Unloved: A Novel (The Undone)

There are two texts from Archer and two missed calls from my dad waiting for me after I finish the morning portion of our two-a-day practice.

I swipe away the texts, hoping enough people will message me to bury them deep in my inbox, away from my curiosity.

I’m here if you ever need someone.

Desperate to get Archer’s gruff, sad tone out of my head, I call my father back before he loses his shit on me in my voicemail—again.

“Hey,” I say carefully when he picks up.

“What the fuck was that?” He is nearly growling. I hear a door slam closed in the background before he really starts in. “You lead as top scorer for your exhibition games, then sit on your fucking ass waiting for the real shit to start?”

I’m ten years old and I’m cold.

I reach for my bedroom door and pull it shut, like the action will shake my mind away from dangerous territory. “I didn’t—”

He cuts me off. “I sent goddamn scouts to see you, dumbass,” he says. “You ungrateful asshole—might as well quit now. It would be the right thing to do, considering all you keep doing is fucking up everything I’ve built.”

I’m ten years old and my dad won’t look at me.

“You’re a goddamn embarrassment, Matt.”

My mind is splintering, every thought making my head pound harder and harder.

I’m ten and I’m cold.noveldrama

I’m ten and I’m cold, nerves making me shiver more than the briskness of the rink. It’s already crowded, kids around my age scattered along the benches, their fathers kneeling to tie skates for the younger ones, some chatting with each other.

I look up at my dad with a gap-toothed smile, but he isn’t looking at me—he’s looking around the room.

“Should I put my skates on here?” I ask, still smiling, even though it’s making my cheeks hurt now.

“If you aren’t having fun, tell him you want to go home. He’ll bring you right back.”

My mom’s voice reverberates in my ears. But I don’t want to go home. I want Dad to like me.

“Yeah,” he says, sliding my bag off his shoulder and dropping it onto the bench next to me. “Just… get your skates on and get on the ice. Gotta talk to someone real quick.”

He’s gone before I can say that it’s still hard for me to get the laces just right. That sometimes my mind starts to wander, and I forget where I am or what I’m doing, so I need someone to watch me do it—to help.

There’s a weird pressure on my chest for a moment as I stand by my bag, pulling on my sweatshirt strings as my dad jogs to the other side of the space, slaps another man on the back, and shakes his hand.

His smile is wider than it’s been all day.

“You good, champ?”

The new voice rocks me, and I tilt back to look up at the very tall man in front of me. There’s a boy standing next to him around my age, maybe older, because he’s kinda big for a kid. Bigger than most of the kids on my team, with his arms leaning on his stick.

“I, um…” I scratch at my neck. “I need help with my laces.”

The man nods and smiles. “That’s all right. They’re complicated sometimes. Why don’t you sit on the bench there and I can help.”

I nod again, sliding over and dragging my bag next to me. Pulling my skates out, I sit on the bench and try not to kick my feet.

“Hold your breath for five seconds and blow it out for five. Don’t think about it.” My mom’s voice echoes through my head as I follow her usual instructions.

My eyes start to wander as he laces my skates, flitting across the Winnipeg Jets logo on the gray fabric stretched across his chest.

“The Jets,” I say, nodding a little. “Henney is a beauty this year.”

The man laughs, nodding as he smiles. I feel foolish, but I know he probably agrees with me. I may not be the best in school, but I watch hockey constantly. I think about it all the time.

And Coach Archer says I think like an all-star already.

“He is,” the man says, pulling my other foot into his lap while I stretch my ankle and check his work. “Do you like the Jets?”

“Yeah, but I’m a Dallas fan.” I smile. “My dad plays for them.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your name, champ?”

“Matt Fredderic,” I say, peeking over at the kid my age who hasn’t said a word, still just staring at me. “But my team calls me Matty.”

“Nice to meet you, Matt.” He smiles. “Your dad is John Fredderic, huh?”

There’s an edge to his voice and I hesitate because I’ve heard that before. The adults always act like that with my dad. But I nod anyway.

“Yeah, he brought me today to skate with me. I don’t get to spend a lot of time with him.”

“Reiner,” my dad says, rejoining us with a plastered-on smile that looks almost painfully fake as he reaches a hand out—even though the man is still working on my laces.

He pointedly ignores my dad and loops the last double knot.

“How do those feel, champ?” Mr. Reiner asks, smiling at me. I still feel like I might be in trouble, stomach sinking, so I nod quickly before even checking the left one.

Finally, he tilts his head up and stands, taller than my dad—he looks like Coach Archer, super tall, dark hair and a short beard, but he isn’t as tan. “John. Good to see you.”

“Sorry about this,” my dad says as he gestures vaguely down at me. “Didn’t know the kid can’t tie his own damn skates.”

He laughs, and I decide as soon as they’re done talking I’ll ask him to take me home.

I just want my mom.

They talk, but I can’t hear the words, I only feel a couple of gentle touches from Mr. Reiner across my back or on top of my head—like he’s giving me a bit of kindness or strength before he goes.

And then my dad is dragging me out of the rink, still in my skates, into the bathroom where the blades scrape over the tiles as he speaks, low and cruel into my ear.

“Don’t ever pull that kind of shit again. A goddamn embarrassment. When we go back out there, you better show them all up. You’re not on a team—you show them you’re fucking worth something on your own. Be a superstar.”

“I have class,” I mumble, head pounding, cutting him off entirely. Not that I’ve heard the last few minutes of his tirade.

But I do hear his final words.

“I’m coming to the Harvard game. Mess this up and I’ll blow up your contract with Dallas.”

Fury pulses through me. “You’re not my agent. You can’t do that.”

“Watch me. Besides, who the fuck else is going to do this? Elise is gone and it seems Archer left this burden to me—as if I didn’t have enough on my plate, having to deal with you.”

Right. Because having me as a child was such a liability.

“I don’t need you.”

He laughs. “I’m your father. Your name is famous because I made it so.”

“Leave me the fuck alone.” I hang up, feeling a little sick, and a lot worse for wear.

I feel as out of place as possible sitting on the too-small stool in the biology lab with thirty-plus students from my lecture. But Ro told me it was a good idea to show up to the optional evening review, so I did. I’d rather not spend more time with Carmen Tinley than I must.

“And that’s active transport?” I blurt the question, knee bobbing and pen rocking in my fingers as I shove my other hand through my hair. Tyler’s sudden smirk makes me shrink back a bit, regretfully. “Or… passive, I guess?”

I bite down on my tongue not to mutter “never mind” like I usually would, to force them to move on and leave me behind. It’s one concept you don’t get. Except, it’s not. Every foundation in biology seems to build on the ones before, and the second I fall behind on one, I’ll never catch up.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Tyler mutters, slumping on the table.

Ro stands from her chair, confident and relaxed.

“Think about it this way,” she says, clasping her hands. “Passive transport is like rolling a giant stone down a hill—it uses no energy, right? And active transport is like taking the same stone and actively rolling it up the hill, which would use a lot of energy. So, a sodium-potassium pump is…?” Ro pauses, tapping her nail against the whiteboard where the large diagram is drawn. I have a suspicion she drew it, knowing now how artistic she is.

“Active,” I answer, smiling. It might be the first time I’ve answered a question in a class setting aloud—hell, it might be the first time I’ve asked a question in class since I was fourteen.

“What a stupidly simplistic explanation,” Tyler sneers, looking at Ro. “Sounds like you’re talking to a child.”

A few of the student who are listening laugh, enough that I see Tinley look up from her one-on-one discussion with a table near the back. She doesn’t move, thankfully, but Tyler doesn’t seem even slightly concerned by her attention.

“Tyler—”

“If you want to listen to the future kindergarten teacher with bows in her hair, I’m sure she’ll give you a little gold star and smiley face on your paper. Might even hold your hand while you take the exam.” Again, a few students laugh, but I shoot a quick glare over my shoulder that shuts half of the underclassmen up. “But if you want to pass, then you need more than whatever the hell she just said.”

Ro blushes furiously, but maintains her heightened posture and doesn’t back down from Tyler’s irritating smirk. That’s my girl.

“We haven’t even gotten to the breakdown yet. They need to understand this concept to understand the—”

“Ro,” Carmen cuts her off.

My eyes shutter at her voice.

“If I needed your help to teach, Ro, I would ask.”

“Freddy had a question—” Ro says, trying to defend herself.

My mouth opens to help before it seals shut as Carmen’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Now, what can I help with?”

“Nothing,” I grit, wanting desperately to rip my skin out from underneath her grip. “I’m fine. Ro helped me.”

Ro’s face goes slightly pale at my sharp admission. Carmen squeezes slightly, brushing her hand through the ends of my hair as she walks behind me around the table, to the front of the class. She says something to Ro beneath her breath, chastising her as Ro nods, cheeks red in humiliation.

Ro’s beautiful, haunted hazel eyes keep darting to mine, but she doesn’t move. Everyone in the room is silent, watching as my tutor lets Carmen finish before finding a seat near the side of the room.

There’s a beaten-down set to her shoulders that mimics mine, both hunched and afraid, but frozen in this stupid classroom.

I wait for Carmen to say something to Tyler, to chide him for his much larger disruption, but she doesn’t. Only steps up beside him and takes over where she paused.

The session ends minutes later, and the only thing I remember is Ro’s explanation. I want to run, to bolt from this room and let the energy of a sprint take the edge off my hyperactivity—even if I know it won’t. Instead, I stay while Ro helps hand out extra study sheets and packs her bag.

Tyler watches her. Carmen watches me. But I never take my eyes off Ro.

Finally, I stand and toss my bag onto one shoulder, heading toward her to be the last student to leave the room.

“Hey,” I whisper, huddling in close and blocking her slender form with as much of my body as I can. She fiddles nervously with one of the bows in her hair until I grab her hand and pull it away. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine—”

“Fredderic,” Tyler snaps, sidling up beside us. I try to block him subtly with my shoulder and height, but he manages to catch Ro’s eye easily even as he speaks only to me. “Good to know Ro’s been so helpful to you. You know, we used to have a bet that you couldn’t read.” He laughs at this and shakes his head, like we’re old buddies sharing in his hateful humor. “But my bet was better—I bet you’d fuck her first.”

He doesn’t drop his voice even a notch, so I know Carmen hears his words.

“Ro loves being hands-on with instruction, right, RoRo?” He sneers, a flare of regret mixing with hatred in his eyes as he looks her over again. “But sleeping with a student? That’s low, even for you.”

“We aren’t—” Her voice is shaky, eyes welling with tears that she does her best to hold back. If we weren’t in the classroom of the one authority figure I know won’t take my side, I’d knock him on his ass.

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Donaldson,” I say before hardening my face to stone. “Leave her alone.”

He pats me on the back and drops his voice to a quiet whisper. “You two might be perfect together. She’s even more of a slut than you, Fredderic.”

Ro shoves off the wall and darts past me to sprint from the room. It’s deathly quiet for a moment before I peek over my shoulder at Carmen, who is carefully watching, even as she pretends to be busy with whatever papers lie in front of her.

“Don’t talk to her again, asshole.” My words are sharp edged and swift, loud enough that our beloved professor can intervene, but as long as I don’t raise my fists, I know she won’t. “I’m serious.”

“Nice threat, but I’m not scared of you.” Tyler shrugs, as though my words have no effect. “She and I are far from over.”

“Wanna fucking bet?” I snap before storming out and breaking into a run, hoping to catch her.

I don’t have to go far. Ro is standing by the restroom entrances, a hidden corner spot, with her head cradled in her hands.

“Rosalie,” I breathe. Her head darts up, curls tumbling as she sucks in a hard breath and forces out a smile despite her reddened, watery eyes.

“Freddy, hey,” she says, wiping her cheeks. “Did you have another question?”

It hurts, her deflection, but the boundary she’s drawing is clear. We’re not friends right now, or anything more—she’s my tutor, my TA, and I’m the student. I can’t comfort her, take her in my arms and hold her like I so desperately want to.

“No, I’m fine. But… I’m worried about you.”

“I’m okay,” she says. “Honestly, don’t worry about me.”

I nod, like it will make her feel better, shuffling my feet before adding, “If there’s something bothering you, you can talk to me about it.”

“I’m good.” Her words are shaky at best, eyes darting around me. “I should go.”

I nod, swallowing the sting of her unusually quick rejection.

“Okay. That’s fine. I just want you to know I’m here, and I’m a good listener.” I sound so much like Archer that my teeth ache and I quickly add a flirty, “At least when it comes to you.”

Her eyes close tightly, squeezing back tears, and she clings desperately to the smile on her face.

“Good night, Freddy.”

She’s gone before I can say another word.