Page 136 of Unloved

He settles into the passenger seat while I climb into the driver’s side and start his car.

“You’ve been drinking—”

“I had a seltzer. That’s all. I didn’t drink the one you got me before we left.”

Something I’ve said there makes him flinch, but he nods and tilts his head against the cool glass of the window, his entire body shifting away from me.

It’s a slow ride. Music plays in the background, like some sad soundtrack to the foundational breaking of Matt Fredderic. I have to clench the steering wheel to resist the urge to rub the aching pain in my heart.

I’ve barely parked in front of the Hockey House before Matt isopening the door and spilling out of the car. I follow as quickly as I safely can.

“Wait, Matt—”

“I’m sorry, Ro. I just… I need to be alone, okay?”

The front door opens, Bennett stepping out with his keys in his hand. He passes by Matt, saying something to him. He brushes the goalie off, shaking his head and whispering back.

“You said you wouldn’t push me out,” I call toward him, a little thread of panic pulling in my chest.

“Trust me, this is one thing you really don’t want to know.” Matt lets out a bitter laugh. “You’d hate me.”

He enters the house and slams the door.

Bennett walks to me, seeming exhausted and sad.

“I’ll take you home,” he says quietly.

I wipe my eyes, their burning outweighing my need to keep from smearing my mascara.

“No, you don’t have to, I can call an Uber—”

“I was already heading out. Besides…” He shrugs a little. “I’m, like, a five-star car service at this point.”

If he meant it as a joke, there isn’t even a hint of humor behind it. If anything, he sounds frustrated.

“Sorry, really, I don’t need—”

“No, no. I’m sorry. It was a bad night for me, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

We climb into the car and his music kicks on, soft in the cabin—soothing in the way I’ve always found his presence.

He clears his throat before quietly offering, “Sometimes the people we love most hurt us the easiest, even if they don’t mean to.”

I pause, struck a little by the statement.

“And do you forgive them?”

“Yeah. At least… for her. I’ll always forgive her.” He grips thesteering wheel harder. “Don’t think I could hold a grudge against her if I tried.”

The confession strikes me a little. It’s the most I’ve heard him talk, really.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

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