Chapter Four
Finn
Finn jumped off the table, snatched his clothing and boots from the pile on the chair. He ran down the hallway toward the sleeper car.
Nope. Absolutely not. Never playing cards again. Ever.
He didn’t stop until he reached his cabin, where he tumbled inside, slammed the door shut, and slumped against it, his body heavy with exhaustion. His feet stayed planted even though every instinct told him to move. So much for making new friends on the Pride Train.
There was an announcement feeding through the intercom in Finn’s sleeper car, “Stopping in Philadelphia and new ticket holders will be boarding. Please welcome them.”
Finn slammed his bedroom door shut.
Strip poker. Seriously?
He yanked his jeans back on, fingers fumbling with the zipper. Total rookie move, letting those guys talk him into it. And of course they’d all had way better poker faces—or better cards, the fucking cheaters.
Finn was just snapping his last bracelet into place when a heavy knock shook the door.
He froze. Oh, great. Now what?
“Mr. Andersen, open up.”
The voice was all business. Finn took a steady breath and finished looping his favorite necklace around his neck. “Who are you?”
“Mr. Santos, the engineer in charge.”
The engineer in charge? This couldn’t be good.
Finn opened the door a crack, then wider when he saw the man standing there.
The guy looked like he was in his fifties, with a no-nonsense face that meant this wasn’t a social call.
Without a word, Mr. Santos stepped inside and shut the door firmly behind him.
“I’m here to check on you.”
“Why?” Finn’s voice came out a little too high. He cleared his throat. “Did I do something wrong?”
“I don’t know. Sit down and relax,” Mr. Santos said, though his tone didn’t exactly invite relaxation.
Finn perched on the very edge of his bed, back straight. The engineer just stood there, looking him over.
“Why were you on the table naked?”
The question hung in the air. Way to get straight to the point. There was no use in lying. “I lost at strip poker.” No doubt Caleb reported the incident to Mr. Santos.
“How come no one else lost their clothes?”
“I don’t know.”
Because they were obviously dealing from the bottom of the deck but saying it out loud just made him sound like a sore loser.
“Did you willingly go with them to the Game Car?”
“Yes.” That much was true. They asked, and he had said yes. Big mistake.
“Did anyone touch you?”
“No.” Finn shook his head, then added quickly, “But I think they cheated.”
A flicker of something—maybe sympathy, maybe just weariness—passed over Mr. Santos’s face. “They got onboard without tickets. I had the police pick them up just now when we stopped.” He paused, studying Finn. “Do you want to file charges?”
“No.” The answer was immediate. The last thing he wanted was a whole big thing. “I just want to forget it.”
“Alright.” Mr. Santos pulled a folded pamphlet from his jacket pocket and handed it over.
“These are the rules. No nudity in any public car—that means anywhere others can go. There’s a list. Please follow them.
” His gaze was steady, not unkind, but dead serious.
“I don’t want to throw you off the train. ”
With his cheeks flushing hot for a second time, Finn reached out and took the pamphlet. “I will. Sorry, Mr. Santos.”
“You might be interested in the Meet-a-Daddy Party,” Mr. Santos said, flipping through his clipboard like he was announcing the next safety drill.
“When is it?”
Finn tried to sound casual, but the words tugged at something in him.
He’d heard about those relationships—the steady older-guy kind.
The kind that made you feel held instead of handled.
Since his parents moved back to Denmark, the idea had been sitting in the back of his mind like a light he wasn’t sure he could turn on.
“Tonight, after dinner,” Mr. Santos said. He didn’t look up from his notes. “You could use a daddy.” A beat. “In fact, you need one.”
It wasn’t flirtation. Not even close. The man’s tone was the same one he used when reminding passengers not to block the aisles. Matter-of-fact. Observational. Almost… protective.
Finn’s eyebrows lifted. He wasn’t used to being read that easily. Or that accurately.
Mr. Santos finally glanced at him, eyes steady in a way that made Finn feel seen rather than judged. “This trip is good for people who have little support at home,” he added, softer. “Some find what they’re missing.”
Finn swallowed, the comment landing deeper than he expected. He wasn’t sure if the man meant a daddy, a community, or just someone who’d notice when he disappeared from a room. But the way he said it made Finn’s chest warm in a way he didn’t have a name for.
He nodded, trying to play it cool. “Guess I’ll check it out.”
Mr. Santos moved on to the next item on his clipboard, already back in business mode. But Finn stayed there a moment longer, feeling the echo of the man’s words settle into him—quiet, steady, and unexpectedly kind.
With a curt nod, Mr. Santos turned and left, closing the door with a soft click. Finn slumped back on the bed, the rules crumpling in his hand. Never playing poker with strangers again, he promised himself, staring at the ceiling. Especially not strip poker.
He decided he’d better actually read the pamphlet Mr. Santos had handed him because apparently he was now the kind of person who got gently scolded on a queer party train. Great. Add that to the list of humiliations.
The rules were printed in bright, friendly colors, which somehow made them feel even more pointed.
Respect every identity. Consent is the baseline.
Passengers look out for each other. Celebrate loudly, rest quietly.
Keep the aisles clear. Public affection is welcome, but no nudity in public areas.
No outing. Lift each other up. Respect the crew. Leave judgment at the station.
They were all reasonable. Good, even. The kind of rules he believed in. The kind he followed.
Except… apparently he hadn’t.
His eyes snagged on one line and wouldn’t move.
Public affection is welcome, but no nudity in public areas.
That one hit like a bruise he didn’t know he had.
Because he hadn’t thought his agreement to a game would get him into trouble.
He had blamed them for passing the whiskey bottle and for setting him up to lose.
But he was the one who let those guys box him in and make him feel small.
He did that. Not the others who had barged into the car to intervene.
And not the Pride Express, which was supposed to be a safe, joyful space, not a place where someone like him caused trouble or let thugs on board without tickets. Him alone.
The shame crawled up the back of his neck again, hot and prickling. He could almost hear the rule in Mr. Santos’s calm voice, not scolding, just disappointed. He also hadn’t read the rules, but he had signed that he had.
He’d failed that one. And focusing on that single rule made everything else feel heavier with the embarrassment, the awkwardness, and the sense he’d somehow broken the spirit of the place.
It wasn’t about cards or teasing or even the misunderstanding.
It was he hadn’t been the kind of person Pride Express had expected him to be.
He’d stood almost naked on a table in a public space.
Finn folded the pamphlet shut, pressing his thumb over that line like he could smudge it out. He’d do better. He had to.
He was grateful when the group of guys opened the door and ended his humiliation. It could have gotten worse. He stayed in his room for an hour, thinking about his next move.
The booming voice in the room announced, “We’re stopping in Wilmington, Delaware.”
He took two aspirin with water and waited for his headache to go away. But his head was still throbbing, even after the aspirin.
Enough of this.