Chapter Nineteen
Maurice
Maurice stood frozen in the middle of the dance floor, lights flashing across his face, music thumping around him as if nothing had happened except everything had.
Finn had just bolted. One second he was in Maurice’s arms, and the next he was gone, slipping through the crowd as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.
All Maurice had said was this isn’t working.
Meaning the mingling. The stupid forced mingling.
But Finn hadn’t stayed long enough to hear the rest. Did Finn think I meant us? Did he really believe I would end things in the middle of a dance floor with a whisper and no explanation?
A chill swept through him so fast his fingers went numb, and the Dance Car’s lights smeared into streaks he couldn’t track.
He pushed forward, trying to follow Finn, but swaying bodies packed the dance floor and blocked every path.
The train swayed, making it even harder to move.
He muttered apologies, squeezed between shoulders, and ducked under someone’s arm, but Finn was nowhere.
Then the train lurched to a stop.
Mr. Santos’s voice crackled over the speakers. “The train is stopping for thirty minutes in Lincoln, Nebraska. Don’t forget to welcome the new men joining us.”
Perfect timing. Just what Maurice needed—more people, more chaos, and more chances to lose Finn completely.
He finally broke through the crowd and reached the hallway, but he had no idea which direction Finn had gone.
The train was narrow, loud, and suddenly full of new passengers boarding.
Maurice got swept into the flow of bodies, shoulder to shoulder with strangers, all of them talking and laughing while he was trying to remain calm.
He passed the Welcome Car and stopped dead.
Finn was there.
He stood at the bar, drink in hand, surrounded by men who kept inching closer every time the train rocked.
The lights flickered with each shift in the tracks, casting Finn in flashes of gold and shadow.
Finn wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even pretending.
He just drank, shoulders tense, as if the alcohol was the only thing keeping him upright.
A cold weight settled low in Maurice’s gut, heavy enough to steal his breath.
He rushed toward the bar, stopping at the outer edge of the circle forming around Finn.
The guys were talking over each other, offering drinks, trying to get Finn’s attention like he was the only person in the room worth noticing.
“Finn!” Maurice shouted.
Finn turned. His expression was unreadable—flat, guarded, nothing like the warm, open look he’d given Maurice earlier.
Maurice pushed through the crowd. “I need to talk to you.”
“Why?” Finn asked, voice sharp. “You said enough, didn’t you?”
Maurice didn’t bother arguing in front of an audience.
He grabbed Finn’s arm, not hard, just enough to pull him away from the bar, and Finn didn’t fight him, but he didn’t help either.
The hallway was too crowded, too slow, so Maurice did the only thing he could think of. He lifted Finn over his shoulder.
Finn yelped at first, but Maurice didn’t stop. He carried him down the hallway, ignoring the surprised looks from the new passengers, and pushed into his cabin. Finn’s yelping turned into laughter. He set Finn on the bed, breath tight, heart pounding.
“What is wrong with you?” Maurice asked, voice low, frustrated, scared.
Finn’s eyes flashed. “You’re the one who said this isn’t working.”
“Did you stay long enough for me to explain it?”
Finn looked away. “What else is there to say?”
Maurice sat beside Finn on the narrow bed, the soft rumble of the train vibrating through the floor. The small cabin light cast a warm glow over Finn’s face, highlighting the tension in his jaw. Maurice ran a hand through his own hair, trying to steady himself before he spoke.
“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 we should 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?”
“It wasn’t working for me either. That’s what I was trying to say, but you ran away before I could explain.”
Finn’s voice cracked. “You looked thrilled with Billy. So, I couldn’t hear you tell me you wanted to be with him.”
Maurice’s chest tightened. He reached out and cupped Finn’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly along his skin. “Were you jealous?”
“Yes,” Finn whispered. “That’s exactly what I was.”
Maurice smiled softly. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous. I was upset too. Watching you dance and flirt with so many men… I hated it. After Billy, I didn’t dance with anyone else. I was trying to deal with my own feelings.”
Finn’s brows pulled together. “What feelings?”
Maurice opened his mouth, then closed it again. The words were there—loud, insistent—but saying them out loud felt like stepping off a ledge. He reached for Finn’s hands instead, thumbs tracing slow circles over the backs of them. It grounded him. Gave him courage.
“How I want you to be my boy,” he said finally, voice low. “How I don’t want anyone else flirting with you. I was miserable at the dance.” He swallowed, eyes dropping for a second before he forced himself to meet Finn’s gaze again. “I care about you, Finn. I don’t want to share you.”
Finn’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He didn’t speak right away. His fingers tightened around Maurice’s, then loosened, then tightened again—as if he was fighting the urge to pull away and lean in at the same time.
When he finally spoke, his voice was softer. “I never cared about men mingling before, but with you it’s different.” He hesitated, eyes flicking down to their joined hands. “Flirting feels cheap and juvenile. I don’t enjoy faking it to make a point.”
Maurice’s breath caught. He wanted to say something—anything—but the words tangled. Instead, he tugged Finn gently into his arms, giving him space to pull back if he wanted. Finn didn’t. He leaned in slowly, forehead resting against Maurice’s shoulder, his breath warm through Maurice’s shirt.
They stayed like that for a moment—suspended, the train humming beneath them. Maurice slid a hand up Finn’s back, fingers brushing the nape of his neck in a soft, reassuring stroke. Finn’s shoulders eased under his touch.
“Then tell me what you want,” Maurice murmured, not trusting himself to say more.
Finn didn’t answer right away. His hand curled into the fabric of Maurice’s shirt, holding on as if he needed the anchor. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were soft but uncertain, as if he were afraid of saying the wrong thing.
“I want us to be real,” he said. “I want you to be with me. No more pretending.”
Maurice’s breath left him in a rush. He brushed a thumb along Finn’s cheek, letting the silence stretch for a beat—letting Finn see the truth in his eyes before he spoke.
“That’s what I want,” he whispered into Finn’s hair, pulling him close again.
Finn drew back just enough to look at him fully. There was a flicker of hesitation with one last guarded breath before he said, “And I want to spend the night.”
Maurice didn’t answer with words. He cupped Finn’s face with both hands, leaned in, and kissed him. A kiss that said everything he’d struggled to say out loud. A kiss that promised he wouldn’t go anywhere. He was staying.
A kiss that meant it.