Page 33 of Unwanted

“We can go in my car and I could drive you back here after dinner?” I offer.

“I actually don’t have a car. I usually bus it here.”

“Perfect.” I guide us to where I parked my heap of junk. “I can take you home later too.”

The ride to the hospital is filled with nonsensical conversation that flows easily between us. He doesn’t ask anything probing, and I keep the conversation flowing enough to remind him he has a friend, a safe place, here with me.

“So,” I start, as we enter the hospital elevator. “Lennox, the guy that had the football accident, is deaf.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I know sign language.”

I tilt my head at him, impressed. “He’s deaf because of the injury,” I clarify. “But maybe, when he’s settled at home and if he wants to learn, you could teach us all a few signs?”

“That sounds great,” he enthuses. “My sister is deaf, so we grew up signing. Is he coping with the news okay?”

“To be honest, I’m not really sure.” I rub the back of my neck, dipping my chin to my chest as the doors open. “I haven’t been here as much as I should’ve.”

Rhys places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “It’s okay. You’re here now.”

Nodding, I lead him to the waiting room and notice it’s empty. Feeling self-conscious, I pull out my cell and text Clem.

Me: I’m here. Is it safe to come in?

Instead of a response, the hospital room door opens and I’m surprised to see Frankie step out. His smile drops when his eyes land on Rhys, and I find myself quickly needing to see it again.

“This is Rhys,” I inform him as we get closer to Lennox’s room. “He’s a client at the gym.”

“The gym?” Frankie repeats, seemingly confused, and I realize he may not actually know anything about what I do for work.

“Yeah, I thought Clem would’ve told you. I run programs at the gym for…” I don’t finish the sentence as I look over at Rhys, who doesn’t deserve for his business to be aired to strangers.

“For addicts,” Rhys finishes, without any shame, and a sliver of pride rushes through me for him. He extends his hand out for Frankie to shake it. “We were going out to dinner, but Arlo wanted to make a pitstop here first. I hope you don’t mind me tagging along.”

“Dinner,” Frankie echoes, as if he’s having trouble following every word exchanged between the three of us. He slips his hand into Rhys’s and shakes it limply.

Eventually he shifts his gaze to me, his smile still nowhere to be found. “You didn’t have to stop by if you had a date.”

The tone of his voice is low, but his words are laced with unfiltered jealousy. And I love it.

For a split second I consider backtracking and letting him believe whatever it is he wants to believe, but after the small bit of progress we’d made this morning, my idea seems counterproductive.

As much as I would love to push Frankie’s buttons, and make him sweat a little, this isn’t a game.

Not his life or mine.

Not his feelings or mine.

“We’re not on a date,” I say firmly, my feet moving me closer to Frankie and farther away from Rhys. My eyes intently hold his. “I don’t date clients.”

Frankie drops Rhys’s hand, slips his own into his jeans pocket, and straightens his spine, putting our bodies even closer. “You don’t date clients?”

I keep my voice even, feeling the urge to clarify, as the air between us thickens with all the wrong and confusing kinds of tension. “I don’t date anyone. Ever.”

11

FRANKIE

From the second I opened the door, everything felt like it was running in slow motion. When Clem said he was here, I practically pushed her out of the way to get to Arlo first.

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