“Okay.” Eli’s eyebrow lifts like nothing about this is even remotely okay. “But why? Is there a reason why you didn’t want me to know?”

“I—Eli, I never said that I didn’t want you to know.”

He blinks like I’m a riddler guarding a treasure room. “I don’t…I thought you were past the stage of your life where you hide things from me.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

There is a touch of hurt in his brief, single laugh. “Clearly there is something you’re hiding, since I found out that you’ll be moving to Boston from Axel’s brother—”

“I’m not moving to Boston, and Paul doesn’t know shit.” I shiver as fire climbs up my throat. That combination of hot and cold that I’m all too familiar with.

Eli crosses his arms, impatient, and this is how it’s always been between us. My anger and his, fueling each other. These standoffs, they would happen every day when I was teenager. And now…I don’t want to fall back into that.

“Listen.” I take a deep breath. Another. Five fingers. “I don’t think this is the best time to discuss this. Can we please both take a step back and—”

“Why is it such a big deal, letting me know about the MIT position? I told you from the start that I would support you no matter—”

“Because I didn’t accept the MIT position,” I nearly scream. “I deferred. I called Jack, and he said that he’d try to keep my position open for another year, but that is contingent upon the funding situation at the research center, and the Fermilab spot is going to go to someone else. There, now I told you. Are you happy?”

Eli looks at me like…Like I’m still twelve, and he decided out of the blue that I could no longer watch my favorite show because it was too violent, that I needed to have a bedtime, that I couldn’t hang out with my friends because they were too old for me. I can barely breathe. “What the hell is going on, Maya? Why are you being so childish?”

“Why are you treating me like I’m some adolescent who needs to keep you apprised of—” A dam bursts, and anger bleaches my brain. All I see is red. All I hear is my heartbeat. This rage—sometimes I feel like it’s what I’m made of. A bunch of crimson molecules scouring through me, leaving nothing but resentment behind. “You know what, Eli? Screw you. I’m not going to let you talk like that to me.”

I stalk away, down the stairs of the patio, hating Eli, hating Paul, above all, hating myself for the way—

Something blocks my path, and I nearly trip.

When I look down, I see Conor’s forearm. It strains against my belly like a damn turnstile.

“If you don’t let me go—”

“Maya.”

“Conor. If you—”

“Will you focus on me for just a second? Please?”

I do. Gradually, the rest of the world—waves, shrieking seagulls, Bitty’s playful nipping of Tiny—recedes.