Page 88 of Unravel Me

“Yeah, dude?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh shit.” He chuckles. “Watch out, Rosie. Daddy Adam’s feeling fiery tonight.”

I toss my controller and headset to my coffee table, patting Bear’s head before I stand, stretching my arms overhead.

“Where’s Rosie, huh, Bear?” I scoop my phone off the kitchen island. Her last text message came in two hours ago, right before she dropped Connor off at Brandon’s.

Trouble

Do you think I’m getting kicked out for being a bad girl?

Me

You’re a good girl, but if you wanna be bad later, I can make sure you’re punished accordingly.

We should call you Trouble, not me. I’m an angel, and you’re a bad influence.

You can call me whatever you want as long as your eyes are rolling back into your head while you do it.

The most trouble, and the baddest boy.

Am I catastrophizing?

Maybe. But the best of us do sometimes. I’m sure it’s nothing.

I hope so. Can I still be a bad girl later?

You can always be a bad girl, just as long as you’re mine.

*smile emoji* Thanks for making me feel better and taking my mind off this. I’ll call you when I’m done. Can’t wait to see you.

I smile down at the messages, rubbing my hand over my chest, the way it puffs with pride, with happiness, with fullness. Because Rosie makes me feel all those things, and it’s been so long since I’ve felt anything but disappointment.

I shoot off a quick text, asking her if the meeting went okay, and jump in a quick shower. It’s not quick because I don’t jerk off—because I absolutely do. It’s quick because Jaxon was fucking right—it’s been too long, and I’m way too worked up over this girl to last longer than a few minutes thinking about her body below mine.

There’s no response from Rosie when I step out of the shower, and when I call her, it goes right to voice mail. Standing at my kitchen island, I tap my truck keys against the marble, trying to ignore the prickle of unease that makes the back of my neck clammy.

“Fuck it.” I toss my phone in my pocket and my hat on my head before I head out the door and climb into my truck.

Something feels off, and the closer I get to the school, the more I worry. Rosie’s phone is still off, which isn’t like her. She always keeps it on and close by when she doesn’t have Connor.

Driving slowly down the road, my gaze roams the grounds, looking for Rosie. I don’t know what my plan is if I can’t find her. I don’t have a clue where she might be in this building, and I can’t very well just stroll through it and hope no one recognizes me.

I’m about to try her one last time when I catch a flash of wispy blonde and rose gold waves beneath the shade of a towering oak. Rosie sits by herself on a bench, and I know. I know something’s wrong by the defeated slump of her shoulders, the hang of her head, the way she clutches her bag to her stomach.

I throw the truck into park, cut the ignition, and rush across the lawn without so much as a care about who might recognize me, only that Rosie’s alone right now, and I need to fix that.

“Rosie,” I murmur when I reach her. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t flinch, not a bit, like she knew I’d find her.

I almost expect her to say nothing. To sit here silently, unable to find the words she needs.

But she doesn’t. She has the words, and she gives them to me. Quietly, and so easily, like they’re the only truth she knows.

“My parents died in a house fire when I was eleven. My house was destroyed. My entire life was lost. I was the only one who survived, because my dad chose to save me first. He chose me.” Slowly, Rosie’s gaze lifts to mine, and the never-ending grief that shines in her eyes like shattered glass, far too fractured to be repaired, rocks me to my core. “That was the last time I was anyone’s first choice.”

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