Page 8 of Unloved

You should go home and sleep in a proper bed.

He drags his cell out of his pocket, reading and typing back.

Stop telling me what to do.

Smiling, I text back.

I’m being serious. You can even sleep at my place instead of going back to the dorms.

Instead of texting back, Samuel drags his chair even closer and squeezes my thighs.

He shakes his head. It’s a simple no that conveys everything.

I’m not leaving you.

He reaches for his phone again, and I feel my cell vibrate against the mattress.

Why didn’t you tell me about Frankie?

Shamewashes over me for keeping a secret of this magnitude from Samuel. He knows almost everything about me, and it’s not like I didn’t want to tell him; it’s more like I stupidly tried to forget Frankie exists.

When I met him, the abandonment was fresh, and I was jaded and being childish. On purpose, I stopped talking about Frankie with Clem and Remy, and it was even easier with Arlo because he was busy trying to push down the hurt Frankie caused him too.

Eventually, Frankie was off-limits and thoughts of him faded into the background.

“I’m sorry,” I say, even if I can’t hear the sincerity in my own voice, I hope he can hear it. “He’s my brother. Mybiologicalbrother,” I emphasize, and this additional piece of information has Samuel straightening.

“He and Arlo were together,” I continue. “But something went down between them and he decided to move to Seattle.

“I was eighteen when he left, and I haven’t really ever gotten over him leaving me.”

The words are the most honest thing I’ve said about the whole situation. Ever.

If I let myself think about it too much, I’m embarrassed by how much Frankie’s departure bothers me. It makes me feel petulant and weak, and despite how hard I pretend to be unbothered by it, everybody, including Samuel now, knows the truth.

Samuel squeezes my thigh again and then sends me another text.

I raise the phone to my face, and my shoulders slump at the words on the screen.

I’m sorry, but Clem called him.

I knew she would. Clem has been waiting in the wings, since the moment he left, for any reason to force his hand to come home.

Swallowing hard, I try to talk past the thick ball of emotion stuck in the back of my throat.

“I’m not ready, Sammy.”

Without missing a beat, another text comes through.

Then I’ll make him wait till you are.

3

LENNOX

Frankie is here.

I told you not to call him.

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