by Meghan Quinn
“It’s not like that,” I say, my throat growing tight. “He was going through a rough time, and Thad is an emotional basket case.”
“Thad has the right to own his feelings,” Cohen shoots back. “That still does not explain why you wouldn’t tell me.”
“Because then you would have told Declan, and Declan could have—”
“Respected your wishes and not said anything to Thad?” Cohen looks to the side and lets out a sharp breath. “You really think if you told us something so important, we would say something?” He shakes his head. “I thought we were closer than that, Luna.”
He starts to walk away, but I block him and press my hand to his chest. “Don’t say that, Cohen. You’re my best friend.”
He runs his tongue over his teeth and looks straight ahead. “Does Farrah know?”
My stomach churns, nausea rolling up the back of my throat.
“Did she know about the application to get on this show?”
“Cohen.”
His head drops, and he focuses his eyes on mine. Pain, disappointment, and anger are all there, written like a novel across his face.
“If I were your best friend, Luna, you wouldn’t have gone behind my back about the application—and you wouldn’t have hidden this relationship from me. You would have trusted me to keep this quiet, for Thad’s sake, but you didn’t even give me that option. It’s like you can’t seem to give me any options.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask. Where is all this coming from?
“I’m talking about this godforsaken show, and all the decorations, the cake, the wedding attire. Every challenge consists of you telling us what to do, what we’ll win. You’ve been like this our entire life. ‘This is when you need to tell Mom and Dad you’re gay. This is how you should do it. This is how you should live your life with Declan—show more love, kiss him in public. Make red velvet cake because the judges like it, not because we do.’ You’re not giving me a goddamn choice in anything, and I’m sick of it.”
“Cohen, that’s not . . .” A sob escapes me. “I’m not trying to take away your choices—I just want to help.”
“You’re not helping—you’re making it worse. You’re not letting me authentically live my life. You’re trying to make me live the life you think I need, because that’s your personality—you’re a fixer, you’re always meddling, trying to make sure things are perfect, and you don’t care about what anyone else wants.” My chest heaves as more tears run down my cheeks. “And this is just one more example of you taking control of my feelings, my chances at being the brother I want to be.” He wipes his hand over his mouth and then drops it at his side. “You didn’t even give me a goddamn chance.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt as he turns away. “Please, Cohen, listen to me.”
But he just walks away, past Declan, who snags his hand for a few brief seconds and lets go. Declan’s eyes meet mine before he turns and goes after Cohen.
Unsure of what to do, I lean against the wall and slide down to the floor. Cradling my head in my hands, I let all the sorrow that’s been building up wash over me in an instant.
Devastation.
Regret.
Embarrassment.
There’s a reason for every single tear that hits my pants, soaking into the fabric and reminding me exactly of what got me here.
“Luna.” I feel his hand on my back before he squats down next to me. “Luna, I’m so—”
“Not here,” I say, wiping my eyes before I face Alec. With a deep breath, I stand back up. “Not here.”
That’s when I see the pure anguish in his face, and even though my heart lurches in my chest at the thought of him taking another step back in his pursuit to make things right with Thad, I’m in my own personal hell too, and for the first time, I’m not going to try to fix someone else’s problems . . . especially not when I have enough of my own.
“When?” he asks, swallowing hard, his hand reaching out to me. I refuse to take it.
“I don’t know, but not here,” I repeat before striding past him, our shoulders skimming, his fingers gliding along my hand.
Not sure what to do, I go back to the workbenches, where Team Hernandez is sitting on their stools, waiting for everyone to return. I wipe at my eyes, trying to get my emotions in check. We still have the rest of the show to film, and I’m sure, as they say in the business . . . the show must go on.
I grab my water and take a sip, reaching within the depths of my soul to pull it together, just as Helen catches my eye, her expression smug. “You really should have told your brother.”
I slam my water on the workbench and yell, “Shut up, Helen!” before walking off again.
You can imagine how the rest of the day went.
Tensions were high. Cohen barely spoke one word to me, and when he did, his words were sharp. I felt his resentment of every decoration I’d crafted and every upgraded choice I suggested in our final picks.
Team Baxter didn’t seem to fare very well at all, creating some kind of garland that ended up looking like an octopus tentacle. Needless to say, they came in last. Thad blamed Alec, claiming his brother was in cahoots with me and had destroyed his chances at winning this entire competition. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Alec look so low, not even when his mom didn’t show up to set.
Team Hernandez strung together a feather decoration like the one I told Alec to do, which of course didn’t go over well either. Thad claimed sabotage, which insulted Helen for God knows what reason, and Diane, the poor director, had to talk everyone off the ledge after it was all said and done. We stayed late to complete interviews, since Diane wanted to give everyone a break before the weddings next weekend. And honestly, I think she was just at her wits’ end. She’d been the one to corral everyone, have makeup run past the faces of everyone involved in what she’s calling “the meltdown,” and then try to get through the rest of filming. I know she’s probably at some bar right now, hating her life.
When she called it a night, Cohen took off immediately. I tried chasing after him, but Declan stopped me, telling me to give him some time. Thad stormed off as well, with Naomi trailing behind, and Helen caught Diane by the wrist, insisting she wanted to revisit the possibility of corruption just one more time, given that two people were dating from opposite teams, which created an “unfair advantage.”
Helen needs to get a life.
I didn’t want to stick around and stir up any more trouble, so with a heavy heart, I went back to my apartment, where I broke open a new package of fudge-striped cookies. I didn’t even bother decorating my fingers with them—just shoved them in my mouth as quickly as I could.
I’ve sent at least ten texts to Cohen, all of which have gone unanswered, and my heart breaks a little more with every second that goes by without a response.
The moment Alec tossed me the burlap ribbon, the exact ribbon I’d told him about this past week, hoping it would be there, I knew we were in trouble. It was only a matter of time before we were figured out; I just didn’t realize things were going to explode as violently as they did. Nor was I expecting Cohen to completely tear me apart, in front of everyone. I stuff some more cookies in my mouth, my sadness replaced by a surge of anger. Sure, I ultimately decided to hide this from Cohen, but I can’t help but place blame squarely on Alec. He’s the one who wanted to keep secrets.
Knock. Knock.
I look at my apartment door. Speak of the devil. I know exactly who’s on the other side—I’m just surprised it’s taken him this long.
I heave myself off the couch and go to the door. As I open it, I keep my body firmly in the doorway, not granting any access.
“Luna,” Alec says, his face looking like it’s aged at least five years. “Can I come in?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“We need to talk,” he says a little more sternly. “And I’m not about to talk in your hallway.”
Ugh. He’s right. I spin
on my heel and head toward the sofa, leaving him to deal with the door. I hear the soft click as he shuts it while I dig for another cookie, my stash already starting to run low.
Alec takes a seat next to me. “I’m sorry, Luna.”
“Yeah, so am I.”
“What are you sorry for?” he asks, confusion in his voice.
“Sorry for getting involved in all of this. I shouldn’t have.”
“Involved in . . . what?”
“The show . . .” I swallow hard. “You.”
He sighs heavily. “Luna, I know today was tough, but—”
“Today wasn’t tough, Alec,” I say, finally facing him. “Today ranks up there as one of the worst days of my life. My brother pretty much told me I’ve been controlling his life since he came out to me. Controlling.” Tears well in my eyes. “I wasn’t trying to control him. I just wanted to . . . help him.”
“And you were.”
I shake my head. “No, I was stifling him.” Taking a deep breath, I continue. “Cohen means everything to me. Everything.” I let out a sob. “He’s my best friend, my rock, the one person who knows me inside and out. Without him, I’m nothing, and you . . . you made me lie to him.”
“We didn’t lie, we just . . . didn’t tell anyone what was going on.”
“It’s the same thing.” I wipe my nose with the back of my long sleeve, not even caring at this point. “Lying by omission is just as bad.”
“Things are raw right now, but Cohen loves you. It will blow over.”
“You have no right to say that. You weren’t there—you didn’t see the look in Cohen’s eyes. He’s not just upset . . . he’s disappointed. He’s disappointed in me.” I press my hand to my head and sink back into the couch. Alec reaches out, but I push him away. “No, I can’t, Alec. I just . . . can’t.”
“Can’t what?” he asks shakily. “Can’t right now, or can’t ever?”
My lip trembles. I press my knuckles to my chin and look out my living room window, pain rippling through me every time my mind flashes to Cohen, his harsh words and retreating back.
It’s all too much.
Cohen’s hurt.
The show’s a mess.
I’ve been stifling my brother . . .
This relationship.
Alec’s problems.
I can’t handle it all.
“Ever,” I whisper.
From the corner of my eye, I see Alec straighten. “I told you we could press pause,” he says. “I gave you the option to wait it out until after the show.”
Slowly, I turn to look at him, eyes narrowed. “Are you really blaming this on me right now?”
“You’re fucking blaming this on me, Luna.” Alec stands. “I told you I could wait, and you were the one who chose to lie, to keep it a secret.”
“Because I wanted you!” I shout, bewildered that he would even bring this up. “I wanted you more than anything. You asked me to keep it a secret. I’m sorry that I was so infatuated with you that I thought it could work, that even if I had to lie, I could at least be with the man I was falling for.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m just—fuck, this is such a mess.”
“Because of you,” I say, springing up from the couch and pacing the room. “If you just had the balls to talk to your brother, this wouldn’t have been a problem. But you have such a shitty relationship with him that you just had to drag me down and make my relationship with Cohen just as shitty.”
“Wow.” Alec blinks. “So you think everything that happened with Cohen is my fault?”
“You certainly didn’t help!” I shout. I know I’m being irrational, that the words coming out of my mouth are spiteful and untrue, but there is so much anger and pain building up inside of me that I just can’t stop them. “We could have avoided this whole shitstorm if you hadn’t asked me to lie.”
“I gave you a goddamn choice!” he yells, spreading his arms. “I gave you a choice, and you chose me.”
“I chose wrong,” I say before I can stop myself.
He rears back, stunned.
And I realize what I said, what it means for us . . . for him. I wait with bated breath to see how he reacts.
I stare into his eyes as they grow darker and darker.
He presses his lips together, nods, and then walks past me toward the door. My heart sinks. He turns the handle but then pauses and glances back at me. “For what it’s worth, I thought I chose correctly, because I chose you.” And then he’s gone, letting the door click quietly shut behind him.
I crumple to the couch and bury my head in my hands, sorrow sweeping over me faster than I can blink the tears away.
I lost Cohen today, and I just pushed away the man I love, the man who’s worked his way into my life faster and deeper than anyone ever has.
And even though I want to point the finger at everyone else, I know that if I want to peg the blame on anyone, I should go look in a mirror.
Luna: Cohen, I’m so sorry. Please, will you answer my calls?
Luna: Please don’t be mad at me. I can’t take this.
Luna: Cohen, this is breaking me.
Luna: Please, Cohen, you’re getting married on Friday. Four days. I don’t want to taint this happy moment.
Luna: I love you and I’m sorry. Please just call me, text me, visit me, anything. Please let me show you how sorry I am.
I sent the last text ten minutes ago, and still nothing. I even tried texting Declan, but given the lack of response, it seems like Cohen has shut down all communication with me. And that hurts, more than I can even describe.
We’ve never not talked; we’ve never fought like we did on set. I’ve done some pretty stupid things that have affected Cohen, but nothing of this magnitude, nothing that made him so mad he surpassed the vein popping in his forehead and went straight to disappointment . . . and unbridled anger. Anger so deep, so palpable, that I could feel it steamrolling over me as he walked away.
I wipe away a tear and take deep breaths as I try to comprehend the magnitude of this fight, of his distance and silence. I hate to admit it, but I’m not sure this is something I can fix my way out of. I think this is a situation where I might just have to let Cohen take the lead, and that’s entirely new territory for me. Taking the back seat, waiting, hoping . . . praying that he will come back to me and accept my apology.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ALEC
“Hey, man, how was your week—whoa, what the hell happened to you?” Lucas asks as I stumble into his office and shut the door behind me.
I’m currently dressed in what some people might call sweatpants and a holey shirt, but I call them my breakup gear. For my first-ever breakup. Heather-gray sweatpants with elastic around the ankles, a Columbia shirt with holes in the armpits, holes so large you could apply deodorant through them. In a concession to professionalism, I’m wearing dress shoes—without socks—and have a tie wrapped around my neck haphazardly.
Honestly, I thought the tie was a nice touch.
I slouch in the chair and rest my hands on my stomach. “My life is shit. Absolute shit.”
The creak of Lucas leaning back in his chair fills his questioning silence as he studies me, probably trying to decide where to even begin.
I don’t give him a chance to guess.
“Luna broke things off.”
“Yeah, I could have guessed that.”
“Mary DIY—your bitch with a glue gun—spilled the beans about our relationship. Thad freaked out, just like I thought he would. Cohen was insulted. Luna cried. Helen threw a hissy fit.”
“The overbearing mom?”
I nod. “Thought it was an unfair disadvantage that we were dating, said we were ganging up on them. Diane lectured us. Cohen walked off set without Luna. Luna walked off set without me. And Thad won’t return any of my calls or texts.”
“Jesus Christ . . .” Lucas falls silent for over a minute, scratches his jaw, and then asks, “Did they happen to catch that all on cam
era?”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He waves his hand and clears his throat. “Did Luna end your relationship while you were on set? Maybe it was a heat-of-the-moment kind of thing.”
I shake my head. “No, I wanted to talk to her then and there, but I could tell it wasn’t a good idea—she was way too upset to talk, and I didn’t want to do any more damage, so I went home, took a shower, and changed before heading over to her place, hoping she’d cooled down a little so we could figure out how we could make this all better.”
“She wasn’t cooled?”
“No.” I glance down at my hands. “It was like all the life had been sucked out of her. I’ve never seen her with an actual frown on her face, but she had one. She was sad, dude. Really fucking sad.” I press my lips together and look up at the ceiling. “And I had a hand in it all. Fuck.” I breathe out. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”
“An inhospitable environment growing up, no example of what a loving relationship looks like, saw alcohol and prescription medications used as a coping mechanism, had to grow up faster than a kid should . . . shall I go on?”
“No,” I deadpan. “Your honest approach is positively refreshing.” I press both my palms to my eyes. “I really need to go to therapy.”
“That would be step number one to getting healthy. Just like I said the last time you were looking for a therapist.”
“And what would step number two be?”
“Fix things with Thad, because unless you two are okay, you’re never going to be able to patch things up with Luna.”
I fiddle with my tie. “Fix things with Thad . . . easier said than done. In case you were wondering, he fucking hates me.”
“Looks like you have to make a grand gesture, then.”
“To Luna?”
Lucas shakes his head. “To your brother.”
The door opens, and I can feel my entire body stiffen as I gaze into a pair of eyes that perfectly match my own.
I had my first therapy session yesterday—Lucas’s therapist, Margaret, was able to fit me in that day because I paid her overtime. Diving into my childhood wasn’t fun, but it at least granted me a little relief. And I mean a little, because I probably have about two years’ worth of heavy sessions in front of me. This is not an overnight cure, but it’s a step in the right direction.