Unloved: A Novel (The Undone)

Tyler doesn’t show up to class on Monday or Wednesday, finally coming back on Friday after claiming to be sick with a stomach bug.

Mostly to hide the bruising from getting his ass kicked by Freddy.

My nerves bubble to a boiling point as he enters the classroom and greets our other TAs—his friends, not mine, I am quickly reminded—before he turns toward where I’m stacking quiz sheets.

“Ro,” Tyler says, crowding into my space a little. This close I can see the yellow fading on his face, a small cut line on his lip. It nearly makes me smile.

I could greet him, make nice, and then politely ignore him. But even acknowledging him feels dangerous considering how many times that’s led me right back into his hold.

“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.” His arm comes up to circle my shoulders, fingers gently tracing my exposed collarbone in maddeningly light strokes.

I’d said no kissing because I truly didn’t think I could handle it—handle him. But this is somehow even worse. My skin feels hot, my oversized, off-the-shoulder sweater somehow suddenly too warm.

Tyler laughs a little, but his brow furrows in a way that has me pressing myself farther into Matt’s arms, and his other hand finds my hip to stabilize my too-rapid movement.

“Like I said,” Tyler says with a sneer. “Excellent choice, Ro. He will absolutely be able to check off everything you wanted—let me know when you’re done playing around.”

It’s not the dig at myself that has me ready to snap—it’s a foreign sensation of protectiveness toward Matt. A defensiveness I’ve never felt once in the face of Sadie’s scathing comments about Tyler.

“Hey,” Freddy whispers, turning me toward him and settling his heavy palms on both my shoulders. “You okay, princess?”

“Yeah.” I nod, resisting the urge to peek over my shoulder and see how Tyler might be reacting.

Students are filing in, and it feels a bit like every eye in the room is trained on the touch of Matt’s hands to my bare skin.

Specifically, Dr. Tinley’s eye. She clears her throat to catch our attention and the classroom’s. “I have a no-PDA rule, Ro. Your behavior is inappropriate.”noveldrama

My stomach sinks, but Freddy curtails it all with a curt nod over my shoulder to her.

“It’s my fault,” he says. “I’ll try to control myself.” He looks at Dr. Tinley again, brow furrowed, before pressing a quick kiss to my forehead with a dazzling smile that nearly makes me melt into a puddle, then quickly sliding up the slipping fabric of my sweater to cover my shoulder a little more before turning to find his seat.

But the Matt Fredderic Effect doesn’t wear off after class ends.

Tyler doesn’t bother me all day.

The slam of the apartment door startles me enough that the spoon in my mouth drops and clatters to the floor, the sound muffled by the pitter-patter of feet signaling Sadie’s brothers are here.

I walk out of my room, smiling and quickly greeting Liam with a hug and Oliver with a wave as they head to her bedroom, toting their shared hockey bag.

“Showers and bed,” Sadie says before shouting a quick “And brush your teeth” after them as they run along.

She looks… haggard. Beautiful, in the way Sadie is always beautiful, fierce and unflinching, but she’s rubbing her hands over her eyes like she hasn’t slept in a week.

“Hey.” I greet her gently, placing the spoon in the sink and replacing it with two from the drawer to offer her some of the ice cream I’m holding.

“Hey,” she replies, kicking her shoes off and pulling her slicked-back bun down, combing it harshly with her fingers. I want to offer to brush it out for her, to sit her in one of the chairs and take my time smoothing out the tangles so the stress lines marring her face disappear.

“Everything okay, Sadie?”

She heaves in a deep breath, stopping at the corner of our cozy kitchen breakfast nook and shaking her head.

“Honestly, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally understand.”

Actually, I don’t. I hate it. Anxiety swirls as I try to think over every conversation we’ve had in the past week—maybe even the past month. Is it possible I’ve done something to upset her? Something that would make her not want to talk to me about whatever is bothering her?

The urge to apologize is nearly too strong to bite back, but I manage to strangle it in my throat and only nod with a too-bright, too-fake smile.

She turns for her bedroom without another word, while I call after her with a “Good night.”

The apartment feels empty, despite it being overly full, as I pad back into my room.

My phone vibrates and the shock of it is enough that I nearly drop it.

MOMMA

How is my girl? Resting well?

The sight of her text has me closing my eyes and imagining her arms wrapped around me, my head tucked into her shoulder while she scratches her nails lightly up and down my arm to soothe me.

For a moment, I consider calling her and telling her everything I’m feeling—how worried I am over Sadie, the fear I feel every time my phone rings, the complicated feelings I have for Matt—but the second tears start to well in my eyes as I consider what I might say, I toss my phone into a drawer and slam it shut.

My mom and dad are everything good in my life. They don’t deserve my complaints—they deserve my success for how hard they’ve worked to get us through the last seven years.

So I swallow it all down—a healthy dose of is she mad at me followed by a scoop of homesickness and heartbreak, the fear that nothing will ever be good again—and turn on my sewing machine.

It’s past midnight by the time I stop, a pile of reworked clothes scattered across my floor like a fashion major’s project threw up in here, but the tie is on top. Navy blue with the Waterfell Wolves logo patched into the end, and white letters embroidered on the back.

When I check my phone again, there are twenty-five missed calls from two unknown numbers and my stomach sinks. I delete the notifications and slam my phone back into my drawer for the night, because even thinking about what to do with that problem makes my temples pulse with an oncoming headache.

I force myself to study my actual major classes for an hour before falling asleep atop my comforter with a hardback textbook as a pillow.