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. Mypulse 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 pastseven 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.”
