But Taylen just laughs again, the sound brittle and wrong, and signals for another round.
My feet are moving before I think too hard about it. Whatever’s going on, whatever’s driven Taylen to drink himself into this state, I can’t just watch from the sidelines. Not when he’s Jackson’s little brother. Not when he’s…whatever he is to my brother.
Finn spots me first, relief flooding his features. “Bastian, perfect timing,” he says, cutting off whatever Taylen was about to say.
Taylen’s head swivels toward me, his eyes taking too long to focus. “Well, if it isn’t the progi…pro…prodi…gal…prodigal farmer,” he drawls, words slurring slightly.
“Tay,” Finn warns, but Taylen just laughs, the sound sharp and hollow. “It’s time for you to go home.”
“Sssnot. Ssstime for another round. I want the Christmas beer because it’s my favrorite.”
Finn sighs and turns to me. “He can’t drive like this. Usually, he’d crash with me, but that’s not possible right now. Can you take him home?”
I step close enough to smell the beer on Taylen’s breath. “Sure.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Taylen argues, but his attempt to stand ends with him grabbing the table for balance.
“No,” I agree, reaching out to steady him. “But you do need a ride.”
His body is warm against mine as I help him up, and I try not to think about how perfectly he fits against my side.
If he’s my brother’s boyfriend, I definitely need these thoughts to take a long walk off a short pier.
It’s one thing to stay away from Taylen to respect someone who isn’t here, but another to consider the feelings of someone who is very much here and who I would do anything for.
Finn mouths a silent “thank you” as he gathers his things, already pulling out his phone. “Don’t worry about his truck,” Finn says. “I’ll have someone bring it by in the morning.”
“Sure. Does he have a coat?” I ask.
Finn looks at me and shakes his head like he’s had this conversation too many times.
I slip off my coat and drape it around Taylen’s shoulders.
“’M not cold,” Taylen protests, but he doesn’t shrug it off. The coat hangs loose on his smaller frame, sleeves covering his hands completely.
“Sure you’re not,” I murmur, keeping one arm around his waist as we navigate toward the door. He stumbles slightly, and I tighten my grip. “Easy there.”
Getting him into the truck proves to be an exercise in patience and upper-body strength. He’s all loose limbs and uncoordinated movements, like a puppet with half its strings cut.
“Seatbelt,” I remind him once he’s finally settled, but his coordination is shot. I lean across him to pull the belt across his chest, trying not to notice how his breath catches or the way his eyes track my movements.
“You smell good,” he says quietly, so close I can feel the words against my ear. “Like…like wood smoke and something else.”
I close the passenger door and lean against the truck for a second. The chill of the night doesn’t do much to stop my body’s reaction to being so close to him.
You need to get a fucking grip, Sebastian.
I take a deep, steadying breath and go around the truck to the driver’s seat.
As I start the engine, Taylen slumps against the window and pulls my coat tighter around his body. Is he sniffing it?
The drive passes in relative silence, broken only by Taylen’s occasional mumbles and the soft country station playing on the radio. I keep glancing over at him, worried he might get sick, but he just stares out at the passing streetlights.
As I focus on the road ahead, my mind goes into a different space.
The last time I was at Taylen’s house was the day I left for a tour and went to say goodbye to my best friend.
That was the last time I saw Jackson. Every time I think of that day, I wish I’d given him a tighter hug, looked into his eyes a little longer.
Fuck, I wish for things that have no point being wished for because nothing could have changed what happened.
The memory sits heavy in my chest as I pull onto the shared track leading to the farms. Taylen’s breathing has evened out beside me, his face peaceful in a way it never is when he’s awake.
I debate the right call. Taking him home means dealing with pain I’m not ready to face. But the alternative…
The truck’s headlights cut through the darkness as I make my decision.
Taylen shifts in his seat, head lolling against the window, and something in my chest tightens at how vulnerable he looks.
The familiar curves of the farm road appear ahead, lined with snow-dusted trees that glow silver in the moonlight.
My parents’ farmhouse comes into view, but before I get there, I take a turn to my place. The cabin is my sanctuary. Even my band brothers don’t come in when they’re on the farm. Bringing someone inside, especially the next-door neighbor who seems to have a beef with me, I must be out of my mind.
I park the truck and cut the engine, letting silence settle around us. Taylen’s breathing, steady and deep, is the only sound in the stillness.
I unlock the front door and turn the lights on before going back to the truck to get Taylen. Surprisingly, he’s a little more cooperative this time. Probably because he’s half-asleep.
Somehow, he manages to use the bathroom on his own, but when he comes out, he’s wearing nothing but his boxer shorts.
Gouta’s bleat draws me out of my stupefied state as I unashamedly ogle Taylen’s body.
The way his broad chest tapers to a slim waist, the tattoos he has scattered all over his chest and arms. It shouldn’t come as news to me that the kid I remember chasing me and his brother around the farm is very much no longer a kid.
In fact, I know how much he is no longer a kid.
Oblivious to my thoughts, Taylen lies down on my bed and pulls the covers over his body, muttering, “Goodnight, rockstar,” before a soft snore fills the silence. Gouta jumps on the bed and curls up against Taylen.
I turn the light out and head to the living room. At least I won’t have to share the couch.