Unloved (The Undone, #2)

by Peyton Corinne

And, like a scene out of a movie, or one of my dreams from freshman year, Matt Fredderic exits from the sliding elevator doors. He’s as tall and well built as I remember, resembling some type of clean-cut supermodel with that slight mischief burning like green embers in his eyes. It’s his personality, the raw sex appeal that seems to drip off him, on and off the ice. He’s always dressed heart-stoppingly perfectly, somehow annoyingly never in just joggers and a T-shirt like most of the other sporty boys. In the summer, though, he’s dressed indecently. A baby-blue linen button-down hangs off his broad shoulders, the buttons undone one below what most guys would wear so his shining tanned chest glows even in the fluorescent light of the library. His shorts are short, arguably shorter than the hem of my skirt, with muscular legs on display, one sporting a tattoo that I haven’t seen before—a butterfly of all things—on his upper thigh. There’s so much tanned skin showing that my mouth goes dry and I grab my water bottle. Looking like he does shouldn’t be legal, all sharp lines softened by boyish charms. He grasps one girl’s swivel chair, spinning her as he walks by with a wink. She giggles and halfheartedly chides him, which he takes like a well-loved class clown. For a moment, his eyes move across the room like he’s looking for where he’s supposed to be. But they catch on someone else, a girl arching on her tiptoes for a book off the shelf, the frayed hem of her shorts cutting ...

“If you’re jumping, I’m jumping.” I shrug. “You are?” “Why not?” I smile. “Unless you want to do it alone.” Rosalie shakes her head rapidly. “I hate being alone.” Me, too. “Great. Then I’m not leaving you alone, Ro,” I whisper, my breath fanning her hair as I reach over and pull the last few clips from her hair, tucking them into my pocket, before gathering her curls up into my hands, piling them high on her head, and carefully tying the shoelace around them to keep them out of her eyes.

To be loved is to be seen

“I think it’s hard for people to like me. And I try really hard.” Tears well up in her eyes for a moment and my throat closes a little at the sight. At the sentiment, too, because I understand it deeply. So I offer her a piece of my own vulnerability to match hers. “I hate that. Sometimes I feel that way, too.” Goose bumps break out across my arms at the earnest confession, but I can’t take it back now. And… I don’t want to.

“I think you’d be really easy to love,” she says. It’s a lax, whispered compliment, one she doesn’t know sounds like a gunshot in my head, hitting me straight in the chest.

“You try waking up with a pounding headache and ‘tolerate it’ playing on repeat like a sad, terrifying alarm.” Sadie bursts into a laugh, wiping her mouth with her sleeve where some of the coffee sputtered. “Please don’t tell me that was your speaker playing all night on a loop.” I groan. “I think I started with ‘Getaway Car,’ and then at some point during the night I got sad and weird.”

“And I score on defended nets all the time.” Freddy shrugs, then leans across the now-too-short table to peer up at me with playful eyes and a pretty smile. “The goalie makes scoring more difficult, not impossible.”

“If this movie sucks, I’m going to be very disappointed, Rosalie.” “Wait—which movie?” “Ever After, your favorite one,” I say with inflection, like her question is ridiculous. “You’re watching it? Right now?” “Just queuing it up—but I want to talk to you first.”

“If you were my girlfriend, Rosalie,” he says, his voice deep and rough. My full name is like warm honey dripping from his lips. “You wouldn’t have to do anything to convince me. Just a fucking smile and I’d be a goner, okay?”

I make a vow then to protect her, the pretty girl with butterflies in her messy curls, even if she’ll never really be mine.

Walking on shaky legs—made worse by the strappy, impractical heels on my feet—I barely make it out of the tinted glass doors before slamming hard into someone. “S-sorry,” I choke out, the word mushed with a sob. “Shit,” a deep, soft voice curses before cool hands brace on the overheated skin of my biceps. “Ro?” Matt Fredderic. As if this couldn’t get more humiliating. “Hey, Matt,” I murmur, attempting some sad excuse for a smile through my tears. “W-what are you doing here?” “Ro, are you okay?” His voice sounds more serious than I think I’ve ever heard it. He looks mildly frantic, searching around me like we’re about to be attacked. I finally take him in, only now realizing there’s a wide-eyed pretty blond girl with dip-dyed tips of blue standing next to him, looking at me worriedly. “Oh my god.” Now I’m really crying. This is truly the most embarrassing moment of my life. “You—I’m… Freddy, I’m so sorry—” “Rosalie,” he says again, his hands framing my face, tilting my head up until my eyes lock on his. “What happened? Why are you crying?” His face suddenly changes. Anger crawls across his usually jovial features and leaves something harsh and fearsome behind. “Ro, did someone hurt you? Who—” “No. No, I’m fine.” “Where’s Tyler?” I shake my head silently because I can’t get the words out. I can’t bring myself to admit my boyfriend stood me up and left me here, especially to Matt Fredderic of all people, but to admit it while accidentally crashing his date? Absolutely not.

“Do you want to watch your movie?” “My movie?” she asks, brows furrowed and mouth full enough that the words mush together, almost incomprehensible. Her blush is immediate as she chews—mouth sealed tight—and swallows. “Yeah,” I laugh, pulling up one of my streaming apps; Ever After is already queued. “I downloaded it for my next away game. Figured I could watch it on the bus. I fell asleep the other night, so I didn’t finish it.”

“I’ll be your friend, Ro,” I say. “I want you to see me as your friend.” “I’d like that, Matt.” She smiles, small and gentle, and I feel another layer of care and protectiveness reach out from me to her. A friend—not because of being on the same hockey team or some kind of trade-off. Just my friend, because she wants to be.

The arena is fairly empty—an early exhibition game not drawing as many students as I’m sure an in-season, high-stakes game might. Which means that it takes barely a minute for someone to spot me—the hulking goalie, who grabs Freddy by the scruff and turns him toward me. I can’t help the beaming smile and wave I shoot his way from my spot three rows up. His brows dip before his eyes meet mine and a bright, breathtaking grin spreads across his face, deepening the lines in his cheeks. He skates a little closer to the glass and taps it with his stick with a wink.

Rhys circles behind Freddy and waves to me as well, eyeing the guys—searching, I think, for a certain best friend of mine at first before his gaze turns wary at my company. My thumbs-up does little to dampen the intense expressions of the now-three overprotective hockey players—two forwards and a hulking goalie—watching, especially when Tyler grabs my chin and turns my face toward his a little roughly.

Tyler moves toward me, almost caging me against the brick siding of the building. He’s shouting now; sympathetic looks shoot my way from a few of his friends, but none of them stop him. No one bothers to intervene. “Fucking pathetic, Ro. Honestly—” “Do you mind?” The voice that stops him is gruff, but with a sickeningly smooth quality threaded in the deep tone. And the man it belongs to, now grasping Tyler’s shoulder tightly where he was starting to box me into the corner, is more terrifying. He’s massive, tall even to me, with warm russet skin and black hair dripping wet. A player, I assume, based on the black-on-black suit he’s wearing, but I’ve never seen him before tonight—even on the roster I studied a few weeks prior.

“Private conversation, man. This is none of your business.” “You’re screaming at a girl in public—I think that makes this everyone’s business,” he says before flicking his frighteningly bright eyes toward me. “You okay?” I nod. “Do you want to keep talking to this loser?”

“Fuck off,” Tyler growls, trying to yank himself away from the force field of a man in front of us. “My girlfriend is fine.” The guy’s golden eyes swirl with mirth—not with anger, but like a gladiator with the spectators chanting more! He grips Tyler a little harder before yanking him away from me and slamming his back into the brick. “Now you’re just pissing me off.” He smiles, lifting Tyler off the ground so his feet scrape to find balance. “How is it little pricks like you even—” “Let him down.” Everyone stops at the presence of another giant entering the scene. Tyler’s friends, who haven’t scatt...

“Are you okay, Ro?” “Y-yeah!” She nods rapidly. “I’m just about to call an Uber.” My brow furrows. “Where are your friends? Tyler?” “He, um… They left. Tyler drove me here, but I—” Her voice breaks off into a rough sob, one it’s clear she was trying to swallow before it escaped. A curse falls from my lips as I kneel completely and crawl to her, pulling her up and folding her slender form into my body. “Shh,” I coo. “You’re okay.” I stroke her back as we both kneel on the concrete.

“To be loved is to be seen—and she’s the first person to really see him. That’s why they fall in love.”

“I made you a coffee—I think I got your order right.” I think I’d drink rotten milk if she made it for me.

“Little too close, Donaldson.” Turns out, I don’t need to make a decision, as Freddy reaches from behind me to press a hand to Tyler’s shoulder and push him back. His false bravado takes over quickly, but I don’t miss the slight flinch from my ex-boyfriend. “Just talking, Fredderic.” I take a step backward, not realizing how close Freddy is standing behind me until my shoulder is pressing into the warmth of his chest. “I’d rather you not be so close when you talk to my girl.”

“We are aware of his success in biology, Ms. Shariff, but that isn’t the concern. Mr. Fredderic is failing his singular math credit.” “He’s a communications major.” Mr. Hibberd’s brow wrinkles. “So?” “So? What are we torturing him for?” She flips through to another page, tabbed with purple sticky notes on everyone’s packets. “These are ten cases of comparable students who substituted a critical thinking course for mathematics in cases of dyscalculia. I think this is not only a viable option for Matt, but I believe it is the only option this school can offer without bringing an internal investigation in the handling of learning differences and accommodations that have not been reported, nor offered, in this case.” The entire room stretches in the silence, while my joy feels almost tangible. No one, since my mother, has defended me so fiercely.

I think I’m in love with her—not even romantically, but on some soul level. I feel devoted to her.

“It’s silly, but I wanted to make you something for your first away game this weekend and the official start of your last season. So…” She shrugs again, all the fire from earlier seeming to bleed away into self-consciousness. That has me ripping into the bag faster, pulling out a length of silky blue fabric. It’s a tie, embroidered with the Wolves’ logo and my number in pretty cursive with a star. “A star?” “You’re gonna play for Dallas, right? I felt like it would be good luck. It’s—” “It’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten. Ever, Rosalie.” I crush her into my chest without hesitation, kissing the top of her head and laying my cheek there as I rock us back and forth. “Thank you.”

We often send each other voice notes instead of texts—she started it, but I adore them just as much. Not only is it easier for me, faster when I’m in a rush, but I’ve become quite addicted to the sound of her voice. A few times—when I’ve had to go away for the whole weekend or miss a tutoring session for a two-a-day practice, and especially when studying for an upcoming exam—she sends me audio files to go over the missed topics. I’m sure the guys on the team bus think music is thumping through my ears. But it’s the voice of my favorite girl in the world.

“I might’ve grabbed some audiobook CDs while we were there, so I could read your favorites.”

Oliver is at my shoulder, hand on my upper arm to stop me. “Maybe we shouldn’t open it.” The banging starts up again, and I try to plaster on a convincing smile for Oliver’s sake. “It’s fine, Oliver. Promise. Why don’t you go check on your brother?” He shakes his head firmly. “I’ll just be right here.”

Tyler nearly falls into me, pushing over the threshold. He’s drunk, eyes glassy and face red, reeking of alcohol. “Ro,” he sneers, grabbing my arms to keep himself up. I struggle a little but freeze when I remember we have an audience. “Hey, back off,” Oliver shouts, shoving forward to defend me. But before he can, Freddy grabs Oliver’s shoulder and pulls him back gently. Freddy steps forward, shielding Oliver and wrenching Tyler away from me and up against the now-closed door easily.

She smirks before turning her wrist over in my hand, showing me the sleeve where she’s embroidered a 27. My heart is thundering. I want to kiss her, but I know I can’t. Instead, I hold her hand to my chest over my heart like she’ll feel it beating and know how I feel for her. The immeasurable level of admiration for her gentle, glimmering heart that she wears on her sleeve so that everyone always knows how much they’re seen and loved and cared for.

It would be so easy to love him, I think.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers into my ear before darting back to give me a light, dopey smile that’s all softness and zero flirt.

Ro’s so beautiful that seeing her always feels like I’ve been checked into the boards by some massive defenseman, breath knocked clean out of me.

You’re the most amazing, wonderful person I’ve ever met, and sometimes I nearly make myself sick over what I’ll do without you when this is over between us. In my dreams, I take care of you the way you take care of other people, and you’re relaxed and calm. And before bed, you tell me how easy it is to love me. I’m starting to think I’d give up anything, even hockey, for that life with you.

“Hello,” she whispers, her voice airy and trembling. “Ro?” At the sound of my voice, I hear her curse under her breath. A door shuts, and there’s a few soft inhales and rustling before: “Freddy?” “I need you to talk to me, princess.” I shove the words through my mouth even though it feels a bit like vomiting razor blades. So fucking pathetic. Running a hand through my hair and rubbing my eyes where they’ve started to burn, I wait for something—anything. Ro can make this better, I just need… I don’t fucking know what I need, can’t fucking think through the beating in my skull, but she’s the only thing I want to need.

“Can I come over?” I ask, my voice shaking, because just hearing it isn’t enough. And I don’t care how pathetically needy it is. She’s so silent for so long, and my stomach sinks, the swimming sickness returning to my gut. “Freddy,” she says, and the change of name, the tone of her voice— Fuck, a knife to the stomach would’ve hurt less. “I can’t— I—” “God— Sorry.” I bite my lip. “Of course you’re busy. I’m sorry—please, ignore me.” “No, Matt, I can—” “Everyone’s really busy right now and I’m being selfish.” I nod, agreeing with myself as the words come out. My shirt is sweat soaked and sticking to me, making my thoughts scatter until I can pull it off over my head.

Her perfect wall calendar meticulously filled out with—I stop to stare at it, hand drifting up to touch it. Ro’s been to every home game we’ve played, and now I know why. My finger grazes the black writing—all my games are written out on their respective dates. “Oh,” she says. She blushes, realizing what I’m staring at. “Yeah, I just… I don’t wanna miss one, ya know? So I marked them all down.” I can’t swallow, throat tight.

I think you’d be really easy to love. Loving Rosalie Shariff would be the easiest thing I’ve ever done—I know, because I’m already doing it. I think I’ve loved her since the day she stood up for me in that conference room. As a friend first, something I’ve never had, but now it’s more. It’s overwhelming, suddenly hard to swallow or even look at her. So I turn her around and wash her back reverently. I can’t stop myself from pressing a kiss into her back, right at the top of her spine. I think loving you would be the greatest thing in my life.

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. I turn him, slowly and deliberately, until he’s facing my abdomen, my fingers scratching his scalp and stroking his hair gently. “I’m s-s-sorry. I don’t k-know w-why I’m shaking,” he chatters quietly, tears still spilling silently. “I’m n-not cold-d.” “It’s okay, Matt.” I tuck his head into my stomach, bending over him to kiss his temple. “It’s okay.”

“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—not Freddy. He’s mine, in that way. To everyone else he might be Freddy, smiling and joking at his own expense. To me, he is Matty, or Matt—walls down, the real him.

“We’ve got practice tonight,” Rhys says to Matt. “Wanna catch a ride with me? The girls can hang out here.” The words alone make me giddy—my best friend and me having a girls’ night, while our boyfriends go to hockey practice.

“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.”

We strut past Tyler first, and my boyfriend leans in to whisper, “Thanks for the info. You can’t imagine how good it feels to know that all five times you slept with my girlfriend, she was thinking about me.” He grabs Tyler’s shoulder and jostles him slightly. “Good talk, man. And hey, if you ever talk to her again, I’ll kick your ass. For real this time.”

Ro met with Dr. Khabra, the other professor with an internship track built toward her grad school plan. Something to do with neurological testing and creativity. 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. That, and I’m usually distracted by the urgent need to kiss her or lay her back and pull more of those little noises from her. Which is exactly how I’d like to celebrate now.

When Mom got sick, Archer quit his job and moved in with us. Spoon-fed her when she was too tired. And I’d been so blinded by my own grief and anger that I didn’t see it was because he was so in love with her. Devoted, and then distraught afterward. I remember the night I found him doubled over in a panic attack because he couldn’t breathe through his sobs. Had it been acceptable, I think he might’ve followed her. But he didn’t. And I’m realizing he didn’t because of me. To take care of me. It shouldn’t matter that my dad’s never been a father to me because Archer is here. And he would’ve been my dad, if I’d let him.

“I miss you,” I blurt out, feeling relief just to say it. “Maybe we can… get lunch sometime? If you’re ever near Waterfell. Or even Boston.” “Name the date and time, kid,” he says wistfully. His voice is just as deep and settling as it was when I was a kid. “I’ll be there.”

By the fifth chapter, I’m flushing bright red. I nearly jump three feet into the air when the flight attendant asks what I want to drink. Ro can barely stop giggling to order a ginger ale. “Keep it up, Miss Poker Face While Listening to Sex Scenes on a Plane.” “That’s a really long nickname,” she laughs. “Just know, whatever the spiciest thing in this book is, that’s what I’m doing to you in your childhood bed when we get there.”

He puts me down before stumbling forward with a laugh, turning back to me with his arms stretched out as he keeps singing. My voice trails off, just watching him. Completely sick in love with him. Matt eyes me, too, realizing I’ve frozen on the sidewalk under the glittering lights, making me feel like we’re in some romantic snow globe. He’s smiling, lines carving his cheeks, dancing side to side. “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.”

“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?”

“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. It’s the first time anyone has said anything about me being easily loveable.”