Chapter 36
“What’s the update on the domestic violence case?” Rachel asks Rob.
“He’s agreed to a plea,” Rob replies. “I’m meeting with the prosecutor tomorrow to hammer out the final details of the deal.”
Rachel nods, making a note. “Good. Keep me in the loop on that.”
“Will do.”
There’s a soft knock on the door.
Jackie pokes her head into the conference room a second later. “Sorry to interrupt, Rachel.”
“No problem,” she responds. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a call for Rory on the main line. He said it was urgent.”
Rachel nods, glancing at me. “Go.”
I stand, grabbing my portfolio and shooting her a quick, grateful smile before hurrying over to Jackie.
“Who’s calling?” I ask immediately as we head down the hallway.
“He said his name was Gideon Rhodes.”
I frown, steps quickening as we hurry toward my desk. One of Kit and Flynn’s friends. I’ve met him a handful of times, but don’t know him very well. I have no idea why he’d be calling me about anything, let alone something labeled urgent.
“He’s on extension four,” Jackie says, continuing past my desk to her own.
“Thanks,” I call after her, then pick up my phone and hit the right extension. “Rory Kensington speaking.”
“Hey, Rory. It’s Rh—Gideon.”
“I heard. What can I help you with?”
“Uh, Flynn just called me. He got in a minor car accident—”
“He what?” I exclaim.
“He’s fine,” Gideon adds quickly. “Sounds like the fender got the worst of it. But he does have a concussion, so they won’t release him from the hospital without—”
“He’s in the hospital?” I start shoving items into my bag: phone, water bottle, folders—wait, I don’t need those—then pull my cell back out to check if I have any missed calls or messages. I don’t.
“Just as a precaution. Like I said, he’s fine. Talking and walking, the whole deal.”
“You saw him?”
“Well, no. I’m in Boston for the day, attending a conference. But I’m sure he would have mentioned being paralyzed.”
I have to unclench my jaw to say, “Why didn’t he call me?”
“He said you were busy. He’s super impressed by you, by the way.
Brags about your job. I mean, he used to bitch about how you were always too focused on school, but he also—uh, anyway, I can’t spring him from medical prison.
I doubt he’ll call his dad, and Kit’s basically impossible to reach at work.
Our friend Leo actually works at New York General, but he’s not answering, so I figured I’d—”
“He’s at New York General?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks for letting me know.” I hang up, then beckon Jackie over. “I have to go. My … boyfriend was in a car accident.”
“Oh my God. Is he okay?”
“I think so. But I need to find out for sure.”
“Of course. I’ll handle the rest of your meetings. And let Rachel know there was an emergency.”
“Thanks.”
“Of course,” Jackie repeats. “Go! And let me know if I can do anything.”
“I will. Thanks.” I rush toward the exit.
Twenty-four minutes later, I’m outside the main entrance of the hospital. The last time I was here was when Lili got into a car accident several years ago. I’m no less panicked now than I was then, despite Gideon’s assurances.
I don’t like hospitals. I doubt many people do, but I’m especially uncomfortable here.
The white sterility is blinding, the swirling chaos of overlapping voices and overhead announcements and distant sirens far from the order I work best under.
I enjoy the predictability of a courtroom, of order and rules.
Everything is laid out in advance—the evidence and the witnesses.
Which table you sit at and which side starts. There’s too much uncertainty here.
There’s also a long line in front of the reception desk.
I walk right past it, entering the emergency room.
“Ma’am! Ma’am!” A woman wearing blue scrubs hurries over, stethoscope and ponytail swinging. “This is a restricted area. You can’t be back here.”
“I’m looking for Flynn Parks.”
“Ma’am, there’s a protocol—”
“Are you familiar with the Kensington Oncology wing?” I interrupt. “Because I’m Rory Kensington, and I need to know where Flynn Parks is. Now.”
She sighs. This is New York—she’s likely dealt with plenty of celebrities and socialites throwing their weight around to receive special treatment.
I’m taken aback by my sudden willingness to do the same. How desperate I am to leverage anything and everything, if it means seeing Flynn sooner.
“Elijah?” The woman beckons over another man in scrubs. “Can you find out where a patient named Flynn Parks is and show this woman the way?”
“Of course, Dr. Summers.”
“Thanks.” Dr. Summers continues toward the reception area I came from.
“Thank you,” I call after her before turning back to the man.
“Parks?” The man is scrolling on a tablet.
“Yes,” I confirm quickly.
“He’s in bed eight.”
“Do you know how he is?” I ask as I follow the man down a hallway.
“I didn’t treat him. And I’m not a doctor. But he probably would have been transported to surgery or moved to a private room if there were a serious issue.”
I release a sigh of relief. “Okay. Thank you.”
“They need you in X-ray, Eli,” another man says, speed-walking past. “We’ve got an ambulance incoming. Need to clear that room ASAP.”
“Got it, Jim,” Elijah says quickly. To me, he adds, “Just ahead. Last bed on the left.”
I thank him, then continue that way. There are hanging curtains separating each bed, the corresponding number for each painted on the floor. Eight is last on the left, like Elijah said.
My steps slow as I near it, my stomach suddenly stuffed with nerves. What if they missed something and he’s not fine? What if he—
I pass the last divider. Flynn is lying on a white hospital bed in a rumpled suit, scrolling on his phone. He glances up, eyes briefly widening before he tucks his phone away.
“Rory? What are you doing here?”
“Gideon called me.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s in Boston at a conference and couldn’t come, so he called me. What happened? Why didn’t you call me?”
Flynn laughs. “Why would I call you?”
“Uh … because we’re dating?”
He continues chuckling. “Good one. Seriously, why aren’t you in Boston? Don’t you have class?”
I stare at him, horror dawning slowly. Oh my God. He thinks … his memory is …
“Oh, perfect. Are you here to pick up Mr. Parks?” Another woman wearing scrubs stops beside me, at the end of Flynn’s bed, glancing between us. “I just need to go over the concussion protocol, and then we can officially discharge him.”
“I—there’s—” I can’t even string two words together.
My medical abilities are limited to dabbing hydrogen peroxide on scratches.
I don’t know anything about head injuries.
Is amnesia common with concussions? Lili didn’t have any memory problems after her accident.
Is this permanent? What year of law school does he think I’m—we’re—in?
Panic is rising like a tide, suffocating me.
“Miss?” The doctor frowns. “Are you all right?”
“You need to examine him again,” I manage to say. “Something is wrong—”
“All they had were cheese crackers.” A brunette wearing a pantsuit appears, tossing a red bag on the blanket by Flynn’s crossed feet. “You’re welcome.” She glances at me. Smiles. “Hey, you must be Rory. I’m Haley. I work with Flynn. The firm sent me over to check on him and Jay.”
She works with Flynn, and she hasn’t noticed he has no memory of her?
“I’m fine, Florence. I didn’t call you because you have your big meeting with Rachel on Tuesday afternoons. I didn’t want to interrupt in the middle of it.” Flynn grabs the crackers, ripping the bag open and popping one in his mouth. “These aren’t bad, Haley. Thanks.”
I’m as stiff as a statue, relief and anger mingling with terror.
“Those are pity crackers because you got rear-ended and were stupid enough to not be wearing a seat belt,” Haley tells him. “Don’t expect special treatment or room service at the office.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Flynn winks, then pops another cracker into his mouth.
“Really nice to meet you, Haley,” I say. “Would you mind giving us one minute?”
“Of course,” she replies, taking an immediate step back. “I should go check on Jay anyway. They’re about to release him.”
“I need to check on another patient,” the doctor says quickly. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
She hurries off almost as fast as Haley did. I wonder what my face looks like.
I grasp the edge of the curtain and pull it so the hanging sheet encloses the entire bed. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I hiss.
“Aside from the concussion?”
I tilt my head back, staring up at the white panels covering the ceiling. Blow out a long breath, wishing I could exhale all my emotions too.
“It was a joke, Rory.”
I know it was a joke. I know Flynn jokes. And I’ve always found it exasperating. Occasionally found it amusing. But I’d never, until a few minutes ago, found it terrifying.
I thought he’d forgotten the past two months.
Forgotten Finch and why he randomly mentioned smoke detectors.
Forgotten I’d called the cops on him. Forgotten we lived together.
Forgotten he’d told me about what happened in college.
Forgotten a very small percentage of the total time we’d known each other, containing so many special moments.
“Hey,” he says, softer. “Rory—”
“You weren’t wearing a seat belt?” I ask the ceiling, not Flynn directly, but he answers.
“We had just left a meeting. The other car came out of nowhere and rammed—”
“You didn’t call me, so I had to find out from one of your friends?”
“I actually explicitly told Rhody not to tell you—”
“Stop interrupting!” I snap, blinking rapidly as the panels above blur.
“You interrupted me first.” There’s a rustle of fabric, as I think he stands. I don’t look to confirm. “I was going to tell you what happened tonight. I didn’t want to … bother you.”
“Well, I would have been a lot less worried if I’d heard about it from you. Gideon didn’t know anything. He didn’t even find out if you were paralyzed!”
Flynn makes an amused sound in the back of his throat. “If you’d look at me, you’d know I’m not.”
I sigh, then lower my chin. Flynn is a little fuzzy too.
He must notice why because he’s earnest now, no trace of teasing in his expression.
“I’m sorry. It was a stupid joke. I was surprised to see you here.
I figured Rhody told you I was fine, and I—I didn’t think you’d be worried.
The car got the worst of it. Jay insisted we both come to the hospital, and they’re being extra cautious since I got a couple of concussions playing lacrosse. ”
“Not the time you hit your head on the diving board, trying to learn how to backflip?”
Flynn grins. “I knew you remembered all the stupid shit I’d done.” His right hand lifts, thumb swiping beneath my eye. “You really didn’t need to leave work.”
“Me ignoring you in the hospital wouldn’t have made much sense, especially just before we announced our engagement.”
“Right. Yeah. I guess that could have raised some questions.”
Flynn’s smile is different than it was a few seconds ago. Stiffer.
“Plus, Finch would be upset if something happened to you,” I add.
“Devastated, really,” he agrees. “No more baths.”
“Exactly.” I clear my throat. “You promise you’re fine? They checked everything out?”
“I promise. Clean bill of health.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He clears his throat. “Thank you. For coming.”
“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.