Page 59 of Unloved

I can’t find an answer, and the silence stretches out between us while I try to put what I feel into words. Her patience and the stillness of her presence soothes me.

“Because I wish someone had stopped me before I got lost and broken. And… because I care about you. You’re my friend, Ro.”

Her face brightens as she blinks wide-eyed at me.

“Yeah?”

“I thought we covered this,” I say teasingly. “Unless—”

“No. No, I’m your friend.” Her nod is enthusiastic, and it tugs at the knot in my chest. “I love being your friend. I just—I’ve had trouble with that in the past, thinking people were my friends and… anyway, it’s embarrassing.”

My chest aches enough that I raise a hand to rub at it, becauseI understand that feeling. I’ve made that exact mistake more times that I can count.

The car idles in front of the dorms, and Ro hesitates long enough that I’m about to offer for her to come stay at the Hockey House. Because I’m starting to think that Ro’s like me.

That she doesn’t want to be alone.

Instead, I stay quiet as she grabs her drink from the cupholder and reaches for the car door before she pauses and looks over her shoulder at me.

“I’m glad I’m your friend.” Ro’s hand rests on the handle, and she shifts her tall body around to face me. “For what it’s worth coming from me, whoever that girl is, she’s an idiot. I think… I think you’re amazing, Matt. You’re a good guy.”

The praise warms my stomach and I smile.Coming from you, it’s worth everything, I want to say. But instead, I nod and say, “A lot easier to tell someone else that, than yourself, huh?”

She flushes and nods. “Yeah.” There’s a charged silence, and then, “I should go. Thank you for saving me—again. And for everything else.” She hops out, hand on the door to close it.

“Thank you, Rosalie,” I say, my voice soft in a way I can’t seem to control around her.

“For what?”

“For helping me. The math and reading stuff can be… hard.” I shrug, vulnerability making me sweat through the thick Oxford shirt. “You’ve never made fun of me, once.” The words are sensitive, and it hurts to say them to her, but I need her to know.

“I wouldn’t. Never—”

“I know.”

Our words are all whispers, like we’re both too scared to break the other.

Then she shuts the door gently and starts toward the dorms. Her phone lights up in her palm again, and she shoves it into her coatpocket. And I watch as every bit of strength that she had when she left the car seems to melt from her, shoulders sinking, head bowed. Defeated.

My hand hits the steering wheel, head swimming over the image of her through the fogging window. At the entrance, she turns back to me and tries to smile again, barely managing before she knocks, and an RA lets her in.

It takes me an hour to drive away.

I spend most of it convincing myself not to follow her inside. She doesn’t need someone like me.

CHAPTER 23Ro

“You look tired.”

I grumble something nonsensical—and probably incoherent—at the twelve-year-old scrounging for food in the pantry before I head to the coffee machine.

My lack of response must be enough to confuse Oliver, because he’s staring at me as I turn around, eyebrows raised like I’ve let a barn animal into the apartment or am wearing a giant inflatable cowboy suit instead of my pajamas.

I look down, just to check.

“Are… you okay?”

Jeez, I must look worse than I thought.

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