Page 79 of Unloved

The overly loud clearing of my throat seems to shake Bennett as he finally turns to face me. He’s in long sleep pants, shirtless, and his chest is heaving slightly… like he’s holding back panicked breaths.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” he mutters before stomping up the stairs and heading to Rhys’s room to knock loudly. There’s a muffled groan through the door—sounds like a hungover Rhys—before Bennett shouts, “We need to fucking talk.”

And I think that’s my cue.

It’s getting cold faster now. You’d think after nearly four years in the northeast I’d be used to the temperature drop, but I’m shivering by the time I duck into Brew Haven after parking down the block—with it being a dreary Saturday morning, the coffeehouse is busy enough that the small back parking lot is full.

Suki Waterhouse plays softly over the old overhead speakers, “Good Looking” making the scene almost dreamy with the cloudy mist outside. The line for the counter is long enough that I would leave were it any normal day.

But Ro is there, shining and bright against the mahogany booths on the left side. The tawny skin not covered in her oversized cobalt-blue hoodie is warm and beautiful. Her hair is a mass of curls piled into a scrunchie on her head, some falling loosely around her face.

When I picture Ro in my head, which is becoming a more common occurrence lately, she’s always like this, soft and comfortable—except her hair is tied with my shoelace. And even more, she’s holding me—

Stop.

I nearly trip in my stride to her before shaking the precarious thoughts from my head like she can hear them. She’s so brilliant it wouldn’t really surprise me if shecouldread minds, especially mine.

But, no, she’s still smiling shyly up at me as I stand awkwardly by the booth for a beat too long.

“Morning,” she says quietly, tucking her hair back behind her ear, even as it immediately falls back into her face. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” I reply, voice matching hers in softness as I settle my body back against the wood. My knee is already bouncing too rapidly, so I keep my hands off the table so I don’t shake the entire thing.

“I made you a coffee—I think I got your order right.”

I think I’d drink rotten milk if she made it for me.

“Thanks, Rosalie,” I breathe, basking slightly in the flush hearing me say her full name brings to her cheeks.

There’s only a beat of silence, before—

“I’m so sorry—”

“I’m sorry—”

Both of us speak at the same time before stopping in unison to let the other speak. And then, nothing but laughter, giggles from her and soft chuckles from me. The sounds settle some raucous thing in my gut.

“You first,” she says.

I’m happy to oblige.

“I’m sorry about last night. I just… I got a bit carried away with Donaldson. Not just because of you, Ro. He’s been a jerk to me for years—you…” I trail off, trying to figure out the best way to say it without scaring her off. “I care about you. And he was being an asshole. He’sbeenan asshole to you all semester.”

“Yeah, he has.” She shrugs with a little self-deprecating smile that makes my chest hurt and hands tighten into near fists atop my thighs. “But it’s okay. Thank you, actually, for defending me. I’m sorry I didn’t—”

She cuts herself off suddenly with a shake of her head.

“What?”

Ro leans forward on her elbows, and I match her posture. Even tucked into the booth, a private corner, she wants this to be quieter.

“Tyler was using something private against me, and he was being mean to you, too. And I just… I realize how naive I was being. I was upset and I took it out on you last night, so I’m sorry, too. Are we friends again?”

I smile, heart too full of the goodness of this moment. “Were we evernotfriends, Ro? C’mon—I don’t scare that easily.”

She laughs, and it feels like she’s stitching together pieces of me I didn’t know were torn—the parts shredded by my insecurities with friendship and mistakes andnot being fucking good enough for any of it.

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