“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.”