Unloved: A Novel (The Undone)

“I know you aren’t gonna believe me, but.” Freddy smirks. “I think I got it.”

He spins the paper back toward me across the table in Brew Haven, but instead of his usual deflection tactics, he sits quietly waiting for me to check his work.

It’s not our usual tutoring time, because Freddy has an away game series this weekend, both exhibition games to settle into their team dynamic for the season.

I’ve barely looked over the sheet before he’s interrupting.

“As you can see.” He clears his throat and waggles his eyebrows as he slumps self-satisfied against the back of the booth. “I’m amazing.”

The wide smile that mirrors his is immediate, impossible to contain even if I wanted to—and I don’t want to. He’s joyous about math, and I want to do a little dance in my seat that my hockey statistics-related questions are what caused this change in his demeanor, but I manage to hold in the urge.

“You are,” I say, laughing at how his smile somehow grows, the lines around his face digging deeper. “And you did that one right. I have more.”

As he starts in on the next one, reading and rereading the paragraph as I look over his file and fill in a few notes on his usual accommodations, a slight plan forms in my head. Today is a good day for math with Freddy, but that is very abnormal. Biology might be a big strain for him, but it’s math that is destroying his GPA. And his self-confidence.

“Hey, Freddy?”

His eyes dart up to mine before dropping to the pencil in my mouth and hooding slightly. Enough that I flush and pull it away from my lips.

“Yes, Rosalie?”

It’s embarrassing how much of an effect my full name from his mouth has over my body. I shiver slightly, but continue. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, but are you—do you not take any medication?”

His brow wrinkles.

“For ADHD, I mean.”

A grin pulls at the corner of his mouth. “I figured,” he answers a little sarcastically. “But I don’t—I tried it when I was younger, and it didn’t work for me. I could focus, but it made me crash and messed with hockey for me. I could barely eat and I hardly even wanted to play I was so tired. Worn out.” His cheeks heat and he avoids my gaze. “It’s stupid, I know. Picking hockey over being smart.”

“Medicine doesn’t make someone smart. And ADHD doesn’t make you not smart.” My voice is a little harsher than I intend, but I roll with it. I need him to hear me. “Neither does dyslexia or dyscalculia. Medication is a step stool, not a cure.”

He grins and shakes his head, gazing at me with what looks like awe in his eyes.

“What?”

“My mom used to say that.”

I press a hand to my heart to soften the deep bittersweet ache those words incite. “She must’ve been a genius, then.”

Laughter spills from his mouth. “Yeah. She definitely—”

“Freddy,” a delighted voice beckons. A tall brown-haired boy sidles up to the table wearing a Waterfell Basketball shirt with his number emblazoned underneath. He smiles brightly and flips his hat around backward. “What the hell, man? I figured you’d be at the hockey dorms tonight.”

“Brandon.” Freddy smiles tightly, tapping his pencil on the table more rapidly with a new tenseness in his shoulders. “Not tonight. I’ve got too much to work on.”

“Damn, that sucks,” Brandon says in a way that does not sound sympathetic at all.

As if he’s only noticed my presence now, Brandon runs his gaze over me—in a way that’s too similar to how most people look at Freddy, like he’s half naked. I cross my arms over my chest self-consciously. “Sorry, I’m Brandon.”

“Ro,” I say, reaching to shake the hand he’s offered. He holds it longer than necessary, turning my wrist over and petting the skin below my bracelets. “These are cute.”

“Thanks. I made them.” My cheeks burn hotly with his intense stare.

“Really?” he says, seeming genuinely interested, still holding my hand. “That’s so fucking cool—”

“We should get back to studying,” Freddy snaps, sounding more irritated than I think I’ve ever heard him.

I yank my hand back from Brandon’s grip, holding back the apology I want to give Freddy.

“C’mon.” Brandon laughs, planting his hands on our table and leaning over. “What the hell do you need to study for anyway? Last I heard you’re sitting pretty with an NHL contract.”

Freddy nods. “Yeah, postgraduation.”

As if he didn’t even hear him, Brandon continues, “And besides, aren’t you still making bank with the OnlyFans shit?”

My eyebrows might as well be plastered to the ceiling, unable to hide my reaction.

I wait for Freddy to deny it, but he doesn’t even look surprised by the statement.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters in the same sarcastic way he always says those two words. “Still, I’ve got a test to pass, so…” He lets the words hang, spreading his arms over the stacks of papers and textbooks around our workspace.

So go away, I imagine he wants to say.

“Just come over when you finish.” Brandon waves him off. “I bet Ro wants to come, too. Right, babe?”

Something in his words has Freddy stiffening and rising to sit a little taller. His face is menacing, frustrated and angry.

“Knock it off.”

“Please, Freddy, you have plenty of girls waiting for you. I can keep Ro company. In fact, I need some tutoring help myself.” His gaze switches back to me, and he drops to his elbows so his face is suddenly too close to mine.

I suck in a shocked breath, trembling in discomfort. My body wants to move away, but I’m frozen, eyes drilling holes in the wood between my spread palms.

“I’ll even stay after class and show you how—”

“Fuck off,” Freddy snaps, shoving up from his seat aggressively. Brandon matches his stance, expression wary.

“Chill, Freddy. I was joking.” He looks over at me. “I didn’t mean—”

“I have a boyfriend,” I blurt, closing my eyes. “And we’re over our time already, and Freddy isn’t coming to the party right now. So if you wouldn’t mind leaving.”

I shuffle the papers in front of me as a distraction and an excuse not to make eye contact with Brandon as he apologizes again and leaves us in a bloated silence.

Freddy looks sick, face pale as he sits back across from me. Anxiety crawls up my spine; I’m unsure if I overstepped, if I did something wrong.

“Freddy?”

“Sorry—I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head with a bitter laugh. “God, I hate that guy.”

“He was kinda rude,” I say, playing with my manicured green nails. “I’m—why did he say that?”

The question spills out before I can stop myself, but I can’t look at Freddy when he says, “Because he’s an entitled asshole and you’re beautiful. I’m sorry if he made you uncomfortable. I didn’t know you and Ty—”

“No,” I say, cutting him off, raising my head to meet his eyes. “I mean… about the OnlyFans?”

Freddy grimaces at the reminder and I’m seconds away from taking it back, saying never mind and moving right along with our next math problem, when he speaks.

“It’s not mine. I’ve seen it, and whoever it is has the same tattoo on his thigh, but it’s not me.” He tips his head back to stare at the ceiling and shakes it slightly, another weird, half-broken noise that sounds more like a cry than a laugh blurts from him. “People talk. It’s just a rumor.”

He chuckles, a forced laugh, and wipes a hand over his face. “It’s okay if you don’t believe me. But it’s not mine.”

“Why don’t you tell people it’s not yours?”

He shrugs, like none of this matters. “It’s a rumor about me. One of thousands—it doesn’t affect me.”

Only, clearly, it does. I shake my head, a million previous interactions shooting through my brain. His hesitance to ask for help, his constant insistence of his stupidity, and now this?

“You’re… you’re more concerned about people knowing you struggle to read than you are about an OnlyFans account that’s not even yours?”noveldrama

His mouth opens and closes a few times, before settling on, “Yeah. Can we stop talking about this?”

It’s the harshest he’s ever been with me directly. I shut my mouth, despite wanting to push him on this.

He only just became your friend. Give him time.

“Okay.”

“Sorry.” He shakes his head. “I’m just frustrated.”

“We can talk about something else,” I say. I feel like I would do anything to erase the defeated, angry look on his face.

“Okay. How about: When did you and Donaldson start dating again?”

Anything but that, please. Desperate to please him, I answer, “We aren’t. We just… He asked me to hang out this weekend. On… a date.”

He nods, crossing his arms tightly. “Like the date where he stood you up?”

“Freddy—”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“He wants to make it up to me.” I think.

Tyler asked me to spend Saturday with him, to take a little day trip. He said it was going to be a surprise, but that it would be good for us to get closer and enjoy time together uninterrupted.

I still feel the same, confused and frightened of every possible outcome, but I agreed.

Though I regret it slightly now, a twinge of wrongness striking my stomach as I admit my agreement to Freddy.

“As long as you’re happy, Rosalie.” He smiles, but it’s the mask one he always uses with everyone else. My stomach sinks further.

But I match his mask with one of my own and lie. “Yeah. I’m happy.”