Chapter Ten
Finn
Finn barely heard the bell over the rush in his own chest. One second David was mid-sentence, and the next Finn was already halfway out of his seat like someone had hit a launch button under him.
David laughed under his breath. “Go. Before you vibrate out of your skin.”
Finn muttered something that was probably “thank you” but came out more like a noise, and then he was weaving through the tables, trying not to look like he was sprinting—even though he absolutely was.
Maurice was already standing. Of course he was.
Like he’d been waiting for Finn the whole damn round.
He had one hand in his pocket, the other resting lightly on the back of his chair, and his eyes tracked Finn the entire way over.
Slow. Warm. Possessive in a way that made Finn’s stomach flip.
“You didn’t waste any time,” Maurice said.
Finn stopped in front of him, slightly breathless. “We, uh… finished early.”
Maurice inched closer and Finn felt the heat of him. His hand came up, fingers brushing Finn’s elbow—light, but enough to settle him. “You kept looking at me.”
Finn’s face went hot. “And you kept looking at me.”
Maurice’s smile deepened. “I wasn’t trying to hide it.”
Finn swallowed, pulse thudding. “Neither was I.”
Maurice’s thumb traced a slow line along Finn’s arm, barely there, but Finn felt it everywhere. “How was David?”
“Nice, but I don’t think he liked me.” Finn was distracted by Maurice still touching him.
“Why would you say that?”
“He, uh… noticed I was… not fully focused.”
Maurice laughed. “I wonder why.”
Finn rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re adorable when you’re jealous,” Maurice murmured, leaning in enough that Finn felt his breath on his cheek.
Finn’s heart did a weird, happy somersault. “I wasn’t jealous of that rockstar you were with. I did like his turquoise hair though.”
“You rushed across the room like Billy might not leave my table fast enough.”
Finn groaned. “Okay, maybe a little jealous.”
Maurice kissed the top of Finn’s nose. “I liked it.”
Finn’s breath caught. “Yeah?”
Maurice nodded once, slow and deliberate. “Yeah.”
“Ready to leave?” Maurice asked.
Finn didn’t even pretend to think about it. “I was ready ten minutes ago.”
Maurice laughed and took Finn’s hand. “Good.”
Finn had barely made it three steps toward the door before Mr. Santos’s voice cut through the room.
“Finn! Hold on a moment.”
He winced like he had been caught like a kid sneaking out of class early and turned around. Maurice slowed beside him but didn’t let go, his fingers resting warmly over Finn’s hand, making Finn’s thoughts scatter.
Mr. Santos approached with that calm, all-knowing expression he wore like a uniform. “Why are you leaving before the next round? You still have people to meet.”
Finn tried to appear innocent. It probably came out more like busted but pretending not to be. “I, uh… found Mr. Right.”
Mr. Santos blinked. “Already?”
Finn shrugged, cheeks warm. “Yeah. Pretty sure.”
Mr. Santos folded his arms. “Finn, the whole point of this event is to explore your options. You shouldn’t rush into—”
“I’m not rushing,” Finn said quickly. “I just… know.” Mr. Santos was all over his business in a fatherly way. He hadn’t noticed him behaving that way to anyone else.
Mr. Santos gave him a look that said, “You’re twenty-one and full of hormones,” but Finn held his ground. Maurice’s hand tightened around his.
“Finn,” Mr. Santos tried again, gentler this time, “you owe it to yourself to meet everyone. You never know who you might connect with.”
Finn shook his head. “I already know.”
Mr. Santos opened his mouth to argue again, but Maurice stepped forward, voice low and steady.
“He’s safe with me.” The room didn’t go silent, but it felt as if it had. Maurice wasn’t posturing or puffing up, but stating a fact with certainty. Maurice stayed close, his grip steady, thumb brushing once across the back of Finn’s hand.
Mr. Santos studied Maurice for a long moment. “You understand the responsibility that comes with that?”
Maurice nodded once. “I do.”
Something warm, solid, and right settled in his chest.
Mr. Santos sighed, but it wasn’t annoyed. More resigned. “All right. But you two behave. And, Finn, if you change your mind, you’re welcome to come back.”
Finn grinned. “I won’t.”
Maurice leaned toward him. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Finn followed him out of the room, pulse racing, terrifying in the best way. “Where are we going?” Finn asked.
“I’d like to talk to you in my room. Would you be comfortable with that?” Maurice asked as he led Finn out of the Party Car.
“Yes.”
Maurice’s cabin was small but somehow still felt warm—soft lighting, neatly folded blankets, the faint scent of cedar from the built-in drawers. Finn moved inside and felt the door click shut behind him, and suddenly the noise of the train faded into something distant and harmless.
He sat on the edge of the bed because he didn’t trust his legs to keep him upright. Being alone with Maurice made everything inside him feel too bright.
Maurice moved closer, not crowding him, but nearby. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Finn said, though his voice came out a little thin. “Just decompressing. It’s a lot out there.”
Maurice eased down beside him, their knees touching. The contact was grounding. “You looked overwhelmed.”
“I’m used to people flirting with me,” Finn admitted. “But not all at once. And not when I’m trying to focus on one person.”
Maurice’s head tilted slightly. “One person?”
Finn’s cheeks warmed. “You. I thought that was obvious.”
Maurice let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “I wasn’t sure, because you disappeared earlier.”
“I got pulled into conversations,” Finn said. “And then I thought maybe you weren’t interested.”
Maurice reached out and touched Finn’s thigh, above the knee. “I was interested. Still am.”
Finn closed his eyes, reveling in the gentle warmth of Maurice’s touch. “Okay. Good.”
Maurice leaned back against the wall, stretching his legs out so their ankles brushed. “Tell me something real about you. Not the version you give strangers.”
Finn looked around the cabin, searching for something to anchor himself. His gaze landed on a folded Marine-issue blanket tucked neatly on the top shelf—standard train bedding, but the way Maurice had folded it was too precise, too practiced.
Finn nodded toward it. “You fold things as if someone taught you to do it perfectly.”
Maurice followed his gaze, then laughed. “Old habits. My dad used to make me redo my bed until the corners were sharp enough to cut someone.”
Finn winced. “That sounds… intense.”
“It was.” Maurice rubbed the back of his neck, fingers lingering there as if he was working out old tension. “My entire family was in the Marines. Everyone assumed I’d follow. I didn’t.”
Finn stayed quiet, letting Maurice choose how much to share.
“There was this moment,” Maurice said slowly, “when I was eighteen. My dad put enlistment papers in front of me at the kitchen table. Didn’t yell.
Didn’t threaten. Just waited.” He paused, eyes distant.
“I remember staring at the pen and realizing that if I signed, I’d be living someone else’s life. And if I didn’t, I’d lose them.”
Finn’s breath stuttered. “You chose yourself.”
Maurice nodded once. “Yeah. And they didn’t take it well.”
Finn reached out and touched Maurice’s forearm, fingers curling lightly around the muscle there. Maurice didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into the touch.
“I’m glad you chose you,” Finn whispered.
Maurice looked at him then—really looked—and something in his expression softened. “Took me a long time to figure out what I wanted after that. I spent years keeping things casual because it felt safer. No expectations. No disappointments.”
Finn’s hand slid up to Maurice’s biceps, thumb tracing the warm skin where his sleeve had ridden up. “What changed?”
Maurice’s voice dropped. “I got tired of waking up next to people who didn’t know a damn thing about me.” He shifted closer, their thighs fully touching now. “And then today happened.”
Finn’s pulse jumped. “Today?”
“You,” Maurice said.
Finn leaned in before he could overthink it. Maurice met him halfway.
The kiss was soft at first—warm, slow, like Maurice was letting Finn set the pace. Finn slid a hand up the side of Maurice’s neck, fingers stroking the short hair there. Maurice’s hand found Finn’s waist, thumb pressing gently through the fabric of his shirt.
When they pulled apart, Finn’s forehead rested against Maurice’s.
“I’m glad you left with me,” Maurice murmured.
Finn smiled, breath warm against Maurice’s lips. “Me too.”
Maurice kissed him again—deeper this time, but still careful, still tender—like he was learning Finn one touch at a time.