Page 10 of Gold Rush

Carson, seated on the bench across from the lobby desk, stands and hurries after me. I jab the Up button, staring resolutely ahead as his steps grow louder.

“Rory, I …” That’s all he says. Two measly words, one of them my name. He clears his throat, then tries again. “You’ve seen …”

Another pause.

I remain silent.

I’m done. Drained, my brain a scramble of new colleagues’ names and facts from the cases I spent the day reviewing. Defendants with real, pressing problems, who are facing prejudice and prison.

There’s nothing Carson can say or do to fix this. I suspect he already knows so, and that’s at least part of why he’s only summoned four words total.

I thought he’d put some effort into an apology though. Even that was too much to ask, it appears.

“How many times?” I ask.

No work is necessary to keep my tone calm and cool. It just comes out that way.

“What?”

The elevator arrives, dinging as the doors open. Carson moves to enter it, so I stay still. No way are we continuing this conversation in my apartment.

“How many times did you cheat?”

A question Carson should have been expecting. But he blanches like it’s unexpected.

“I—it was a mistake, Rory. I don’t want to hurt you with the details.”

I glance at him. Smile. “How thoughtful.”

He flinches at the heavy sarcasm, then flushes. There’s a bruise on his left cheekbone, the red and purple making part of his complexion resemble a plum.

I stare at Carson, searching for some remnant of the person I knew. The bruise isn’t all that’s foreign on his face. For some reason, it suddenly feels like I’ve never seen him before. Like he’s a caricature of former familiarity, everything appealing spoiled by betrayal.

“Bye, Carson.” I step into the elevator.

He starts to follow.

I hold a hand out, halting him in place. “You don’t live here.”

He could have. I suggested we move in together when I found this apartment. Carson said he would relocate after his current lease ended. Was that truly him being fiscally responsible? How many times did I accidentally excuse his cheating? When I canceled visits because of an exam or a paper, was he relieved? Secretly acting single while I was clueless in another city?

He never answered my question. And the answer doesn’t really matter. I know it happened once, and I think the truth is, it happened many times. The exact number is irrelevant, but the implications burn.

Carson isn’t coming any closer, but he’s blocking the doors. They try to close, then stall, beeping in response to the obstacle preventing them from shutting.

I wait.

He stares. Scoffs. “That’s it?”

“I don’t have anything else to say to you.”

Another scoff. “You’re not going to ask why I did it?”

“Nope.” I pop the P, just to be extra obnoxious, like Flynn does.

Carson’s eyes narrow. “I really was just a prop, huh? I’m of no use to you anymore, so you’re tossing me away? People aren’t accessories you can shove aside every time an internship asks you to stay late or a professor offers extra credit, Rory.”

“Yes, me prioritizing a degree over your disloyal dick was obviously the wrong decision,” I drawl.