Page 119 of Gold Rush

“Of course. Y-you can always call me. I’ll show up. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m really reliable.”

Flynn doesn’t smile at my attempt to lighten the mood. He kisses me.

We kiss a lot. I love kissing Flynn. I love that he’s openly affectionate. I love that, after weeks of sleeping together, he still kisses me. He’s never acted like sex is the only goal.

This is different. We’re in a hectic emergency room. There’s no one who thinks we’re dating to witness it.

We’re just … kissing.

Someone shouts nearby, and we separate. Flynn looks as confused as I feel.

I step back, adjusting my blazer. “I’ll, uh, I’ll go find that doctor. Do you want me to track down Haley too?”

He frowns. “Why?”

“You seem … close.”

Flynn sits back on the bed, grabbing the bag of snacks I haven’t eaten yet can taste. “Is that your way of asking if I hooked up with her before you suggested I be discreet?”

Yes. “No.”

“Nothing ever happened with her, Rory.”

“I didn’t ask, Flynn. You don’t owe me any explanations.”

A muscle in his jaw jumps. “Well, you’re the person I want to explain to. I haven’t touched anyone else since we started this. I would never do that to you. If you don’t believe me⁠—”

“I do believe you,” I say quickly. “I just … we never—things have … evolved, obviously.”

“You mean sex?” he asks, blunt as ever.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to stop sleeping together?”

I shake my head. “D-do you?”

“No. I don’t want to stop.”

He doesn’t add any caveat. Doesn’t say until we break up or until this ends. Because that’s implied? Because he’s forgotten that parts are supposed to be fake too?

I’m so sick of wondering. I could ask. It could end the uncertainty. It could ruin everything.

His words echo in my head. “I was clear about what I wanted. Or didn’t. She changed. When I didn’t … that’s when things blew up.”

I take another step away, nearly upending an instrument tray. It hits the wall with a clang. I grab it before it can fall, then reach for the hanging sheet and yank it back open.

“I’ll be, uh, back,” I say awkwardly, then hurry away to find the doctor.

The sooner we get out of here, the sooner I can get back to work—where things make sense.

37

Icheck the clock on the wall again. It’s after seven. Rory is usually home by six. Last night, she worked until nine, which I figured was due to her leaving work in the middle of the day to check me out of the hospital.

I sent Rhody a strongly worded text yesterday afternoon, chewing him out for calling her.

His response? You’re right. You should have called her.