The question hits hard. “We don’t…” I start, then stop, because what am I even trying to say? That we hate each other? That would be easier if it were true. “Something’s happening between us,” I admit quietly, the words feeling heavy in my mouth. “I don’t know…but it’s not nothing. And it sure as hell isn’t us barely standing each other.”
“He’s getting a tattoo,” Finn cuts in, his words clear and certain enough to stop my spiral mid-sentence. “He does it every year around this time for Jackson. He stays overnight, so he’s not on the road when he’s feeling upset. Turns his phone off for those two days. I don’t like it, but it’s the way he processes theanniversary of Jackson’s death. He just needs some time alone away from home and all the memories, you know?”
The information takes a moment to process, relief washing through my system so strongly it makes my hands shake slightly. “The tattoo,” I repeat stupidly. Of course it’s the tattoo. Jackson’s anniversary was last week. “That’s…? That’s all?”
“That’s all,” Finn confirms, voice gentler now. “Though the fact that you immediately jumped to ‘he must be hooking up with a stranger’ suggests you two need to have an actual conversation about feelings at some point.”
The observation hits uncomfortably close to home, making me shift in my seat as memories of our talk at Jackson’s grave surface again. “We’re working on it,” I mutter, though the truth is we’ve been avoiding any real discussion of what’s building between us.
“Work faster,” Finn suggests dryly. “Because this whole assuming worst-case scenario thing isn’t healthy for either of you. And he’s as guilty,” he says. “If you’re serious about him?—”
“I am,” I interrupt quickly, surprised that I said it aloud. “I’m completely serious about this. About him.” The admission feels terrifying and freeing at the same time, like jumping into a lake without knowing its depth.
Silence stretches between us for a moment, broken only by the soft sound of Finn shuffling papers again. “Then tell him that,” he says finally, his voice carrying a mix of exasperation and affection. “Stop dancing around the edges and actually say words aloud.”
“I’ve got to go,” I tell Finn, already checking the mirrors to back out of Taylen’s driveway. “I need to stop by the cabin for a few things before heading to Burlington.” The statement draws a fresh laugh from my brother, though this one holds no mockery.
“Of course you do,” he agrees easily. “Because driving three hours to deliver cold lasagna is a completely normal responseto learning someone’s getting a tattoo.” But I hear his approval under the teasing tone, encouragement that makes me happy.
“Shut up,” I mutter without heat, making him laugh again. “And…thanks. For talking me down from the ledge. Can you send me the address of wherever he’s staying?”
“Anytime,” Finn says simply. “Just…be careful, okay? Not just with driving. I’m sending you the address.”
I end the call with a promise to update him later. My hands are now steadier on the wheel as I point the truck toward home. The anxiety that gripped me earlier has transformed into determination and hope.
Because Finn’s right, we need to have a real conversation about what we’re doing. And if that means driving three hours to deliver cold lasagna and finally say the words aloud, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
The hotel hallway stretches endlessly before me, each step toward Taylen’s door feeling too slow. The food box remains clutched in my hands like a shield or a poor excuse, although the lasagna inside has long since gone cold. My pulse slams my chest when I finally spot the correct room, hunting for courage I lost somewhere between Winterberry and Burlington.
My knuckles rap against the door before I can talk myself out of it. Time stops between one breath and the next as I wait, my ears straining for any movement from the other side. Just as I’m considering whether to knock again, the lock clicks and the door swings open.
Taylen stands in the doorway like an apparition from my dreams, hair slightly damp like he’s recently showered. His eyes widen as they find mine, his mouth opening slightly in a surprised expression that transforms his whole face. “Bastian? What are you doing here?”
I hold up the food box awkwardly, the gesture feeling increasingly ridiculous as the moment stretches between us.“Mom sent food,” I explain lamely, my words inadequate against the reason I'm actually here for. “For you.”
His laugh carries genuine warmth that makes the tension in my shoulders ease slightly. He leans against the doorframe. “Are you for real?” he asks, a smile playing around the edges of his mouth. “You drove all the way here to give me your mom’s food when I don’t even have a way to heat it up?”
Heat rises in my cheeks, but I maintain eye contact. “May I come in?” The question comes out quieter than intended. “Please?”
He steps back to let me in. I follow him, letting the door close behind me with a soft click.
“So,” he says after a moment of charged silence, watching as I set the food box on a small table near the window. “You drove three hours to deliver cold lasagna. Want to tell me what’s really going on?” His voice carries a mix of amusement and something softer that makes my hands shake slightly.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” I tell him, my words coming out in a rush before I can second-guess them. “The annual tattoo, the grief, any of it. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself anymore.” The admission hangs between us like a breath in winter air, visible and fragile.
His eyes find mine across the room’s limited space, connection crackling between us like lightning before a storm. “Bastian,” he starts, but I step closer before he can continue, needing to finish what I’ve come to say.
“I mean it,” I insist, close enough now to see flecks of green in his blue eyes. “This thing between us isn’t just a convenient release or temporary comfort. At least not for me.” My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he must hear it, blood rushing in my ears like ocean waves. “I love you, Taylen. If you don’t feel the same?—”
I have to take a step back when Taylen jumps into my arms, wraps his legs around my waist, and claims my mouth like a starved man. He tastes like coffee and toothpaste. His fingers cling to my hair so tightly it hurts, but it’s everything I need. I hold him up with my hands under his thighs and walk us to the bed, sitting on the mattress and taking him down with me.
“Fuck, Tay.” I gasp as I attempt to take a breath.
“Shut up and kiss me, Sebastian. I fucking love you too.”
His fingers trail down my chest before he removes his T-shirt and then opens my shirt so hard that buttons fly all over the room before it joins the growing pile on the floor. I’m glad I grabbed a spare change of clothes.
“Wait,” I manage as he starts working on my belt, my words catching in a throat that feels too tight. “I want… I mean, could we…” The request sticks somewhere between my brain and my mouth, vulnerability making it hard to voice my desire properly.
