Page 46 of Unloved

“But,” I say, my mouth moving before I can eventhinkabout what I’m saying. “My mom lovedLove Story. It always made her feel better. We used to watch it all the time, especially when she—”

My words fall away and I drop my gaze, pulling my arm back from the comfort of her skin to run a hand through my hair and scratch the back of my neck. Eyes burning slightly, I swallow hard against the press of emotions.Don’t cry. Stop fucking crying—it’s been four years. You’re not even saying anything sad.

“Are… you okay?”

She’s hesitant in asking. My stomach somersaults again before I nod.

“Yeah, sorry. I—” Clearing my throat again feels like a stall tactic, but my voice is stuck to the back of my throat, hoarse and scratchy.

“My mom died,” I say, then rush to continue with my usual, “butit was like four years ago. And I’m fine now, so it’s okay.” Every word is more placating than the last.

The truth is that some days I barely feel anything, if I even think about it. And some days it hurts like she diedyesterday.

Ro’s eyes watch me again with the same intensity she’s always had that makes me feel stripped bare, vulnerable. “It’s okay to miss her, you know. And to cry about it. I cry about missing my parents all the time, and they’re just far away.”

Her words feel like a hug and I lean into it, meeting her gaze with my reddened eyes, not trying to hide or joke around this moment.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She nods before biting down on her plush bottom lip and fiddling with a curl, one of her nervous tells. “Do you ever get lonely?”

A disbelieving laugh bursts from me before I can help it, but I nod and smile at her. “All the fucking time.”

“Yeah?” She asks it this time.

“Yeah.”

“It’s— I love Sadie, she’s my best friend,” she says, words flowing as her comfort level grows. “But she’s my only friend and… and she’s busy, a lot. She has a lot going on.” Her voice fades slightly, and a bolt of irritation with the figure skater rouses me yet again—for Rhys and for Ro. “I don’t see her as much when she’s busy, and last semester I barely saw her at all. It’s not her fault.”

It is, I want to argue, but I bite down on my tongue.

“So.” She shrugs. “Sometimes I can’t help feeling really, really alone.” A huff of laughter finishes the statement, but there’s not a drop of humor in it.

“I’ll be your friend, Ro,” I say. “I want you to see me as your friend.”

“I’d like that, Matt.”

She smiles, small and gentle, and I feel another layer of care andprotectiveness reach out from me to her.A friend—not because of being on the same hockey team or some kind of trade-off.

Just my friend, because shewantsto be.

Arguably, I enjoy my friends’ birthdays more than my own. And today is Rhys’s birthday.

We decided last week on a more low-key party at our beloved Hockey House, inviting the team and some close friends. I even splurged on the fancy local IPA bottles so Bennett would be enticed to drink, which has paid off considering he’s on his third and smiling across from me in spite of the mess in his beloved kitchen.

The problem, it turns out, isn’t our beloved goalie’s usually surly nature. It’s the deeply felt absence of the pain-in-my-ass figure skater.

Rhys informed us both last week that he invited Sadie. His smile was obnoxiously big, dimples gleaming as he confessed that he “didn’t care” who we invited or what we wanted to do—just that Sadie was coming. It was all that seemed to matter to him, which only raised my apprehension tenfold.

We try playing a few drinking games, but Rhys is distracted the entire time, eyes lighting up every time the door opens, and going dark as soon as itisn’tSadie.

Even Paloma makes an appearance, wishing Rhys a quick “happy birthday” before joining Holden and a few of the second line playing King’s Cup in the living room, which Bennett surprisingly joins as well.

Meanwhile I try—and mostly fail—to entertain Rhys. Several girls flirt with our handsome captain, but he won’t even look at one of them, eyes trained on the door. It’s hard not to drop a snarky comment or two about the missing figure skater, but I can see it hurts Rhys’s feelings more, so I try to tamp them down.

“Actually,” he finally says, with a smile so fake it’s half cracked. “I think I’m gonna go up. I just… I’m tired and my head is killing me.”

He’s done this a few times now. It’s frustrating because he uses the injury that he won’t actually talk about so we don’t press him on whatever the issue is—and hewon’ttalk about whatever’s going on with Sadie.

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