Unloved: A Novel (The Undone)

Ro doesn’t speak for the entire hour-long ride back.

I give her one of my AirPods to listen to, putting a playlist of Taylor Swift on because I vividly remember her bright, wide smile and beautiful voice singing loudly in the back of my car.

Though I can’t remember the song now. Probably because my brain likes to play Ro’s voice saying, “I think you’d be really easy to love,” on repeat like a torturous soundtrack of the night she doesn’t remember.

A night I couldn’t forget, even if I wanted to.

Back at campus, we pile out of the bus and into the arena parking lot slowly. I thwart a few of the guys’ curious, worried glances at Ro with a quick shake of my head.

But everyone is kind. If anything, they’re concerned.

Ro looks around, lost. And although she’s stopped crying, her eyes are red-rimmed and watery as she looks toward me. The heartbreaking vulnerability there makes my throat tight.

The guys hang around, Rhys and Bennett closer than the others, all watching her just as worriedly as I am.

Coming to Waterfell might not have been my choice, but I am honored to play with my entire team—with the new exception of Kane. My teammates are good fucking guys who would take care of Ro if I wasn’t here. And she isn’t even my girl—she’s my tutor.

“Ro?” I ask, because there is panic bleeding into her expression.

“I—I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.” She raises her arms helplessly, eyes darting around. “I… He has everything. He took everything—”

She’s working herself into hysteria. I quickly sweep her into a tight hug, one that she instantly returns.noveldrama

“I don’t have my car or my student ID, not even my dorm keys,” she mutters into my neck.

“It’s okay. Let’s take my car. We’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shake my head, hugging her tighter as I subtly gesture over her head that we’re good so my lingering teammates can go home.

“No apologies. Now, let’s go. I’m starving.”

I inch a bag of waffle fries toward Ro across the console as we leave The Chick parking lot—only after I scarfed down two grilled chicken sandwiches.

It takes a long moment before she finally takes the fries out of the bag. I even catch a hint of a smile as she spots the couple of pounds’ worth of special fry sauce, logging that reaction in my head under “Things That Make Rosalie Shariff Smile.”

I try to start a few mindless conversations with her, but Ro is silent. She’s somewhere else, deep in her thoughts. And I, better than anyone, know what being lost in your own mind feels like. So I let her sit with it all, as much as I hate how clearly she’s hurting.

“Cool About It” by boygenius plays softly while I slowly weave through the backstreets, taking the long way back to campus. Even with the soothing guitar riff and warm voices, tension pulls my muscles tight.

“Do you want to talk—”

“No,” she says. It isn’t cruel, just a quiet rejection.

It doesn’t matter. It hurts just as much.

I clear my throat, and then say, “I was in love with someone, too, who treated me bad. And…” I huff a bitter laugh, gripping the steering wheel harder to keep my voice steady and soft.

“But she didn’t love me. She never said it back—fine, but she held that shit over my head. And it worked. I wanted her to think about me all the time, like I did her. I would do anything for it. And it took me way too long to really see what she was doing to me.”

Ro doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her rapt attention like a spotlight heating the side of my face.

“And it wasn’t until we weren’t together anymore. And I felt so ridiculous and stupid… and embarrassed. And she was fine, because she didn’t care.”

“It was fun, Freddy. But that’s not… You’re not what I need.”

I shake my head in a poor attempt to clear her voice from it.

“Why…” Ro starts, her voice raw and scratchy before she clears it and sips her Diet Coke. “Why are you telling me this?”

To look like an idiot, clearly.

I can’t find an answer, and the silence stretches out between us while I try to put what I feel into words. Her patience and the stillness of her presence soothes me.

“Because I wish someone had stopped me before I got lost and broken. And… because I care about you. You’re my friend, Ro.”

Her face brightens as she blinks wide-eyed at me.

“Yeah?”

“I thought we covered this,” I say teasingly. “Unless—”

“No. No, I’m your friend.” Her nod is enthusiastic, and it tugs at the knot in my chest. “I love being your friend. I just—I’ve had trouble with that in the past, thinking people were my friends and… anyway, it’s embarrassing.”

My chest aches enough that I raise a hand to rub at it, because I understand that feeling. I’ve made that exact mistake more times that I can count.

The car idles in front of the dorms, and Ro hesitates long enough that I’m about to offer for her to come stay at the Hockey House. Because I’m starting to think that Ro’s like me.

That she doesn’t want to be alone.

Instead, I stay quiet as she grabs her drink from the cupholder and reaches for the car door before she pauses and looks over her shoulder at me.

“I’m glad I’m your friend.” Ro’s hand rests on the handle, and she shifts her tall body around to face me. “For what it’s worth coming from me, whoever that girl is, she’s an idiot. I think… I think you’re amazing, Matt. You’re a good guy.”

The praise warms my stomach and I smile. Coming from you, it’s worth everything, I want to say. But instead, I nod and say, “A lot easier to tell someone else that, than yourself, huh?”

She flushes and nods. “Yeah.” There’s a charged silence, and then, “I should go. Thank you for saving me—again. And for everything else.” She hops out, hand on the door to close it.

“Thank you, Rosalie,” I say, my voice soft in a way I can’t seem to control around her.

“For what?”

“For helping me. The math and reading stuff can be… hard.” I shrug, vulnerability making me sweat through the thick Oxford shirt. “You’ve never made fun of me, once.” The words are sensitive, and it hurts to say them to her, but I need her to know.

“I wouldn’t. Never—”

“I know.”

Our words are all whispers, like we’re both too scared to break the other.

Then she shuts the door gently and starts toward the dorms. Her phone lights up in her palm again, and she shoves it into her coat pocket. And I watch as every bit of strength that she had when she left the car seems to melt from her, shoulders sinking, head bowed. Defeated.

My hand hits the steering wheel, head swimming over the image of her through the fogging window. At the entrance, she turns back to me and tries to smile again, barely managing before she knocks, and an RA lets her in.

It takes me an hour to drive away.

I spend most of it convincing myself not to follow her inside. She doesn’t need someone like me.