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He laughs, and it comes out half a groan. “It’s just…complicated.”

“Hmm.”

I could ask. I could push him and find out. My best friend has just handed me a piece of himself, and every instinct I have is telling me who it is. But I know Taylen. He’ll say it when he’s ready.

Given how many things I’m holding on to right now, I owe him that grace. So instead, I lean sideways and knock my shoulder against his.

“I love you, Tay.”

“Love you too, Finn.”

I put my arm around him and pull him against my shoulder because he looks like the wind could knock him over.

Then I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.

I look up.

Bastian is standing at the fence line between the two properties. His hands are in his pockets. His face is expressionless, but his eyes are laser-focused on Taylen.

Confirmed.

I keep my expression completely neutral so Taylen doesn’t see me react.

Bastian turns and walks away with long strides that carry him quickly out of sight.

Taylen pulls back. “Let’s get drunk,” he says. “Forget all the shit in our lives for one night.”

“God, yes.”

He gets up, and I follow him inside.

His house is freezing. I go straight to the thermostat. “Do you not believe in heat? Are we practicing for winter survival scenarios?”

Taylen makes a face and heads for the cabinet where he keeps his dad’s old liquor.

“You’re going to freeze to death in your sleep,” I continue while I raise the temperature until it feels human. “They’ll find you perfectly preserved like those mountain climbers, except surrounded by apple crates instead of snow drifts.”

He snorts.

“You volunteering to keep me warm?” he throws back.

I open my mouth to fire something back and hear myself say: “Not with you stinking like that. Besides, I’m pretty sure that job’s taken.”

He goes still. I walk past him to the couch, drop onto it, and start pulling my boots off like I didn’t just say what I said. “Come on, let’s see what truths we can extract from each other.”

Taylen doesn’t push. He just glances at me over the cabinet, then pulls three bottles out. Whiskey. Vodka. Rum.

“Let me grab a quick shower first. I wouldn’t want to harm your sensitive nose.”

“Honey, I love the smell of a sweaty man like any other warm-blooded gay man, but I draw the line at chicken shit.”

He grabs the nearest pillow from the couch and throws it at me before disappearing upstairs, ordering me to get some food in.

I pull my phone out. The diner delivers, so I order the same thing we’ve ordered a thousand times.

Then I put the phone face-down on the coffee table and go start a fire in Taylen’s fireplace because the heater alone won’t solve his winter survival problem.

By the time Taylen comes back down with wet hair and wearing sweatpants and one of Jackson’s old sweatshirts, the fire is going and I’ve poured us both a whiskey.