“Hey,” I say after the tone, trying to keep worry from bleeding into my words. “Just stopped by with some food from Mom. Call me when you get this?” The message sounds casual enough, but my heart pounds harder as I end the call, memories of our conversation at Jackson’s grave coming back to me.
The wind picks up, sending dead leaves skittering across the porch.
I try texting next, my thumbs moving quickly.
Bastian:
Where are you? Mom sent food.
The message shows as undelivered, suggesting his phone is completely off rather than Taylen just ignoring me. Something twists in my stomach. Taylen would never have his phone off. There are a bunch of workers on our farms at any given time. We need to be available all the time, especially in case of an emergency.
Another call goes straight to voicemail. Another text fails to deliver. The steam coming out of the box dwindles as the food cools, but giving Taylen cold food is the least of my worries.
Is he avoiding me? The thought burns like acid in my throat. Did sharing those memories about Jackson push him too far, break the fragile trust that was building between us?
The orchard stretches away from the house, bare branches reaching as far as the eye can see. No movement, no workers checking trees, no equipment being moved, no signs of life at all.
“Come on, Tay,” I mutter, dialing his number again, although I know it’s futile. “Where are you?”
The voicemail greeting feels like mockery now, his recorded voice cheerful against the growing knot of worry in my stomach. I hang up without leaving a message this time.
One more circuit of the porch brings me back to the front door, where I try knocking again, although I know it’s pointless. My watch shows that nearly an hour has passed since I arrived. The food is cold now, and wherever Taylen went, he hasn’t returned.
“Fuck this,” I decide finally, grabbing the box and turning back toward my truck. The food box lands on the passenger seat with less care than Mom’s cooking deserves, but my hands arealready moving to a different task. Finding Finn’s number in my phone contacts.
Finn is Taylen’s best friend, so I can only hope that he offers some answers before I start calling hospitals and the police department.
The ring sounds impossibly loud in my truck’s quiet cab as I wait for a response. Just as I’m about to hang up, the line connects with a familiar click that makes my heart skip a beat.
“Hey, big brother.”
Finn’s voice comes through the speaker with a warmth that usually calms me instantly. But today my nerves are too raw, my fingers drumming against the steering wheel as I try to keep anxiety from bleeding into my voice.
“You busy?”
“Never too busy for you,” Finn responds, though the sound of rustling papers suggests he’s in the middle of work. “What’s up? You sound weird.”
“Have you heard from Taylen?” I aim for a casual tone but probably miss by a mile, given the way Finn’s silence stretches for a moment too long. “Mom sent a box with lasagna for him, but he’s not home.”
“Ah,” Finn says finally, a single syllable that makes my chest tight. “Yeah, he’s in Burlington. It’s a trip he does every year.”
The information makes me sit straighter in the driver’s seat.
“Burlington?” My voice comes out sharper than intended. “What’s in Burlington?” Besides bars and clubs and people who aren’t me, my brain helpfully supplies. The steering wheel creaks slightly under my tightening grip.
Finn’s sigh carries a clear note of exasperation that would normally make me defensive. “Bastian,” he starts, using a tone that suggests he’s choosing words carefully. “What exactly are you worried about here?”
“I’m not worried,” I lie automatically. “Just…curious. About why he’d suddenly disappear without telling anyone.” The words sound pathetic even to my own ears.
“Right.” Finn draws the word out like he’s trying not to laugh. “You’re definitely not sitting somewhere having completely rational thoughts about why Taylen might be in Burlington.” The accuracy of his assessment makes me wince slightly.
“He could be hooking up with someone,” I blurt before I can stop myself, voicing the fear that’s been building since learning his location. “Trying to sabotage…because he’s scared or uncertain or—never mind.”
“Oh my god,” Finn interrupts, laughter finally breaking free. “You’re actually being serious right now. You genuinely think Taylen drove to Burlington for a random hookup?” The question makes heat rise in my cheeks despite being alone in the truck.
“Well, what else would he be doing there?” I demand, anxiety making my voice rougher than intended. “He’s not answering his phone, didn’t tell anyone where he was going?—”
“First of all, I know where he is, so someone knows where he is. And second, since when are you so worried about someone you can barely stand?”
