Unloved: Chapter 12

I spend the next two days avoiding a constant stream of calls and texts from Tyler.

I’m not ready to talk to him about it, even knowing I’ll have to face him nearly every day of the week. I manage to skip out on Monday’s lecture with Tinley to catch up on some grading work, but it’s my one pass.

Tuesday comes quicker than I’m ready for—and I find I’m more anxious about seeing Tyler than I am about my tutoring session with Freddy, which is usually my main source of the nauseating butterflies in my abdomen. In fact, I’m excited about the session, because I’ve spent the entire last week researching new ideas and instructional tools for dyslexia and dyscalculia, specifically in cases with co-occurring ADHD.

It’s quiet in the little alcove coffee shop this morning. Most of the students at Waterfell prefer the environment of Brew Haven, which makes this spot easy to snag, and it’s far enough from most distractions that it’s perfect for our morning sessions before my classes.

Coyote Theory’s “This Side of Paradise” plays over a crackling speaker at a low volume—after my research on music for concentration, which so far seems to be working—as I tap my pen to the beat and watch Freddy slyly between nonsensical doodles.

“Done,” Freddy cheers, slapping his paper down with a moony smile. “I deserve something for speed on that one.”

“Speed means nothing if you got every answer wrong.”

He makes a noise with his mouth and runs a hand through his purposefully disheveled morning hair.

“Hey, Freddy,” a cheery voice says, and my student spins in his seat to wink at the pretty blonde at his side. “Good to see you. Are you coming to Zeta later?”

“I might—are going to be there?”

She blushes, and regrettably, so do I. “Yes,” she giggles, seeming a little flustered by his mere presence. “My roommate and I heard a rumor about you and wanna know if it’s true.”

If I wasn’t watching his profile like a hawk, focused on the strong column of his throat and the line of his jaw, I probably would’ve missed the minuscule flinch.

“Oh yeah? Is it how magnificent I am with my hands? Or maybe my mouth?”

Her giggle ratchets up higher, but my entire body tenses.

She dips down toward him, her messy braid swinging down to brush against his skin. She whispers the question, but I hear every word.

“Is the profile yours?”

This time, his eyes close entirely, like he’s taking a punch and not flirting with an eager female. My brow furrows further.

“Ah.” He nods, shrugging with that same too-big smirk. “A man never kisses and tells.” He presses a finger to his lips before nodding toward where she seems to have forgotten my presence at the table.

“I’m in the middle of a tutoring session and don’t want to be rude, but I’ll catch you at the party later.”

It seems to be enough to appease the girl, her entire body seeming to float away with the lightness that Freddy injects into everyone around him. But he looks… exhausted. Worn down completely.

I want to ask him what is going on, maybe find out why he looks like he’d rather pull his own fingernails out than go to that party. But I also want him to stop looking like because my chest is starting to ache.

“You got almost half right,” I say, feeling cruel giving him a bad grade when he still has the expression of a beaten dog. “But I think we can stop for today, because I left my other material at home.”

“Or we could go for another hour,” he says with a shrug.

“I don’t think your fan club would love me for that.”

The snarky taunt slips out of my mouth before I can stop it, my eyes widening when I realize what I’ve just said.

.

And yet it seems to light him up.

“Jealous?” An open grin crawls across his face. “Don’t be. Underneath this is a one-woman man,” he says, running his hands down his body to emphasize his point. The gesture makes my face tingle, heating at even the that Matt Fredderic might be flirting with .

“I have a boyfriend,” I say, ducking my head to focus on the papers in front of me.

I think.

“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.”

Three years ago, this would’ve been a dream. Now it only serves to make me squirmy and hot. I can’t remember the last time anyone flirted with me. Tyler was my first boyfriend, and with him it was never playful; it was almost overwhelmingly serious.

“Besides.” His hand tugs lightly at one of my springy curls that’s fallen in his way. “I love a challenge.”

I jolt back, pulling away from his sudden closeness.

“You have to stop.”

“Stop what?” he asks, expression suddenly innocent despite the flicker of excitement still clear in his emerald eyes.

“Y-you—” I huff, shoving my curls back off my neck. “You know what! The…

thing!” I point at him, my voice still nothing but a harsh whisper. “The . I need to focus.”

“Am I distracting you?”

Distracting is one thing, but it’s more… unsettling. It doesn’t feel . It feels off, somehow, like this is some continuous play that I didn’t agree to watch.

“I’m trying to be professional,” I say, keeping my tone soft, but serious. “Please, Freddy.”

My phone buzzes again—probably the tenth call in the last few minutes.

The playful look that is usually permanently fused to Freddy’s face melts away to a light concern. “Seems like someone wants to get ahold of you, Ro.”

“Yeah.” I frown, stomach rolling, because I know exactly who it is, but am unwilling to admit how regular an occurrence this is. I click the phone over to Do Not Disturb before shoving it into my bag. “Okay, let’s focus. I promise to get you out of here on time. Now, did you get the audiobook?”

“Yeah.” Pink colors his cheeks and he scratches the back of his neck. “You were right, Dr. Fincher is a lot better about handling stuff.”

“She is. Her son is dyslexic.” I had Dr. Fincher freshman year and loved her. So much so that I ended up joining the literary magazine staff first semester.

Freshman year I’d signed up for just about everything. Then I met Tyler. He suggested dropping most of my extracurriculars so I could focus on my studies. And on our relationship. I trusted him, because he was older than me and smarter, and compared to his worldly life, I was a bit sheltered.

More accidentally than intentionally. Because I loved being at home. I loved my parents. And then when my dad…

Well, I didn’t spend much time out.

So I didn’t party, stuck to studying and spending every waking moment with my mom and dad. I’d gone to my dad’s alma mater. They’d offered a full scholarship and it was far enough away that my parents wouldn’t worry about me, wouldn’t stress themselves with trying to take constant trips to see me.

I was careful, too. I only told them about the good things, the successes. Because that is what they deserve—everything good.

The only problem is that I miss them. Every day.

“You okay?”

I blink, realizing I’ve zoned out completely.

“Um, yeah—”

As if zoning out in the middle of a tutoring session wasn’t enough for one day, tears start forming in my eyes, my chest tight.

“Oh fuck,” Freddy curses, stepping out of his side of the booth and sliding into mine, pressing me toward the corner. “What’s wrong? Did I say something that hurt you?”

Why he’s blaming himself, I can’t begin to figure out, but there’s a strange comfort to his presence that’s easing the loneliness of missing my family, a feeling that is always pressing down on me like a fathomless weight.

“T-this is s-so embarrassing,” I cry, rubbing at my eyes and shaking my head. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” He gentles his voice, a quiet sound pouring from his lips into my space. I’m nearly pressed to the wall, his large body expanded to form a wall around me, like he’s protecting me from the rest of the library so I can have my mental breakdown in peace. “Don’t apologize. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“No.” I shake my head adamantly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” I manage to calm myself down with slow, soothing breaths that eventually stanch the tears—enough that I can wait until I’m in the safety of my apartment shower to fully lose it.

“Sorry, I… I miss my family. I’m a little homesick,” I admit honestly. I’m embarrassed, but the last thing I want is for Freddy to think he’s done something to make me this upset, when he hasn’t done a thing wrong.

He leans back, his face relaxing as he nods and scans my face with his eyes again. There’s something genuine there now, an openness I haven’t seen from him before.

“I get it,” he says, voice calm and quiet. It’s deep, but soft in a way that has me almost leaning into him. “I… I miss my mom. A lot.”

I don’t say anything, and that seems only to relax him even more. Instead, we stay silent like this for a few moments longer. His arm is stretched across the table, shoulders broad and protective, cocooning me here. We aren’t touching, but I swear I can feel his warmth emanating off his skin. It feels somehow more intimate and comforting than any moment I’ve had before.

It’s shocking in a way, because I’ve never felt this in my intimate moments with Tyler, who rarely hugs me or holds my hand—which he considers to be displays of “pathetically desperate PDA.” Still, this is different from anything I’ve felt before, even Freddy.

If I close my eyes, I can feel him wrapping his arms around me in the darkened living room the night he doesn’t remember. Part of me always thought this moment would never come again. The other part of me figured I’d have some kind of mind-melting breakdown if it did.

But I don’t feel overheated or unsure of how to respond. Instead, I feel… comforted. Truly at peace, with his arms holding space for me.

“You okay?” he finally asks, relaxing back.

“Yeah.” I nod. “We should probably call it a night.”

It isn’t even 6 p.m., but I’m pretty sure I’m on borrowed time before my actual breakdown. Stress is tightening my shoulders painfully; my neck aches and my entire body feels ready to give out on me.

“If you’re sure,” he says hesitantly. “We can stay here as long as you need?” It comes out as a question, like he’s unsure about the entire thing.

I shake my head. “I think I just want to go home.”

I sound more vulnerable than I planned, but it works to relieve the tension. He backs off, sliding out of the booth. We silently gather up our things. He walks me out into the parking lot, the sun still brilliant and gold, a beautiful warm evening.

And I still feel wrong, twisted up.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, for class.”

He nods, his eyes still on my face, scanning me repeatedly. There’s something about how openly worried he is about me, the vulnerability he’s displaying, that finally makes me say, “I’m okay,” as I grab his bicep and squeeze.

Freddy smiles, all gentle and genuine this time. Real.

“Okay,” he says, the quiet calm of his voice covering me like a blanket.