Unloved (The Undone, #2)

by Peyton Corinne

A Hello Kitty bandage, which made me laugh when I found it in our little first aid tin, feels wrong right now, but he lets me put it on the broken skin of his eyebrow without complaint.

I swear I didn’t know, Ro.” “I believe you, Matt.”

“But I thought it was real. I thought I was in love with her,” he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “And I thought she loved me.” The admission is broken, heart wrenching, and makes my chest ache. Has he ever told anyone about this?

Matt shudders once, which devolves into shaking. “My mom would be so disappointed in me.” “No, Matt, don’t say that.” His whole body is trembling now, tears finally spilling across his cheeks. He rolls onto his back, hands rising to cover and rub his eyes, trying to hide, but floundering without his usual flirty, humor-filled mask.

“Get some sleep,” I say, pressing a soft kiss to his nose. I know I won’t sleep. I’ll spend the night watching over him, because I can’t do anything else. It’s a want as much as it is a need, to care for him, to protect him. My mind is flying a million miles a minute with the information he’s dumped into my lap.

For a moment, I think he’s asleep and I start to pull away. To grab my laptop and set all my plans into motion. But he snuggles deeper, closer to my body as he grips my hand a little harder. “I miss my mom.” I keep my crying silent as I grieve for the woman I’ll never know, and the boy she loved more than life. The boy I know she’d be proud of, even if he doesn’t know it. I’ll take care of him, I vow to her silently. I promise.

“You’re here.” “You’re awake.” We speak over each other, both laughing as we finish. “Sorry.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t—is that coffee?” “Um, no.” I shuffle my feet, regretting it for a moment. “It’s an iced dirty chai. I thought… I can go back and get hot coffee. Or you can have mine.” She steps forward and grabs the cold drink out of my freezing hand. “It’s my favorite.” I nod. “I know.”

She’s nearly shouting by the end of her tirade, metaphorical steam shooting out of her ears. She’s… mad. She’s mad at Carmen—not me. She’s mad at Carmen for me. My head spins.

I’m withdrawing my application to her program.” Admiration swirls with affection, my breath catching at the fierce determination on her face. It’s the same look she had in my adviser meeting, facing off with tenured professors twice her age and experience, not batting an eye in the face of their frustration or doubt of her. I love her. I do—and it’s more than that; I admire her, every piece that makes her my Rosalie. “Okay,” I say, nodding stupidly.

“And you won’t need a new tutor next semester. You’re passing, you’re fine. And if you need help, you’ll ask me. So we don’t even need to worry about that being a factor in January, and I can just tutor privately.” She uses we so casually my chest tightens, making it hard to speak. “Ro?” “The guys in my program are just”—she shakes her head with an eye roll—“just terrible. A horrid work environment that I was already worried about. Besides, I feel much more confident that Dr. Khabra’s entire curriculum is better suited to what I want. And—” I cut her off. “You’re doing this for me?” She stops, blinking wide hazel eyes across at me. “And, for, like, all the reasons I’ve said. But… yes,” she says softly.

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes, just as a faraway male voice shouts, “Not fine,” over her. I laugh and shake my head. “Is that Rhys?” “No,” she says before he pops up over her shoulder in the frame, slumping back on the bed. “Yes.” He grins into the camera, pulling his shirt down like he put it on to be polite for me. “Good to see you, Ro.” “Hey, Rhys.”

Matt looks handsome as always. But for once, he’s not what has my breath stuck, heart in my throat. It’s the giant bouquet of out-of-season flowers wrapped in parchment, with black Sharpie writing across the paper, which I can’t read because his arm is blocking it—almost protectively.

“Hey,” he stutters. “You look so beautiful.” I blush under his attention, feeling beautiful beneath his gaze. “Thank you.” “I’m sorry, I know I’m early—” Shaking my head, I try to cut him off. “Matt—” “—and it’s fine if you want me to wait out here, you can take your time, but I…” He pauses, shaking his head and smiling, looking as dazed and dopey as I feel. “I was too excited to wait any longer, so I came over. And I got these for you, but I— There’s something on there. I had the girl at the store write it for me because no way you’d be able to read my handwriting, and my hands were shaking, honestly—” “I’ve been reading your handwriting since the beginning of the semester, Matty.” I laugh, taking the flowers from his outstretched hand. He blushes and scratches the back of his head. “Right. Of course.” He sounds distracted, and it takes me a minute, as I step into the kitchen and pull the flowers back from where I had the petals shoved under my nose, before I see it. Will you be my girlfriend?

—Matty Signed Matty—n...

To me, he is Matty, or Matt—walls down, the real him.

“Matt,” I breathe, emotions bubbling in my throat, overflowing. “This is the most romantic, wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me. And that’s not even the first time I’ve said that to you.” We both laugh, but it fades quickly in the nervous energy filling the air almost suffocatingly. “I just want to be clear about how I feel.” “I want to be with you. I would love to be your girlfriend. And I want to be clear about that, too.”

“So then, we promise not to ever make each other feel that way.” He hesitates for a moment, searching for the words. “To be… careful with each other?” Matt says it all as if it’s as simple as breathing. And maybe it is. “Yeah. Careful with each other.” I smile and squeeze his hands in mine, raising one to my mouth to kiss it. Just because I can. “I think you are one of the best people I’ve ever known. And I think it would be almost too easy to fall in love with you.”

“I’m a little nervous. Maybe we could come back when I’ve practiced more in an empty rink.” “Nope.” I pop the P extra hard. “Look, it was either this or ‘dance on top of a bar’ from your bucket list. And all the bars open on Thanksgiving are gonna be sad and weird. I’d rather not put you on a bar top while divorced dad music plays on a loop and people are drowning their sorrows in beer.” She giggles and my entire body lightens.

“A walker?” I shake my head, hair flopping lazily into my eyes before I flip it back again. “Nah, you’ve got me. You’re fine. You’re getting better already.” My words are confident and strong—but the truth is that she’s not. We’re barely moving, the slowest people on the ice.

“I think I should let go.” “Please don’t.” Her voice is desperately pleading. It hurts to hear. I grip her hands a little tighter. “I won’t. I promise, I won’t let go of you until you say I can.” Hesitating only slightly, I finally say, “But I think you need to fall. Safely.” “Fall? That’s exactly what I don’t want to do.” “I know. But I think it’ll make you more confident. You fall once and see how it feels, and then you’re less scared to fall again. You might skate a little better.”

“You told me to fall!” she says on an incredulous laugh. I shake my head. “Because I’m an idiot. When will you learn to stop listening to me? I think it scared me more than you.” She turns in my arms, petting my hair as we lean into the boards nearby. “I feel better, though. You were right. I’m not as scared anymore.”

All I care about is who you are with me. And with everyone around you. You’re a good person. The most emotionally intelligent person I think I’ve ever known.”

Every word she says settles in my soul, building something new around the soft, damaged parts of my heart that have felt unlovable for too long. Around the version of me at ten, fifteen, eighteen, now, who watched his dad choose not to love him, who watched women take advantage of his desperation to be loved… who broke himself time and again. I hear the words she doesn’t say, too: I will not abandon you. Your heart is safe with me. No games.

Music plays softly in the background, “Kissing in Swimming Pools” by Holly Humberstone—which tells me he found my playlist, not Sadie’s.

“You looking at my goalie like he’s performed some kind of miracle,” he says dramatically. “Learn to cook, then,” Bennett says quietly, a hint of a smile on his face as he hands Matt a plate with a stuffed omelet, veggies and chicken overflowing.

“Hey,” Matt snaps, pulling out of the hug he’d just granted his friend. “Not cool—either of you. No foreign language shit, that’s cheating.” He points toward Bennett. “And you? No cooking in front of my girlfriend—that’s… that’s even worse, I think.”

The words alone make me giddy—my best friend and me having a girls’ night, while our boyfriends go to hockey practice. It feels like a movie, but better because it’s Sadie and it’s Matt. They’re better than anything I could’ve made up in my head.

“Listen to me, Donaldson—you’re an asshole. If anyone is pathetic here, it’s you. I know you think I’m too stupid to remember exactly how we met, but I haven’t taken that many pucks to the head yet. “Ro is the best person in this department—she’s smart, a genius, really, and you’re so threatened by her you can’t stand that you don’t have some weird control over her.

“You’re telling me my girlfriend and I kissed freshman year? That she’s been crushing on me since then—while she was dating you?” The smile that takes over Matt’s face is beaming, his arms stretching out around my shoulders lazily. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all year.”

“I’m done, Dr. Tinley,” I say, barely restraining my tone. “I quit—tutoring, TA’ing, any of it. I want to be dropped from consideration for your cohort in the spring.” She clears her throat. “May I ask why?” Her gaze flicks to Matt and I stand a little taller, wishing I could cover him entirely. “I think you know why.”

I’m trying to learn more about it, to understand Ro’s work and interests more, but she’s so brilliant most of what she says goes right over my head.

“Mm-hmm.” She glances up at me shyly. “I know it’s probably way too soon to meet the parents, but I would really love for you to meet them in person—you’ve kind of already met my mom.” “Yeah, and she’s awesome.” “Right.” She smiles. “So… will you think about it?” “I don’t need to think about it, Ro. I’m in.”

It also makes me wish for a time machine to slap myself over the head for clearly doing something stupid and fumbling this girl. This girl who cares for me, defends me, likes me—not for my body or skill, but for me.

With Rosalie Shariff, I am unequivocally myself, maybe for the first time.

“Where do you wanna go? Kitchen table or the couch?” He doesn’t speak at first, just eyes me skeptically. “Or I can dump you right back outside and let you start over.” His hand grips me tighter and I think he’s angry at first, before I realize he’s… laughing. He’s laughing so hard he’s about to fall over, so I wrap my arm around his waist to steady him.

I am in love with Matt Fredderic.

“What?” I laugh, a bright, bubbling feeling shooting through me like stars in a night sky. “I love you,” I say.

“I think falling in love with you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” It’s his turn to laugh, but his eyes shine, glimmering with tears. A thread of worry worms through my stomach. “What?” He shakes his head, stepping toward me. “Nothing. You just… you said something really similar once.” My brows furrow. “I did?” “Yeah.” Matt reaches out and takes my waist in his hands. “At the party, back in August?” “Oh God,” I moan, trying to cover my face with my hands. He nudges them away with his nose. “The one where I sang karaoke in your car like a drunk crazy person.”

He grins broadly. “The one where you called me your celebrity crush—” “I didn’t—” “And jumped off the shed into the pool to ‘feel something.’ ” “I—” The words don’t make it out this time. I shake my head as my cheeks heat. “God, that’s so horribly embarrassing—” “No.” He cuts me off with a quick press of his lips to mine. Then another, much slower and softer. Keeping our foreheads pressed together, he continues. “I jumped with you, and when we were in the water together, you told me that you thought I’d be really easy to love.” My eyes pull from their locked spot between his pecs, meeting the spring green of his intense gaze. “I did?” “Yeah,” he breathes. “I thought about that a lot. Like, every day.

“And, if it wasn’t clear, I love you, too,” he says. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Before we left, Ro tied one of the ribbons from her hair onto my bag. For good luck, she told me. I’m practically preening, shuffling my bag nearly into the center of the dressing room for the guys to see it. To ask me about it. It’s from my girlfriend, I almost scream when Holden finally asks. I’m made of smiles. Every one of them finally real.

As I leave the tunnel and step onto the ice for warmups, I spot them. Rosalie, in her usual spot, but not alone—an entire crew decked in Waterfell colors surrounds her. But not just Sadie and the boys—Ro’s parents are here. Her dad is bundled up and seated, smiling. Her mom holds up a sign with Ro that says I Love 27! with hearts and stars doodled all over it. And on Ro’s left, right at the glass, is Archer. My stomach somersaults, memories swirling. Archer at my games; Archer and my mom at my games, together, shouting at the refs and cheering me on. I shake my head, realizing I’m standing just off the ice, blocking everyone’s path, when Rhys gently pushes me aside. “You good?” he asks. “Yeah.” I smile. “Just surprised.”

He lifts the chain out of his own collar, the pendant shiny, clearly well taken care of—and an identical match to the one around my own neck. “It was the only thing I had of her for a long time.” He huffs out a near sobbing breath. “Besides you.” “Me?” “Matty.” He steps forward, putting a hand to my neck. “I love you like you’re my own son. And I will always, always be here for you. If you want me.”

“Cut yourself some slack,” I mumble into his embrace. “I wasn’t doing that great, either. I did some stupid shit freshman year.”

“You should rest some,” he says. “But don’t nap too long, princess. We’ve got a big date tonight.” He tilts my chin, meeting my gaze. “Hey. I love you.” I melt into a puddle. “I love you more.”

Matt now calls my parents more than I do. He has lunch with Archer once a month, sometimes more, if his schedule isn’t insane. We do a date night every other week—but we’re both understanding when plans change. Being with him is easy. Loving him is even easier.

“You’re gonna be late.” “I’m not gonna be late, Mrs. Shariff. I promise.” “You are,” she moans, tinny through the speaker. “I can feel it.” I quietly chuckle a little as I grab a program from the man at the door who eyes the phone at my ear like it’s some type of vermin I grabbed off the street. “I’ve gotta go. I’m here.” “Matt—” “See! I told you I wouldn’t be late.” She sighs heavily, her voice trembling slightly. “I feel like a horrible mother for not being there—” “Hush with that,” I say. “You need to be there for Daniel. Besides, I’ll be sure to film the whole thing, okay?”

“Okay, oğlum.” My son. She’s called me that since long before we married. “Call me after.”

“How’s my girl?” I ask, taking her from him to rub my nose on her plump cheek, absorbing the new-baby smell. “Excited to see her daddy.” Archer grins, petting her hair. He turns to the giant diaper bag he always totes around and pulls out a little beanie for her pretty curls. “But it’s freezing in here, so put this on her.” Talk about a mama bear—that’s been Archer since the hospital.

Overcoming my fear of hospitals happens in seconds—which I think is normal when your wife goes into labor at midnight and waits until 2 a.m. to wake you up, because she’s worried about you getting enough sleep.