“How could you even think I didn’t want us anymore?” he asked. “Did you listen to anything I told you tonight?”
Finn rubbed his forehead, wincing as if the pain behind his eyes was pulsing in time with the train. “Well, you danced all night with Billy. I figured you’d changed your mind.”
Maurice blinked, stunned. “Danced all night? We had two dances. That was it.”
“Apparently, before I got there, you had a few more than two dances.”
“Not true. Where did you get that information if you weren’t there?”
Finn hesitated, eyes dropping. “Caleb.”
Maurice closed his eyes and exhaled hard.
Of course. Caleb.
Maurice leaned forward, elbows on his knees, trying to gather the right words. Losing Finn over something this stupid—this preventable—wasn’t an option. Not when Finn had already carved out a place inside him he hadn’t expected to give.
“Do you know the first time I met Caleb,” Maurice said, “he told me you danced naked on a table for some thugs. He wanted to discourage me from talking to you.”
Finn’s head snapped up. “He did?”
“He doesn’t have your best interests at heart.”
Finn pressed a hand to his temple. “I’m not feeling great right now.”
Maurice’s worry spiked. “Do you need to see a doctor?”
“No. I have a headache. I’m not used to drinking much. Now my head is throbbing.”
“Want something for it?”
Finn nodded.
Maurice stood, crossed to his toiletry bag, and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. He poured water into a small plastic cup and handed it to Finn, who pushed himself upright to take it. Maurice brushed his fingers lightly along Finn’s shoulder as he passed the cup, just a small touch, but one that grounded him.
“Do you want to rest for a while, then talk?” Maurice asked.
Finn lay back down, eyes closing, not answering. His breathing evened out, but the tension in his eyelids gave him away—tiny, restless twitches beneath the lashes, as if his thoughts were still racing behind them. His fingers curled and uncurled against the bedspread, a small, unconscious movement that betrayed how far he was from sleep. Overwhelmed, not resting. Caught somewhere between exhaustion and everything he didn’t know how to say.
Maurice grabbed a bottle of water for himself and sat at the desk. The cabin was quiet except for the hum of the train and Finn’s soft breaths.
He pulled out his phone.
Maurice: In my cabin with Finn.
David:Everything ok?
Maurice:In progress.
Maurice set the phone down and moved back to the bed, sitting close enough that their knees brushed. He reached out and touched Finn’s arm.
“Talk to me, Finn.”
Finn opened his eyes and sat up slowly. “I really thought you liked me a lot,” he said, voice rough. “Then you said weshould mingle at a dance. How does that make any sense? I never wanted to mingle.”
“You’re right,” Maurice admitted. “It doesn’t make sense. I thought it would give you a chance to meet others.”
“And now, what do you think?”
