Chapter 13 Bastian
BASTIAN
The band starts a new song, and I add a notch on my mental board. This would be a cool game if I hadn’t noticed the not-so-discreet glances between my bandmates. The only ones not engaging are Finn and Fox.
Finn is glued to his phone, probably already planning the Christmas Festival move, even though it hasn’t been officially decided.
And Fox? He’s quieter than usual. It’s like he’s with us, but he’s not really here.
Stone breaks first. “So…” He draws out the word until it has three syllables. “Are we going to talk about how you and Taylen were practically setting the table on fire with those looks?”
It took them three and a half songs. They must be getting old.
I keep my eyes fixed on my ginger ale, watching bubbles rise to the surface. “There were no looks.”
“Oh, honey.” Stone laughs. “I’ve seen less heat between actual flames.”
Nikko leans forward. “I thought Sylvie was going to force you both into a timeout. The tension was thick enough to scoop with one of her serving spoons.”
“Can we not do this?” The words come out sharper than intended, but they just exchange amused glances.
“Do what?” Stone asks innocently. “Discuss the obvious sparks flying between you and a certain incredibly attractive orchard owner? The way you practically stopped breathing when he reached across you for the green beans?”
My fingers tighten around my glass. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I imagining how you couldn’t take your eyes off him?” Nikko joins in, his smile growing. “Because I distinctly remember you missing your mouth with your fork.”
“Like I said, there were no looks, and the fork thing did not happen.”
“Oh, honey.” Stone laughs. “We’re not just talking about the looks. We’re talking about the way you two practically combusted when Finn brought up the Christmas Festival. I thought the table was going to catch fire.”
Finn leans forward, grinning, like he knows something I don’t know. “You looked ready to either strangle him or—”
“Don’t,” I warn, but Stone’s already laughing.
“Or drag him somewhere private and work out all that aggression,” Stone finishes, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you weren’t thinking about it.”
My fingers tighten around my glass. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I imagining how you couldn’t stop staring at him when he was agreeing with Finn just to piss you off?” Nikko joins in, his smile growing.
“He wasn’t…doing that,” I say, but there’s no heat in it.
“All that fire has to go somewhere,” Stone drawls, leaning back in his chair. “And I’m betting angry sex with Taylen Howard would be absolutely explosive.”
“Jesus, Stone.” I think I need something stronger than my current drink. “We barely tolerate each other. He’s made it pretty clear how he feels about me being back.”
Nikko raises an eyebrow. “Is that why he couldn’t stop watching you during dinner? Because he barely tolerates you?”
“Can we talk about literally anything else?”
A heavy hand lands on my shoulder, and I look up to find Mik standing up. “Come on,” he says quietly. “Let’s get some air.”
I follow him to the bar, grateful for the escape. Mik signals Joe for fresh drinks, and moments later, two whiskey glasses appear in front of us. We take the drinks and step outside. It’s too cold, but a sip of the drink soon sorts that out.
“You know they mean well,” Mik says finally, turning his glass slowly between his hands. “They just want you to be happy.”
I stare into my own drink. “I am happy. The farm is doing well. The transition is going smoothly—”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Mik’s voice is gentle but firm. “I watch you, Bastian. I see how you light up when he’s around, even when you’re arguing. Especially when you’re arguing.”
“It’s complicated,” I mutter, but the words feel inadequate to describe the tangle of emotions that surface whenever Taylen is near.
“It always is.” Mik takes a slow sip of his whiskey. “You know, I almost lost Tyler because I was too scared to bring him into our world. Too afraid of what might happen if I reached for something real.”
I glance at him, knowing exactly how much they fought to be together. Twenty-five years apart and so much personal loss before they found each other again. Mik and Tyler have the kind of love that songs are written about, and I can’t help but feel a little jealous.
The whiskey burns going down, but it’s nothing compared to the heat that blooms in my chest when I think about Taylen.
“I don’t know how to handle this,” I admit quietly. “Every time I think I have a grip on my feelings, he does or says something that throws me completely off balance. And there’s so much history, so many complications…”
“There always are.” Mik’s hand finds my shoulder again, squeezing gently. “But sometimes the complicated things are worth fighting for. Sometimes they’re the only things worth fighting for.”
I close my eyes, letting his words sink in. “I’ll think about it.”
He gives my shoulder one final squeeze before pushing away from the brick wall outside the bar. “Good. Now let’s get back. I believe it’s Fox’s turn to be interrogated.”
When we return to the table, Fox is studying his phone with unusual intensity while Finn leans across from his seat, gesturing animatedly about something. They both look up as we approach, Finn’s words cutting off mid-sentence.
“Everything okay?” I ask, sliding back into my seat.
“Just picking Fox’s brain about sound system logistics,” Finn says smoothly. “Figured he’d know about power requirements for outdoor setups.”
Fox nods, pocketing his phone. “Basic stuff. Nothing complicated.”
Nikko appears with a tray of drinks, distributing glasses like an experienced bartender.
The local band has shifted to slower songs, their melodies wrapping around my thoughts like smoke, making it harder to keep memories at bay. Seven years is a long time to pretend a kiss never happened, but alcohol has a way of making buried things surface.
I lose track of time as the guys shift their focus to the band. Nikko seems particularly interested, raving about the swoon-worthy voice of the lead singer. It’s nice to see him relaxed. I know out of all of us, he’s struggling the most with our hiatus.
When I stand to go to the restroom, my legs protest the movement, the whiskey making my balance uncertain as I grip the edge of the table for support.
“I think it’s time for me to go home,” I say. The room tilts slightly before settling, confirming that switching to whiskey might not have been my wisest decision.
“I’ll drive you,” Mik offers, his tone casual but his eyes knowing. “Kay wants to go hiking to take photos for a school project. We’ll never hear the end of it if we’re too tired to keep up with her.”
The drive passes in comfortable silence, broken only by the soft sound of Tyler humming along to whatever’s playing on the radio.
I press my forehead against the cool window, watching familiar landmarks slide past. Every turn brings me closer to home, closer to the decision I feel building in my chest.
“Whatever you decide,” Mik says finally as we pull up to the farmhouse, “just be honest—with him and yourself.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. Seven years of unfinished business weigh on my shoulders as I stand in the driveway, looking toward the path that leads to Taylen’s house. The night air is cold enough to burn my lungs, but it does nothing to cool the heat building under my skin.
The house appears through bare branches, lit by the moon.
I haven’t been this close since the day I hugged my friend goodbye with the promise to come back in time for Christmas, even if for just a day.
The memory makes me stumble slightly, or maybe that’s the whiskey making the path swim beneath my feet.
My pulse sprints as I approach the porch steps.
The porch light flickers on, the motion sensor catching my movement.
My knock sounds too loud in the quiet night.
Through the door’s frosted glass, I see movement, hear footsteps approaching.
My pulse races faster, anticipation and anxiety tangling in my chest until I can’t tell them apart.
The door opens, and Taylen stands there like an apparition from my most complicated dreams. He’s wearing sweatpants and a faded T-shirt that might have once been black, his hair slightly mussed from sleep, and I suddenly realize that Elvis will be up in just a few hours, and I’m no better than him.
“Bastian? What are you doing here?”
I don’t answer immediately, can’t find words past the surge of desire that rushes through me at the sight of him looking soft and uncertain in his doorway. Instead, I push past him into the house, needing to move, to act, before courage or recklessness abandons me.
The living room wraps around me like a time capsule. Same furniture, same photos on the walls. Taylen follows me in, his arms crossing over his chest in that defensive posture I know too well.
“We need to talk,” I say, the words coming out rougher than intended.
He doesn’t throw me out, which feels like victory and terror combined. Instead, he stands there studying me with those impossibly blue eyes. The space between us crackles with tension, with years of unfinished business, with everything we’ve left unsaid.
“You’re drunk,” he observes, but there’s no judgment in his voice, just quiet certainty.
“Not drunk enough to forget this in the morning,” I counter, and his breath catches audibly. The sound goes straight to my core, making me sway slightly where I stand. Or maybe that’s the whiskey finally catching up with me, making the room tilt like a ship in a storm.
“Why do you hate me so much?” The question bursts from me like a dam breaking, all the hurt and confusion of the past seven years pouring out at once. “What did I do that was so unforgivable?”
He moves closer still, close enough that I can smell sleep and mint on his breath, can see the slight stubble darkening his jaw. “You really don’t know?” His voice drops lower, making me lean in to hear him. “You left before I could ask you to stay.”
My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he must hear it, must feel it in the shrinking space between us. “Taylen,” I breathe, his name feeling like a prayer and curse combined.
“You left,” he continues, each word deliberate despite the slight slur of exhaustion or emotion, “and then you came back like nothing happened.
Like years of pretending I don't exist can just be erased with smiles and plans and promises to stay this time. Like that night seven years ago never happened.”
“I never meant to hurt you,” I say, the words feeling inadequate against the weight of everything between us.
“But you did.” His eyes lock with mine, holding me in place more effectively than any physical restraint. “You hurt me by leaving. You hurt me by ignoring me every time you came back, and you’re hurting me now by coming back and making me feel things I spent years trying to forget.”
The confession lands like lightning between us, charging the air around us. We stand there in his living room, breathing the same air. Every heartbeat is like a countdown to something inevitable, something years in the making.
“Tell me to leave,” I challenge, my voice rough with need and fear. “Tell me to go, and I will.”
His breath catches, his pupils dilating slightly as he processes my words. The moment stretches between us like taffy, sweet and dangerous, and threatening to snap at any second.
“You’ve always done exactly what you wanted.”
The last thread of my control snaps. I surge forward, pressing Taylen against the wall as our lips meet in a kiss that feels like coming home and starting a war at the same time. His mouth opens under mine immediately, hot and demanding, years of frustrated desire compressed into this one moment.
My hands find his waist, fingers digging into the soft fabric of his T-shirt as I pull him closer. His body fits against mine perfectly, all lean muscle and barely contained energy. One of his hands tangles in my hair, the other gripping my shoulder like he’s afraid I’ll disappear again.
The kiss deepens, turns desperate. I trace his bottom lip with my tongue, drawing a soft sound from him that goes straight to my core. He tastes like whiskey, mint, and forbidden desire, like everything I’ve been denying myself since that night in Burlington.
His fingers tighten in my hair as I press closer, eliminating any space between us.
The wall supports his weight as I explore his mouth, relearning the textures and tastes I’ve dreamed about only in the safety of my own space.
Each point of contact between us feels electric.
His chest against mine, his thigh between my legs, his heartbeat pounding in time with my own.
Time loses meaning as we kiss, the world narrowing to the points where our bodies connect.
My hands slip under his shirt, finding warm skin and taut muscle.
He arches into the touch, making a sound that’s half growl, half whimper.
The noise shoots through me like lightning, making me press harder against him, wanting to draw more sounds from his throat.
Years of wanting crash over us like a wave, turning the kiss into something wild and desperate.
His teeth catch my bottom lip, the slight pain making me groan.
My hands roam his sides, his back, learning the geography of his body while I still can.
His fingers flex against my scalp, the sensation sending shivers down my spine.
His response is just as fierce, just as hungry. He kisses me like he’s trying to prove something, or maybe trying to break something. His body moves against mine with perfect rhythm, creating friction that makes my head spin more than any whiskey ever could.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. Our foreheads rest together as we gulp air. Taylen’s hands have moved to my chest, fingers curled in my shirt like he’s holding me in place. My own hands still span his back beneath his shirt, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing.
“Tell me this isn’t just the whiskey,” Taylen whispers against my lips, vulnerability creeping into his voice. “Tell me you’ll remember this in the morning.”
The words are sobering and remind me of all the reasons this is complicated, all the ways it could go wrong. But with his body pressed against mine, his taste still on my tongue, I can’t bring myself to care about anything else.
“I’ll remember,” I promise, my voice rough with emotion and desire. “God, Taylen, I’ll remember every second of this.”
“Then stay and prove it.”
His eyes burn into mine as he waits for the inevitable, and I hate that I'm about to prove him right.
"Not tonight, Taylen."