Chapter 31 Bastian
BASTIAN
Nikko practically glows as he directs the crew in breaking down the equipment. Most of it is stored away overnight for tomorrow’s events, but our instruments are stored in my studio.
Stone and Fox have already left for the farmhouse, and Finn is around somewhere. I swear my brother hasn’t slept a single night since the start of this festival.
“You good here?” I ask, catching Nikko’s attention.
“Of course. Go get some rest. I’ve got this handled.”
The walk to the barn feels longer than usual.
I put it down to the post-gig adrenaline crash, but something’s gnawing at the back of my mind.
I look at my phone. It’s past one in the morning.
Way too late to slip into Taylen’s bed, especially since Elvis seems to ramp up his wake-up calls as revenge for the nights Taylen spends with me and gets a full night’s sleep.
That rooster is a dick, and I take full responsibility for every single dark shadow under Taylen’s eyes.
Before I head to the cabin, I check in on the cows. Martha and her daughter have been doing great, and something tells me we’ve got a few more impending births.
My suspicions prove correct as soon as I push open the heavy barn door.
Miss Maple’s distressed lowing carries unmistakable pain.
I find her in her stall, her sides heaving unnaturally as she struggles with what’s clearly a difficult labor.
Next to Miss Maple’s stall is Poppy, also showing signs of early labor.
“Easy girl,” I murmur to Miss Maple, approaching slowly to avoid startling her. My hands find her flanks, feeling the unnatural positioning of the calf within. The way she shifts uncomfortably under my touch confirms what I already suspect—this birth will require intervention.
I pull out my phone and call Hunter.
“Sebastian?” Hunter’s voice is alert despite the late hour. “What’s wrong?”
“Miss Maple and Poppy,” I explain quickly, watching as Miss Maple’s legs tremble with another contraction. “Both in labor, but Miss Maple’s calf feels wrong. Positioned badly, I think. And Poppy’s not far behind.”
“On my way,” he responds immediately, and I hear rustling that suggests he’s already moving. “Keep them calm, try to get Miss Maple lying down if you can. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
The minutes crawl by like hours as I divide my attention between the two cows. Miss Maple allows me to guide her down, though each movement clearly causes discomfort. The familiar smells of hay and livestock surround me as I kneel beside her, murmuring reassurance while monitoring Poppy’s progress.
Hunter’s arrival brings immediate relief. His calm demeanor as he assesses the situation helps steady my own nerves.
“You made the right call,” he confirms after a careful internal examination of Miss Maple, which drew a pained sound from her. “Calf’s turned wrong. We’ll need to reposition before she can deliver safely.” His eyes find mine. “You good assisting? I can call my tech.”
“I’m good.”
What follows next tests the limits of both my physical and emotional endurance.
Hunter’s arms disappear inside Miss Maple as he works to turn the calf, while calmly telling me what to do from the outside.
Sweat soaks through my shirt, my muscles burning from maintaining an awkward position to give Hunter the best access.
Miss Maple’s increasing distress puts me on edge, but Hunter maintains a steady calm throughout, his movements never growing rushed despite the urgency of the situation.
“There,” he says finally, satisfaction clear in his voice as something shifts within Miss Maple. “Calf’s turned properly now. She should be able to deliver with just a little help.” His prediction proves accurate as Miss Maple’s next push produces hooves, positioned correctly this time.
But nature rarely follows convenient timing. Poppy’s water breaks just as we’re guiding Miss Maple’s calf into the world, adding fresh urgency to an already intense situation. Hunter and I exchange glances. This night is far from over.
Miss Maple’s bull calf emerges in a rush of fluid and effort, his wet coat glistening under the barn lights as he takes his first shaky breaths. But we barely have time to ensure he’s breathing properly before Poppy’s increasingly distressed sounds demand our attention.
The next couple of hours blur together. Poppy’s labor proves slightly easier than Miss Maple’s
Finally, Poppy’s heifer joins her new barn mate, her arrival drawing exhausted but satisfied sighs from both Hunter and me. We watch as both mothers fuss over their calves.
“Good work,” Hunter says quietly as he washes his hands in the barn sink. “They’re all healthy, and that’s what matters.”
“Sometimes I think I’m too old for this, and then I see miracles happen.” I shake my head, looking at the new mommas and their babies.
“You should get some rest,” Hunter says as he packs his bag. “They’ll all be fine now, but you look dead on your feet.”
I manage a tired nod, knowing he’s right but feeling reluctant to leave the new arrivals so soon. “Thank you,” I tell him. “For coming out so late, and for stopping me from spiraling into full-blown panic.”
“It’s what I do,” he says simply. “Call if you need anything else.” The barn door closes behind him with a gentle thud.
I take a few more minutes to ensure both pairs are settled properly, checking their water and bedding one final time. The sight of new lives reminds me of why I love this life despite its demands and irregular hours.
But exhaustion pulls at every muscle as I finally force myself to leave, each step toward the cabin feeling heavier than the last.
My shower calls like a siren song, promising relief from the night’s work. As the water pounds against my shoulders, I think of Taylen and his strange mood shift last night.
Maybe he picked up a bug or something, but my gut tells me there’s more to his sudden headache.
Pre-dawn air bites through my jacket as I make way to the farmhouse, the sky showing the first hints of the approaching sunrise. Lights already glow from my mom’s kitchen windows because she exists in a time zone that operates independently of normal human schedules.
When I open the door, I’m welcomed by warmth and the smell of coffee.
“You look terrible,” Mom says by way of greeting, already moving toward the coffee pot. Her own cup sits half-empty on the counter, suggesting she’s been up for a while already. “What happened?”
“Two new calves,” I tell her, accepting the mug she presses into my hands with a grateful smile. “Miss Maple and Poppy decided to go into labor simultaneously. Hunter had to help with Miss Maple’s. Her calf was positioned wrong.”
Her face lights up at the news. “Both healthy?” she asks, moving to pull fresh bread from the oven. The familiar scent fills the kitchen, reminding me that the last time I ate was more than a few hours ago.
“Perfect,” I assure her. “Bull from Miss Maple, heifer from Poppy. Both already on their feet.” The pride in my voice draws a smile to her face.
“But something else is bothering you,” she observes, sliding the bread she just wrapped across the counter toward me.
“Taylen left the festival early,” I admit finally. “Said he had a headache, but something felt off.”
“Did something happen?”
“No,” I tell her, even though I’m not entirely sure. “Everything seemed fine until after the performance. Then he just…left.”
Her hand finds mine across the table. “You’re exhausted. Maybe wait until you’ve both had some sleep before assuming the worst?”
The suggestion carries wisdom I know I should listen to, but anxiety continues to churn beneath the surface of my bone-deep fatigue. “What if I’ve messed everything up?” The question comes out smaller than intended. “What if he’s realized this is too complicated or—”
“Sebastian James Hall,” Mom interrupts, using my full name, making me feel about five years old.
“That boy has been in love with you since he grew his first chin hair. Whatever’s bothering him, running away isn’t his style.
Now,” she continues practically, pushing the wrapped bread closer to me.
“Take this home, get some real sleep, then go talk to him.”
I manage a tired smile as I stand. “Thanks, Mom,” I tell her quietly.
“That’s what mothers are for.”
Despite her advice, my feet carry me across the path toward next door.
The sight of Taylen heading toward his barn stops me in my tracks. His steps falter slightly when he spots me, surprise flickering across his face.
“What happened?” he asks as I approach, his eyes taking in my tired look.
“Two calves,” I explain. “Miss Maple and Poppy decided synchronized birthing was the way to go. Hunter had to help with Miss Maple’s.”
His expression softens slightly as he processes this information. “Both okay?”
“Perfect,” I assure him, managing a tired smile. “Boy and girl. I’ve already told the other cows they need to schedule future births during daylight hours so we can all sleep like regular people.”
The joke draws a reluctant laugh that makes something ease in my chest. For a moment, the tension between us feels less acute. My hands still clutch Mom’s wrapped bread, a reminder of the purpose that brought me here.
“Mom sent fresh bread,” I tell him, holding up the bundle like a peace offering. “Thought you might want some if you haven’t had breakfast yet.”
“Just had coffee,” he admits. “But I will never say no to real breakfast.”
When we get inside, Taylen goes straight to the coffee maker.
We fall into a comfortable silence as he slices the bread and cooks some eggs and bacon.
“You should sleep,” he says finally, watching as I struggle to keep my eyes open between bites. “Real sleep, not just dozing in a chair or on the couch.”
“Could I…?” I pause. “Could I stay here? Just for a little while?” The request hangs between us.
His expression does a complicated thing before he smiles. “Come on,” he says, standing up. “My bed’s more comfortable than the couch.”
I remove my clothes until I’m just in my boxer shorts and T-shirt and sit on his bed. “Stay?” I ask as he helps me settle onto a bed that smells like him. “Just until I fall asleep?”
He toes off his boots and removes his clothes, his body radiating warmth as he lies beside me.
“Sleep,” he says quietly, his hand finding mine in the space between us.
When I wake up, the first thing I notice is that Taylen’s gone. Sunlight streams through the curtains. My body protests as I push myself into a sitting position. The clock on the bedside table shows early afternoon.
I use the bathroom and then get dressed. I want to check on Miss Maple, Poppy, and the babies before I do anything else.
But it’s the door across the hall that draws my attention as I prepare to leave.
Somehow, while I’ve been falling for Taylen, the pain of returning to this house fell into the back of my consciousness.
But now, standing at the threshold of my best friend’s bedroom, it’s all coming back. The pain. The regret.
The air feels different inside the room.
Posters still cling to the walls, their edges curling slightly with age, but the images are as vibrant as the day Jackson put them up.
Books line the shelves in an order only he understood, their spines carrying titles that speak of dreams and plans never realized.
Clothes still hang in his closet, visible through the crooked door.
The photo on the bedside table calls to me. Jackson and me with Taylen smiling wide between us.
My fingers shake slightly as I lift the frame, tracing Jackson’s features with a gentle touch that carries years of accumulated grief and guilt. The glass is cool against my skin as I study the three faces frozen in time, none of us aware of how precious those moments really were.
“I love him so much,” I whisper. “I wish I’d come home more instead of panicking about what you’d think if I told you I liked your little brother. I missed out on precious time with you.”
The silence that follows feels different after my confession.
“I can promise that will not happen with Taylen,” I tell the photo. “I won’t waste time being afraid anymore. Won’t let anything, my career or fear or my own stupidity, keep me from being here for him the way I should have been for you.”
My hands shake slightly as I return the photo to its place of honor, careful to position the frame exactly as I found it.
As the door closes behind me with a gentle click, I feel like I’ve just written the period at the end of a sentence I’ve been trying to write for years.