“Something good?” he says, looking at my face. His expression turns from dark into hopeful. “Is it good news about your mom?”

I freeze, not sure I heard him right. “What did you just say?”

“Your mom,” he repeats. “Is it good news about her?”

“How... ?” I pause, closing my eyes as my heart drops in my chest. I haven’t told Finn yet, which means he heard it from someone else. “No. I... how did... ?” I trip around, trying to find my footing. Who told him and what does he know? My stomach sinks. Now I understand his mood. “Finn, I was going to tell you about that, but that isn’t what—”

His face is tight again, jaw clenched. “You realize your mother has the same thing that killed my mom? I thought maybe you would want to confide in me since, of anyone in your life right now, I understand what you’re probably feeling. Also, you know, because you love me.”

I pull back, anger rising like steam in my chest. “You’re giving me shit for not sharing this immediately?”

He closes his eyes, pressing his fingers to his forehead. “I’ve been all over the map about this today, Snap. I get why you wouldn’t want to talk to me about that at first, I do. But then later...” He shakes his head. “I felt like my shit was falling apart and it really helped me to have you there. You, specifically. It’s part of what helped me let myself see this thing between us as more than just physical. But apparently you didn’t need the same thing from me.”

I start to interrupt, but he holds up his hand to stop me. “And even after it was clear it was more—even before we said it concretely that it was more between us, we knew it was—you didn’t tell me about all of this. I know what your family is to you, Harlow. I know how close you are. I get why you were such a desperate mess early on and probably didn’t want to think about it when we were together. I get that. What I don’t get is why last night, or all of the other times it was just you and me understanding each other perfectly, you couldn’t just...” He trails off, running his hand down his face and lowering himself into a chair across from me.

“I just haven’t really been talking—”

“Don’t say that,” he interrupts, angry now. “Everyone else knew. Ansel, Oliver, Lola, Mia. They all fucking knew. I’m the one in your bed, I’m the one you’re looking at like I’m someone, and I’m the only person who doesn’t know what’s eating you up inside so bad that you came looking for me in the first place.”