Unloved: A Novel (The Undone)

The arena is locked, which only means I get a nice twenty-minute drive with Ro quietly humming to the radio as I take us through historic downtown Waterfell and toward the community rink.

It’s moderately warm for an early October day, so I have to dive into the rumpled clean clothes pile in the back of my car for a jacket—smelling each before I find the cleanest one, a Waterfell University Sports half zip with my number on the sleeve and my last name emblazoned on the left pocket.

“Arms up for me, princess,” I say, slipping the fabric over her head and settling it over her hips. I lean in and zip her up, fabric grazing her chin as she grins at me sweetly. I grab my skates out of the back before locking my car.noveldrama

The cold sting of the arena settles my nervous system as we enter. I’m about to have her sit while I grab her a pair of skates, when she squeals.

Ro tackles me, my back hitting the lightly padded flooring as her long limbs tangle with mine. She’s tall for a girl, and clumsy, enough that I can imagine her as a gangling teen.

“Shit—sorry.”

I smirk up at her through a sea of curls as she scrambles to pull them back over her shoulders, even as they keep escaping. “You know, I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you curse.”

She blushes further before shoving on my chest and peering through the window overlooking the rink.

“It’s Sadie. She’s here.”

My eyebrows raise as I slowly push up, letting Ro continue to hold on to me—something I’m not sure she even realizes she is doing—while I do.

She’s whispering, so I do, too, brushing back a few of her curls and politely ignoring her full-body shudder as I lean in.

“You know they can’t really see us up here, princess.”

“Oh,” she whispers before clambering away from me and standing, cheeks stained dark red.

I follow her gaze and look through the dark glass at the half-filled rink. Public skate is designated to the outside circle, but in the middle is my captain and the figure skater with a group of about six baby skaters.

Rhys watches Sadie with a singular focus, head following each movement. Like he would another player, as if he’s unlocking the secrets to their moves, their plays. The kind of focus only Captain Rhys is capable of. And I might’ve noticed it slightly at the party, but here, under the hard fluorescents, it’s impossible to miss.

Maybe I was wrong.

Because it seems like Sadie looks at him in the exact same way, careful and intense.

Like they both watch over each other, constantly.

“Is he a good guy?” Ro suddenly asks.

The question surprises me slightly. My eyebrows dip as I examine her profile while she watches them. She looks anxious and worried, hand splayed on her chest, fiddling with the collar of her shirt, and chewing on her lip.

“It’s just,” she continues before I can answer. “I’ve never seen Sadie really like a guy. And she has… a lot going on. I want to make sure he’s as good of a guy as he seems to be.”

“No— Rhys is the best guy I know. I’d trust him with my life. She’s in good hands.”

Something sours in my stomach, because I suddenly can’t get Rhys’s birthday party out of my head. It isn’t my fault, I know, because going off my party-based interactions with Sadie, why wouldn’t I be protective of my friend?

But Ro is good and kind. And if she is protective of Sadie, if she loves her this much, then perhaps there is more beneath the surface.

Like there is to you?

Or do you want to believe that because Ro loving Sadie despite her flaws means she could love you as her friend? In spite of your flaws?

As it always is, the voice in my head sounds like my dad, and I have to shake my head to clear the spiral before it starts.

Except now I can’t remember what she’s said because my brain is far away from our last interaction. So I scrub at the back of my neck and nod to her.

“You have to pick something else.”

Whether what I said was on topic or not, she grins and I relax.

“Me? What about you?”

“Nope. We clearly aren’t going skating today, so… you have to pick something else.” I turn and head for the door, loving how quickly she follows me with a small hmm noise as she thinks.

I stop in front of my car, raising an eyebrow at her and tapping my foot.

“Okay. Well, I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo.”

My eyes flare. Not what I expected, but I can work with that.

“What did you have in mind?”

Her gaze flicks down to my legs. I’m wearing jeans today, but I might as well be naked with the searing intensity of her eyes right over where my thigh tattoo rests.

“A butterfly,” she blurts out before shaking her head rapidly and covering her face with her hands. “No, wait. Sorry, I actually don’t know.”

I stay quiet, knowing my ego might not be able to handle her matching her first tattoo to mine, and I open her door for her.

I drive to the tattoo parlor I’ve used before, in historic downtown Waterfell, nestled between a popular pizza joint and a vintage candy store that hasn’t changed a thing in the past hundred years.

Pulling into one of the hard-to-find slanted spots a few buildings down, I help Ro out and lay a hand on her middle back to guide her quickly across the road.

Inside the old brick building, the parlor is a mix of bright cream and soft greens, framed designs and some full-sized canvases cluttering the walls. It’s relatively empty, with a girl getting her back tattooed on one of the tables.

“How about you look through the book and I’ll get the paperwork.”

Any other guy might fill it out for her while she looked through the shop’s portfolio and picked a design, but I can barely read it, let alone write down her answers as she says them out loud to me. We’d be here for hours.

So instead I grab a pen and the papers before turning back—

—only to find that Ro is gone.

My heart drops for a second before I spot a mop of curls as she paces awkwardly fast back and forth outside.

“Jesus, Ro.” I smirk as I exit the shop, crossing my arms and standing in front of her to force her to stop. “I thought you’d left me here.”

“No!” she says quickly. “I’d never do that—I kinda freaked out for a minute. And maybe…”

She trails off, her face sinking.

“Maybe you don’t want a tattoo yet,” I say.

She nods, looking highly apologetic as she quietly whispers an “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Rosalie.” Desperate to bring her mood back to what it was, I look wildly around us. “Actually, I came here mainly because I’m starving, and they have the best pizza in Massachusetts.”

Ro looks to where I point next door.

“They do?” she asks, disbelieving.

I shrug. “According to a”—I look closer at the newspaper taped on the inside of the window—“1995 New York Times article, yes. And honestly, that place looks like it hasn’t changed since, so I think we’re in luck.”

I pull open the door for her.

It’s a small building with three tables total, looking like the early 1990s threw up in it. Complete with two quarter machines in the entryway, one full of gumballs that look like rocks, hardened with age. The other has exactly what I’m looking for.

After paying for our pizza in cash and asking for quarters as change back—ignoring the annoyed look from the pimpled teen behind the counter—we decide to take it to-go.

Mostly because one table has a couple enjoying their early dinner, and the other two are covered in boxes that I’m betting aren’t getting moved for us to sit.

Somehow I manage to get two of the colored balls out of the machine without Ro noticing, even if I look like an asshole making her carry the boxes out to anyone passing on the street.

Still, I think the surprise will be worth it.