Page 62 of Unloved

“Not at all,” I say. “Sorry, I’m just— It’s a bad day for me today.”

He’s still standing at the door, tall body covering the entryway easily. His entire posture—from the set of his shoulders to the one-handed grip on his backpack strap—screams uncertainty. It’s not a look I’ve seen often on the popular hockey jock, and I quickly decide it’s one I truly don’t like.

“Did you want to cancel?”

“No. I’m good, I promise.”

I manage to release a shaky smile, but it’s enough to have his shoulders relaxing as he makes himself comfortable across the table from me.

Going over the math assignment takes me far too long, mostly because I keep getting distracted by my phone ringing.

And ringing.

Now with new, randomized caller ID numbers—a fact that makes my stomach drop.

The very first time we had a fight, Tyler left in a rage and blocked my number, my social media—everything. It was an unsettling shock for me, one I didn’t know how to handle because he was my very first boyfriend. I didn’t know if it was normal behavior or not, and with Sadie swimming in endless responsibilities with her brothers and dealing with her dad, I didn’t have anyone to ask.

He came to Brew Haven to apologize two days later, saying that he needed me to understand how upset he was. Sadie said it was a fancy way to say he was punishing me.

Which now I know to be true.

Then, after another fight, I didn’t let him punish me. Instead, I blocked him. That had somehow made things worse. And since we got back together again and again, Tyler continued to see it all as a success.

Hence the random numbers currently blowing up my phone.

Finally, when the ratcheting anxiety is nearly ready to burst from me, I toss my still-vibrating phone into my bag—too harshly, as my student stops his scribbling and looks up at me, eyebrows high before his eyes narrow as he takes me in.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Fine,” I squeak out. But for some reason there are tears in my eyes.

I amnotcrying in front of himagain.

Freddy, as usual, sees right through my lie. Yet he doesn’t call it out.

Instead, he shuts his textbook, a move that has me double-checking my watch and the loud clock on the wall.

“I have an idea,” he says, palms flat on the table as he leans slightly over it. “Why don’t we skip class?”

A denial, full and resolute, should be spilling from my open mouth. Instead, it’s a quiet, blushing confession.

“I’ve never done that before.”

He grins—not the one he usually dons; this one is all innocent boyish charm. Gentle, genuine.

Real.

“Me neither.”

“Really?” I laugh. “That’s…”

“Surprising?”

I shake my head. “No, actually, that makes a lot of sense.”

“Yeah?” he says, sounding skeptical, but intrigued. He leans forward.

“Yeah.” I nod, smiling softly up at him. “You’d never want to evenchanceletting someone down. You… you always show up.”

---