His thumb continues to trace patterns on the back of my hand, unaware that he’s revealing new information.
“Wait,” I say. “Jackson was offered a spot in the band? Your band?”
Bastian’s expression shifts to surprise. “I thought you knew,” he says quietly, grip tightening slightly on my hand like he’s afraid I’ll pull away completely. “I wasn’t discovered playing at Joe’s.Wewere discovered playing at Joe’s.”
“Tell me. Tell me everything.”
His thumb resumes tracing patterns against my palm as he gathers his thoughts. “Individually, we were good,” he starts, smile touching his voice. “Together, we were very good. You must remember that.”
I nod. “I do. I used to hide outside his room when you two were practicing.”
“This guy kept watching us from the corner,” Bastian continues. “I thought he was going to complain about the noise level, honestly. But after the set, he came up with a business card and started talking about forming a rock band. He said we had perfect stage presence and natural charisma that couldn’t be taught.”
“He wasn’t wrong. Jackson always had this way of making everyone feel like the most important person in the room,” I say.
“Jackson just laughed,” he continues quickly. “Said he wasn’t made for that life and joked about not being suitable for the ‘Hall of Fame’ or whatever you want to call it,” he says, imitating Jackson’s voice. “The scout loved the name, and when he found out my last name is Hall, he said it was fate and a sure sign we were going to be the biggest band in the country.”
“And you are. You did it, Bastian.”
I look back at the stone. If Jackson had said yes, he wouldn’t have been on the road that day. Would have been in a studio or on tour or somewhere that didn’t end with the cold stone beneath my fingers. The thought burns in my chest like whiskey taken too fast, making it hard to breathe properly.
“Don’t,” Bastian says quietly, reading the direction of my thoughts with uncomfortable accuracy. “We can’t change the past, Tay. Can’t know what might have happened differently.” His hand finds my face, his thumb brushing away moisture I hadn’t realized was there. “Jackson made his choices based on who he was, what he wanted from life.”
He’s right. Jackson had a chance to leave, to be part of something bigger than small-town life. But he chose to stay, chose familiar roads and quiet moments over bright lights and screaming crowds.
Bastian’s touch sends electricity through my system despite the heavy conversation, making me increasingly aware of how close we’re sitting. “I know,” I manage. “Just…a lot to process.”
“I should have told you sooner,” he admits, his fingers still gentle against my cheek. “Should have shared so many things instead of letting distance grow between us.” The words carry so much weight beyond a simple apology.
I’m not sure who moves first. Maybe we both lean in simultaneously, drawn together like magnets. Our lips find each other in a kiss that feels different from any we’ve had before.This one is less about passion and more about the gentle exploration of something we’re both still learning to trust.
His hand slides into my hair while the other maintains connection with mine. My free hand finds his jacket, clutching the material like I’m afraid he’ll disappear if I let go. Everything narrows to the sensation of his mouth moving against mine, to the way our breaths mix in the cold air between us.
Reality crashes back as a particularly loud bird call breaks the spell we’ve fallen under. I pull back slightly, feeling heat rise in my cheeks as I remember where we are. “Not in front of my brother,” I manage, trying for a light tone that probably fails completely. “It’s weird.”
Bastian laughs. “Come home with me,” he says, leaning in for another—briefer—kiss. “We can continue this conversation somewhere more private.”
It would be so easy to say yes, but… “It’s probably best if I don’t,” I tell him. “I’m all over the place right now.” The excuse sounds weak even to my ears, but he accepts it with a grace I’m not sure I deserve.
Bastian’s hand squeezes mine once more before releasing, his acceptance clear in the way he begins gathering himself to leave.
This is all about me, not him, so before I turn back toward my house, I wrap my arms around Bastian and kiss him again.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his lips, feeling the way his tension evaporates.
“Any time, baby.”
27
BASTIAN
“Tay?”I call again.
The food box burns against my palms as I stare at Taylen’s empty driveway, his truck conspicuously absent from its usual spot beside the barn. Mom’s lasagna still radiates heat through the box, the small opening on top allowing for steam to rise into the freezing air.
My knuckles rap against the wooden door. No response, no footsteps, no call of acknowledgment, just emptiness that worries me with each passing second. I try again, louder this time, but the house remains stubbornly silent.
The porch boards creak beneath my feet as I shift my weight, anxiety building in my chest. I set the food on the porch chair and pull out my phone. The call goes straight to voicemail.
