Unloved: A Novel (The Undone)

“Don’t get him drunk, Freddy,” Bennett warned me before we left for the back-to-school house party nearby. “I’m fucking serious.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” was my minorly snarky response.

And I wasn’t. Really, I want Rhys to let loose for at least a second before diving back into hockey captain mode full force.

That, and I’d have to be blind to miss the way Rhys stared at my phone over dinner—the photo of Sadie, a figure skater I vaguely remember—like it was the Stanley Cup.

Everyone knows I’m a good-time guy, the life of the party, even if I let our defenseman Holden Dougherty take the lead sometimes. And while I’m not necessarily the best at comforting, especially the captain of my team who I look up to—who seems to be holding on by a thread—I know that I can do this, at least.

Even if “this” means leaving him alone with the twirl girl, who I’ve never seen smile but did see taking body shots off some of my swim team friends at a party last spring—even if it was Paloma Blake going upstairs with both guys afterward.

But the way Rhys and Sadie are looking at each other now as I come up the stairs, I’m thinking I might not interrupt them after all. Even more so because lovestruck Rhysie hasn’t even noticed me standing a few feet away from him.

I’m not a mountain like Reiner, but I’m not small, and I’m definitely not quiet.

Especially when a pretty girl stumbles right into me.

I catch her easily, barely resisting the urge to pick her up by her waist and set her back on her feet—just because I can. Like a little advertisement for my skills in the bedroom.

Look, sweetheart, see how strong I am? I can toss you around so easily. I’m gentle, though, but I’ll be aggressive, if you want.

I’ll be whatever you want me to be.

“Sorry,” she says, quiet and shy, her tan skin flushing slightly as she tilts her head back a little to look up at me. Her hair is long, dripping down her back like a waterfall of curls, with little colored butterfly clips swirling through the strands. Then I realize it’s the same girl who ran into me—or was it away from me?—at the library last week.

I put on my signature grin, watching it work its magic as her pupils dilate and her cheeks somehow flush further.

“You’re good, princess,” I murmur, all charm, ready to see if she’ll pull me back into the bathroom she came out of or take off down the stairs like Cinderella—considering it’s almost midnight. I rub my fingers through the bottom loops of her springy curls. “Need some help?”

“Nope!” Sadie snaps at me.

She goes to pull the girl away from me, but my mysterious stranger’s slender hand grabs hold of my wrist behind her back.

I smile down at her grip on me, my other hand tracing along her fingers and taking note of the delicate pearlescent manicure shimmering against my skin. I like noticing details like this, the work people—especially women—put into their appearance.

I don’t hear the conversation between my captain and the figure skater, but the girl lets me go too fast and makes a stumbling turn for the stairs. My eyes trail her, feeling a little giddy about the prospect of following her down. She seems fun, full of light.

My body starts to relax just looking at her.

But only for a second, before both Sadie and Rhys are barking out a warning to steer clear of her.

I raise my hands up in surrender, fully intent on listening to them—at least for now.

When I turn back to the stairs, she’s already stumbling her way down, a little drunker than I first assumed.

Okay. I can’t “steer clear” of her when she’s got no one watching her.

“Whoa. Easy,” I laugh, pulling her to me quickly before she can tumble down the stairs.

“Sorry.” She flushes, looking up at me with glassy eyes. “I’m dizzy. And”—her brow furrows—“stairs are hard.”

Once she’s got her balance back, I follow her down into the living room and then to the kitchen, where she knocks into someone else.

“Damn, babe, buy me a drink first,” an equally drunk asshole says, settling his hands low on her waist to help her balance after she’s ricocheted off him. “C’mon, over here.”

“Nope,” I call, diving between them a little roughly. The guy lets go of her instantly, and she bumps into someone else as he looks me up and down, eyes glazed and flickering. “Back off,” I growl, feeling testy now.

“She grabbed me,” he argues, words slurring. I turn around, shaking my head because I’m definitely not in the mood to fight anyone, especially not idiots with drunken misplaced courage.

“Hey, Ro,” one of his friends says, voice softer. Definitely someone I’ve met before, but I don’t remember his name. “Leave her alone, guys,” he tells his friends.

“You know her?” I ask.

“Freddy, hey,” he says. I shake his hand but don’t say anything because I can’t remember what his—

“Mitch!” she shouts, grabbing his biceps with a big, dazzling smile. “I didn’t know you were here.”

Mitch blushes a little underneath his backward hat but looks up at me apprehensively. “We had organic chem together last year. She was on a project with me—is she okay?”

I raise my hands. “I’m just watching out for her. Her friend’s upstairs talking to Rhys.”

Mitch nods and turns her back around toward me, essentially dumping the responsibility for the beautiful—albeit very drunk—princess with butterflies in her hair back to me.

“Hey,” she says, looking up at me curiously, pausing slightly as though she’s actually getting a good look at me for the first time in the brighter light of the kitchen. “Freddy.”

“You know my name?”

Her eyes go wide as she blanches and then slowly shakes her head. It pulls a laugh from me as I settle an arm around her in the crowded, overly loud room.

“Wanna get some air, princess?”

“Okay,” she acquiesces, melting into me slightly as I steer us out to the back patio and pool area.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” I say, lips to her ear so she can hear me over the thumping speaker as we pass by it. “It’s only fair, since you clearly know mine.”

She steps out the door first, with me trailing behind as I pull the sliding door shut.

“Rosalie,” she offers a little loudly before blushing and smiling shyly. “But everyone calls me Ro.”

It’s quieter out here, and she instantly heads toward the pool, kneeling to dip her hand in.

“It’s warm, kinda,” Rosalie calls back to me before sitting down and unzipping her boots, pulling her socks off quickly so she can stick her feet in the water.

I shake my head but follow her and do the same, carefully setting my pristine shoes away from the water, pulling her boots to lie next to them. I stick my feet in beside her, thigh pressed lightly to hers. She sways gently to the music playing out here—it’s a calmer vibe, with Kendrick Lamar and Zacari’s “LOVE” playing through the hanging-by-a-wire porch speakers.

I take her in for a minute, while drawing in a breath. Usually I thrive in the bustling, never-lonely environment of a party, but this feels better somehow. She’s beautiful, warm tawny skin and curling brown hair trailing nearly to her waist. Glassy hazel eyes—a little more green than brown—and a rosy tint to her cheeks from the alcohol. This close, she smells a bit like Fireball cinnamon whiskey and something softer, a clean floral perfume.

Her outfit is a stunner, too, shorts and a sleeveless knit top that make me want to ask if she made them.

“These are cute,” I say, reaching out to pull lightly on one of the pink butterfly clips weaving down through her curls. “Pretty. I like your outfit.”

Rosalie blushes more deeply and pulls away, tucking her chin. “Oh, thank you. I—um, I don’t dress like this usually.”

“Oh?”

She shakes her head.

“Why not? It’s cool.”

“Tyler says I look like a dumb little kid,” she blurts out, then grimaces like she wasn’t planning on saying all that. Something shutters in her eyes, and she starts pulling at the clips, trying to tear them out of her hair almost harshly. “They’re stupid anyway.”

I stop her before she can yank a whole chunk of her curls out and smooth them down, reclipping one of the discarded butterflies where she’d pulled it loose. Only three of them are left in her hair, a colorful graveyard of discarded butterflies littering the concrete around us. “They’re not stupid. Tyler is stupid,” I grumble. I don’t know who the guy is, but he sounds like a prick I’d love to meet fist to face.

Which might be the reason I can’t stop myself from asking, “Is Tyler your…?”

“Boyfriend? Yeah— Or, I mean, no,” she murmurs before her cheeks heat. “I forgot. He’s my ex-boyfriend now, I guess? I don’t know. He’s confusing and says we’re not together, but we’re ‘casual.’ ” She throws sarcastic air quotes around the word, and I chuckle a little. “But he’d kill me if he knew I was talking to you.”

“Jealous type?”

She snorts like I’ve told some funny joke, kicking the water with her feet a little. “Not at all. But you’re you.”

I’m used to it, but for some reason the words land like a solid punch. For a moment, I don’t want to be known for what I am.

“Ahh, am I truly that big of a slut that everyone’s heard about me?” My voice isn’t carefree or relaxed anymore; even the chuckle in my words is darker, and I think it frightens her a little.

“No,” she finally says, her eyes wide and brow furrowed. “No—it’s… Because… I mean… I have a crush on you.”

I pause for the punch line, but Rosalie starts to talk nervously.

“We’ve met once before, at another party, but you probably don’t remember, and I sound insane, but you’ve always been my, like, celebrity crush.”

A smile spreads across my face before I can even control it, happiness bubbling in my stomach like champagne. I almost want to giggle like a kid.

“Aren’t celebrity crushes supposed to be celebrities?” I nudge her shoulder with mine a little, and my foot accidentally bumps hers in the water.

She laughs and nods, cheeks flushed and eyes intoxicatingly bright. “Yeah, sure—but you will be one someday.” She says it with such surety I find myself blushing for the first time in years.

“Oh yeah?”

“You’re incredible.”

I’ve heard those same words so many times, but the way she says them, they sound more genuine somehow. Like this isn’t about my body at all. Sex is easy to me; I’ve been a quick study since I was far too young. Hockey is even easier, and I’m better than most because I work hard beyond how much comes naturally to me. But outside of that? I’m… nothing. I’m a fucking failure at using my brain—anything beyond the physical is pointless for me to even attempt because I’m nothing when I’m not using my body.

But… this feels different.

“Thanks. Big hockey fan?”

“Sure.” She nods profusely. “Never been to a game, but I’m sure it’s amazing. I’ve seen videos. Very cool.”

I laugh because she looks confused and sympathetic all at once. Like she’s appeasing a kid who wants to talk about his obsession with dinosaurs. Something that makes my chest feel warm.

“Videos? Of who?”

“Just like top NHL plays and stuff. Or like if it’s on TV. They’re pretty amazing. I think Sidney Crosby is very handsome.”

I reach out boldly to tuck a curl behind her ear and spin my hand through her mass of ringlets. “You haven’t seen amazing yet, princess. Not till you see me play.”

It’s a fucking line, and probably one of my worst. And I watch her sink back a little as it has the opposite effect than I wanted it to.

“I’m gonna get in now.”

Rosalie is up and gone too quickly for her words to register before my eyes shoot wide and I jump up to follow her. She climbs the side ladder onto the top of the tall storage shed at the edge of the cement pathway around the pool’s edge. The frat calls it a “high dive” where the more adventurous partygoers like to flip and dive off—but more than one person has broken a limb misjudging their jump.

My stomach lurches as I realize exactly what she’s about to do.

I race over to stand in front of her, heart in my throat for reasons I don’t want to think about.

“Hey, princess—whatcha doing?” I ask, voice shaking slightly.

“I wanna do something fun.”

“Talking was fun. You want to play a game?”

“I want to be someone else,” she blurts, and her eyes start to well. I want the stars back, the bright honeyed hazel eyes that look at everything with wonder. “I want to be like you.”

“No, you don’t,” I laugh sharply.

“I’m not brave or cool or anything fun, I’m just… I’m careful. I’m good, and it’s still not enough. I want to be more.”

“You can be whatever you want to be.”

Like my words have caused her physical pain, she shuts her eyes tightly. “I wish—” Her feet slip a little and my stomach somer-saults.

“Rosalie,” I bark. “Wait for me.” I flick my eyes around, noticing that we have an audience now, before walking to grab one of my shoes and yanking out the lace.

Fuck it. The shed is a bit taller than my reach, but if I can jump and latch on to it with my hand, I can pull myself up without taking my eyes off her to get to the ladder.

So I do, gritting my teeth at the sharp metal of the shed roof cutting my palms as I pull myself up to stand in front of her. I grab her by the waist like I’m a little worried she might try to jump anyway.

“What are you doing?” She sounds breathless, and I have to close my eyes not to let my imagination run away from me.

“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.

“Thank you,” she says, blushing.

We’re too close but I don’t move. “You don’t have to thank me. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” She shivers beneath my hands, which are settled on her shoulders now.

I take her hand in mine and step to the edge. Thankfully I’ve seen some daredevil frat boys jump from this stupid thing before. I know it’s doable.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

I count down, my hand locked on to hers as we jump. The water feels cold on my overheated skin—crippling anxiety over a girl will do that to you. I surface and flip my hair out of my eyes, hearing wheezing giggles from Ro as I swim right over to her and paddle in so close we share breath.

“You’re very nice.” She smiles.

I preen under her compliment. “Yeah?”

She nods, but the smile slides off her face quickly and my stomach sinks, a desperate need to bring it back plaguing my mind.

“What’s wrong?”

“I wish it was always this easy.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. I’ve been called easy plenty of times, but never like this.

“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.noveldrama

“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.

My eyes trace droplets of water as they cascade down her honeyed skin, dripping off her curls kept high off her long neck by my shoelace.

There’s pure joy in her eyes and she’s finally relaxed—like the tension in her shoulders has melted off into the water. Everything feels gentler, like time itself is moving slower as we wade across from each other. I’m sure I’m giving her the same moony expression she’s giving me. I’m confident, by the rapid beating of my heart in my ears, that I am.

It’s different, this tentative thing with her, whatever it is. My chest is warm and tight all at once, because it feels like she might kiss me. And I want that, desperately. It doesn’t matter how many people I’ve indulged in before; it feels like the nervous excitement before a first kiss. I want to freeze this moment, to slow it down somehow so I can feel this way over and over—

“Freddy?” Rosalie asks, voice whisper-soft and breathy.

“Yeah?” I say, my voice matching hers. I drift closer to her, until our hands brush beneath the water.

“Thank you.”

I tuck one of her stray curls back behind her ear. “Anytime, princess.”

“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.

My words disappear, until I’m left standing and staring at her, only shaken by the appearance of my captain and the figure skater bursting our contented little bubble.

I think you’d be really easy to love.

It echoes in my head on a loop, tethering my ever-spinning mind.