Page 158 of Gold Rush

I stand. “So fucking bossy.”

“You like it,” she calls after me.

“So do you, Florence.” I pause in the doorway, turning to study her sprawled on the mattress, smiling. “Meet me in the living room.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I thought we were already engaged?”

“As lovely as you made my fake proposal last weekend sound, we’re doing things for real now. So you can tell⁠—”

“I’m not telling anyone anything.” Rory slides off the mattress, adjusting my shirt around her thighs. “It’s none of their business. But if you insist on being romantic, I’m not going to argue.”

“That’s a first,” I tease as she passes me.

Rory walks backward for a few steps to ensure I see her eye roll. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I am,” I agree emphatically.

The exasperation in her expression fades as she continues down the hallway. “Hurry up, Flynn.”

“You sure you don’t need more time to think about your answer?” I say it lightly, but I’m truly asking.

I’m ready for this step. I bought a ring because I wanted to, not because Rory announced we were engaged. I never asked her how she wanted me to propose because it felt like too sacred a moment. Because I wanted to ask her to marry me like this, in our home, just the two of us. It couldn’t be farther from an act.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything.”

We share another smile before Rory disappears into the living room.

I head into my (former) bedroom to grab her engagement ring out of the table Byron gave me.

48

Six Months Later

An audible hush falls over the audience when Flynn appears onstage, wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo. I know he was up half the night, rehearsing his speech like an opening argument, but you’d never know he was nervous, looking at him now. He strides toward the lectern that’s been set up with clear purpose, The Penn Ashbury Foundation prominently displayed in black block letters on the screen behind the stage.

I glance at Penn’s parents, who are seated across from me. Nora is discreetly dabbing at her eyes. Byron has an arm resting across the back of his wife’s chair. He was smiling earlier, discussing the craftsmanship of the seats, but his expression is stoic now.

Most of us are here celebrating Flynn’s accomplishment and backing a worthy cause. Nora and Byron are here to witness their son’s legacy—an organization that will save lives, but can’t bring Penn back.

“Good evening, everyone.” Flynn’s deep voice echoes across the quiet audience. “This night has been a long time coming, and I truly appreciate all of you being here to support the inception of The Penn Ashbury Foundation.”

He pauses, letting the applause fill the cavernous ballroom for a moment. The loudest clapping is coming from my left, where Julian and Philippa are seated. Philippa assisted with a lot of the planning for tonight, and Julian wrote a large check toward the foundation’s efforts. I hope they’re aware that them being here, listening, is the best gift they could have given Flynn.

“Some of you here knew Penn personally. Some of you have lost loved ones to the same struggle he faced.” Flynn glances at Lloyd Clarke, who’s seated at one of the other front tables, wearing a similar expression to the Ashburys. “Tonight is about more than raising money, although please donate.”

A wave of laughter washes through the room.

“Tonight is about honoring a life and about protecting others. As many of you know, the motivation behind this foundation is its namesake—Penn Ashbury. Penn had this incredible ability to make every situation seem manageable. If he did poorly on an exam, he’d say, ‘Well, now I know what not to do next time.’ If plans changed at the last minute, he’d say, ‘We’ll figure it out.’ And yet he encountered a situation he couldn’t learn from or fix. A disease with no cure, stigmatized by shame and shrouded by secrecy.

“The aim of this organization isn’t to assume no one will wind up in that situation. College is often described as a time of discovery and opportunity, but it also includes tremendous pressure, loneliness, anxiety, and uncertainty. Many students struggle silently. Some turn to substances to cope, to fit in, or simply because they don’t realize the potential risks of doing so. A single decision can alter their life—affect countless lives forever. I can’t—” For the first time, Flynn’s voice wavers. “I can’t change what happened to Penn, but I can try to change other futures. The Penn Ashbury Foundation is committed to giving students the knowledge, resources, and support they need before and if a crisis occurs. By being here tonight, you’re a crucial part of that mission. So, thank you.”

More applause.

Flynn waits for it to die down. He’s close to the end of his speech, but I know the final paragraphs will be the hardest for him to get through.

“Before I let you all enjoy dessert, there are a few important people I’m especially indebted to.

“First, Penn’s parents, Nora and Byron. We met as strangers. The second time we spoke was at your son’s funeral. I’m not a parent. I can’t fathom the immensity of that loss. Yet, in the midst of your own grief, you never blamed me. Never judged me for failing to help Penn. You welcomed me into your home, into your family, and let me mourn with you. Nothing will ever do Penn’s memory justice, but I hope this foundation is a legacy he and you are proud of.