Page 114 of Unloved

John snorts. “Right. Innocent little Elsie, always playing the victim so some older scumbag would rescue her? Do you call Archer your daddy, too? Or was that an Elsie-specific term—”

I’ve got him pinned to the wall before I can blink, hands on his throat.

I want to stop—Idon’twant to be like him, but there is no stopping the terrifying fury coursing through me. I can’t hearanythinguntil someone is grabbing me, pulling me away, and my entire body folds in.

Is someone yelling? Is it me?

“Freddy?”

Holden’s voice.Holden. Thankfuckit’s not—

Kane is behind him, standing toward the exit with his arms crossed like some strange bodyguard, somehow keeping both my father in here and the rest of the team out.

“Get the fuck out of here before I kill you.”

My father scrambles to his feet, darting a nervous glance at the scarred defenseman still in his gear and skates, bringing him to a roughly terrifying six eight—all hulking darkness with the stillness of a hunter with its prey in its sights.

“I begged her to get rid of you,” John snaps, straightening his ugly plaid suit coat and heading for the exit. “And look at this—somehow you become an even bigger disappointment with every breath.”

I wish his words rolled off me by now, but they don’t.

They never do—it doesn’t matter how much I smile or laugh at my own expense; my heart is exposed like a second skin, no armor. Every word hits like an arrow to its target until I’m bleeding out on the locker room floor.

I don’t waste a second after he’s gone before changing and storming out, ignoring my two teammates while praying they never bring this up again.

I slam the door to my bedroom a little too hard, wanting to apologize one moment, then kicking it the next.

Fuck,I can’t think like this. I can barely breathe.

Flashes of me in this same fucking boat at age six, twelve, fifteen—over and over, with my mom to sit beside me and coax me back to normal. But she’s not here. Ihaveto face it without her. Without anyone, because I have no one—

You have Ro.

I’m dialing before I can think twice about it, the line ringing long enough that I’m almost sure she won’t pick up.

And yet, when she does, I almost wish she hadn’t.

“Hello,” she whispers, her voice airy and trembling.

“Ro?”

At the sound of my voice, I hear her curse under her breath. A door shuts, and there’s a few soft inhales and rustling before: “Freddy?”

“I need you to talk to me, princess.” I shove the words through my mouth even though it feels a bit like vomiting razor blades.So fucking pathetic.

Running a hand through my hair and rubbing my eyes where they’ve started to burn, I wait for something—anything. Ro can make this better, I just need…

I don’t fucking know what I need, can’t fucking think through the beating in my skull, but she’s the only thing Iwantto need.

“Freddy, are you okay?” she asks, still whispering.

“Did I wake you up?” I look back at my phone to register just how late it is. “Fuck, I don’t even— I hate to ask, but can you talk to me until I calm down? I can’t fucking talk about it.”

My words are harsh, but my tone is aching. Can she hear how desperate, how pleading I am through the speaker?

“Matt,” she whispers, a gentle mumble of my name that makes my next breath come a little easier. “Hey, I need you to breathe, okay?”

Obeying her commands is easier than anything I’ve ever done in the last twenty years of desperately trying to do the right thing and failing repeatedly—but I can feel myself spiraling, the self-hatred growing, the need for her reassurance.

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