Unravel Me (Playing For Keeps Book 3)

“I swear to fuck, Adam, if we lose one more time because of you, I’m gonna lose my shit.”

“He’s distracted as fuck today.”

“Leave him alone. He’s getting laid tonight for the first time in forever. That takes a lot of mental prep.”

“I’m not—no, I’m—that’s redic…” I sigh, my TV screen splattering with the blood of my character as I die yet again, disappointing my teammates on the other end of my headset for the umpteenth time today. “Yeah, I’m definitely kinda-sorta thinking about it.”

I mean, fucking sue me. As Emmett said, it’s been forever. And also, Rosie is Rosie. Have you met her? She’s got the kindest, most patient heart I’ve ever known, and being with her makes me feel alive. Of course I can’t fucking think straight right now.

“He’s doing it again,” Jaxon mutters. “Buddy, you better hop in the shower and rub one out before your girl comes over. Otherwise Rosie’s gonna need to finish herself off tonight when you bust your nut five seconds after you get your dick wet.”

“Fuck you.” Definitely squeezing in a shower.

“What time is she coming over?” Garrett asks.

“I’m waiting for her to text that she’s ready to be picked up. She had to go into school to meet with one of her teachers.” My Apple Watch vibrates, and I chuck my Xbox controller in all my eagerness. “This is probably her.” I frown at the number, swiping the call away. “Never mind. Not her.”

“Who else would it be? Do you have other friends you’re not telling us about?” Carter accuses.

“With your larger-than-life personality? I don’t have room for any more friends.”

“You’re damn right you don’t.”

The same number jumps at me from my watch face, and my brows tug together. I don’t know it, but I recognize it as being the same one that called last week when Rosie and Connor were over. I decline the call again and sit forward on the couch, rubbing my eyes.

“I’m gonna get going.”

“He’s gonna go jack off in the shower,” Jaxon clarifies.

“Hey, Jaxon?”

“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.

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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.”

The murmured, broken words snap the last of my resolve. I sink to my knees, right there before her, and as the dam breaks and those tears pour down her face like rain, I sweep her into my arms, clinging to her just as much as she’s clinging to me.

I can’t take my eyes off her, the way she’s snuggled up beneath the quickly fading sun and a warm blanket, my dog curled up at her side, refusing to leave her. I don’t blame him. She’s different tonight, and she has been since I loaded her into my truck, ditched our dinner plans to pick up her favorite takeout instead. She’s quiet and distant, and the silence is ear-splitting and painful in an earth-shattering way.

My world isn’t right without her laughter.

Stepping through the patio door, I make my way to her, replacing her wine glass with a mug of her favorite blueberry tea. She takes it with a small smile, red-rimmed eyes peering up at me, and when I sit beside her, she wastes no time folding herself into my side.

Squeezing her to me, I kiss her head. “I think you belong right here.”

“With you?” she asks, chin on my chest.

“Where else?”

She lays her cheek over my heart, her words soft. “I’ve wanted to belong to someone for a long time. So long, I’m not sure my brain will let me believe it now.”

“I’m a patient man. I don’t mind needing to prove it to you every day.”

Rosie smiles, and for the next few minutes, we sit in the peace of the evening, the quiet breeze rustling through the trees, the buzz of the cicadas, the fading song of the birds settling in for the night.

And then Rosie tells me her story.

“I woke up in the middle of the night to my mom screaming my name. My bedroom door was closed, but it felt so warm in there. I remember the glow coming from beneath the crack in my door.” A tear slides down her cheek. “I just thought the hallway lights were on.”

I pull her tighter against me, rub her back while I listen.

“My mom kept screaming, telling my dad to get me. It made me scared, and I started crying, calling for my parents. Then my dad came into my room. He knelt next to my bed, told me to wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. And he told me to close my eyes.” Rosie’s eyes find mine, shining with tears beneath the light of the moon. “I listened. I always listened to my dad.”

“Such a good girl,” I murmur, swiping the tears from her eyes before they can fall.

“Even with my eyes closed, I knew. I could hear it. Feel it. My dad held me so tight, he left bruises. It was so cool when he ran outside. It was September, and the weather had started turning. It felt like such a relief to be outside, but I could feel the heat at my back as my dad kept me turned away from the house.”

Rosie looks up to the sky, pulling in a shaky breath. When she releases it, her tears spill down her cheeks. “‘Stay right here,’ Dad told me. ‘Don’t move. Wait for help.’ He told me he had to go, that he had to get my mom. I asked him if he was coming back, and he looked at me for a minute before he promised he would. ‘Right back,’ he said. ‘I promise, I’ll never leave you.’” Her eyes flutter closed, and she sits in the moment, the memory, while I kiss her forehead, smooth back her hair from her wet cheeks. “I knew he was lying. He wasn’t coming back, and he knew it too. He kissed me, hugged me so…so tight. Tucked my hair behind my ear and told me he was proud of me. And right before he disappeared inside the house, he looked at me one last time over his shoulder and told me he loved me for the last time.”

My chest pulls tight, I feel like it’s breaking wide open as Rosie buries her face in my neck and cries for the parents she lost, the good-bye she should have never had to say, not at eleven years old. I press my lips to her shoulder, over and over, any words that might make this better completely lost to me. Is there a better? I really don’t know, but I don’t want her to feel alone.

“He was only inside for a minute when it happened. I could hear the fire trucks close by. But suddenly there was a loud crash, and every window shattered. The front door blew open, and flames spilled out. I screamed, ran through the gate to the backyard just as the trucks pulled up. Right in time for the back door to explode,” she adds on a whisper. “It scared me, and I tripped. Over my own two feet. Fell backward, right into our pool. The sun cover was on, and I got tangled in it. I started sinking, and I couldn’t get free. I couldn’t find my way out. I thought that was it, Adam. I thought I was dying, and I just wanted to be with my parents.” Rosie swipes at her eyes with the back of her wrists, sniffling. “The next thing I remember, I was lying on our back deck, and a firefighter was giving me CPR. It was already too late for my parents.”

“Ah fuck, Rosie.” I pull her onto my lap, wrapping her around me, feeling her against me. She’s here and she’s solid, but the race of my heart reminds me how close I came to losing her, to never knowing her, and the thought is staggering.

“Hey,” she whispers, cupping my face, bringing my gaze to hers. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry,” I try, but it’s hoarse, broken. The two words aren’t enough, but they’re all I have. Closing my eyes, I rest my forehead against hers while I get my bearings. I tuck her hair behind her ears, staring into the sweetest green eyes that hold so much love, compassion, strength, unending grief. “I don’t think he was lying, Rosie. Your dad. I know it feels that way. But he told you he’d never leave you because he never will. You can’t see him, I know, but he’s there. Your mom too.”

“I know that; really, I do. But I was alone. So many times I wished I’d gone with them, because I was left with no one. I was all on my own, and I was only eleven.”

“What do you mean you were all alone? You had other family, right? Someone who took you in?”

She looks at me for a long moment, letting my mind work, and I know before she tells me. “I went into the foster system, Adam. Group foster. Just like you.”

There’s a tiny part of me, this small little boy who wants to jump for joy at a connection we share, but I know. I know by the lonely look that lives in the corner of her eyes, the longing that’s always there. “Our experiences were very different, weren’t they?”

She nods, a sad smile on her face. “I aged out. I sat there alone, year after year, wanting nothing more than to be chosen. I wanted my family back. I wanted any family. I just wanted to belong, to feel safe, to feel wanted. And I—” She sniffles, catching a tear the moment it drips from her eye. “I didn’t understand why nobody wanted me. I was such a good kid. I was always kind and respectful. I loved school and was an A-plus student. Nobody wanted me, Adam. And still…”

“What do you mean, ‘still?’” I grip her chin when she turns away, forcing her gaze back to mine. “What do you mean, ‘still,’ Rosie?”

She sniffs, nibbling her lower lip. “I overheard Brandon today when I dropped Connor off. His friends were over, and he said…he said he would’ve never chosen to have a child with me. That I was just supposed to be temporary fun, but he was stuck with me now.”

“What a fucking dipshit,” I accidentally blurt.

“It’s my own fault for expecting more from people who’ve never given me reason to. He’s not even listed on Connor’s birth certificate, for God’s sake. I gave birth alone, because he couldn’t step up and support me in my most vulnerable moments.”

“Fuck that guy,” I bite out, blood thundering in my ears. “Rosie, fuck him , and fuck his worthless opinion. He doesn’t know what he has, how fucking lucky he is to have you as the mother of his child. You gave him the most beautiful gift in the world, and he’s done nothing but take it for granted. So fuck him.”

“That’s not all of it,” she whispers. “I lost my scholarship today.”

“What?”

“My teacher, she told me he—the donor—felt like taking a break for my maternity leave was my way of stating where my priorities lied. That I should’ve chosen school over staying home with Connor for the year.”

A dark, bitter chuckle leaves my throat. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. That’s the most misogynistic bullshit I’ve ever heard. He pulled your scholarship because you chose your son when he needed you?”

“It’s just…For years, nobody chose me. I had no one, and I so desperately wanted a family of my own again. Someone to love, someone to love me. And then Connor came, and by some miracle, I had it. I had the family I’d been dreaming of. I told myself I’d always choose him, so I did. I chose him, and honestly, I chose myself. Because nobody else ever did it, and I wasn’t going to begin my son’s life by not putting him first, not when I have this opportunity to take this time with him. But now, in doing so, I’ve lost the only thing I’ve been chosen for in years.” She shakes her head, a furrow between her brows. “I worked so hard for this, Adam. I poured my heart and soul into my education, and I’ve earned this scholarship year after year. And now…now even they don’t want me.”

“They don’t deserve you, Rosie. Nobody who treats you like this does.” I brush my thumb over her lower lip. “I’m so sorry that somebody overlooked you when you were growing up, that they didn’t take the time to know you, to see how beautiful your heart is. I’m sorry Brandon is a useless twat-waffle.”

Rosie snorts a laugh, music to my damn ears after a day without it. “What’s a twat-waffle?”

“I’m honestly not sure, but my friend calls her boyfriend and brother one every time they’re being dipshits, so it felt fitting.” She laughs again, and I smile, tasting it from her mouth. “I’m sorry you lost your scholarship. I know how hard you’ve worked for it, and it’s not right. We’re going to figure it out, okay? Together.”

“There’s no figuring it out, Adam. I don’t have the money to pay for it, bottom line. I’m going to have to take the year off again and work to save up for it.”

I shake my head. “Nope. What’s option two?”

She laughs again, quietly this time, a tired, resigned sound that I hate. “I don’t have another option. I had some money after my parents passed, but I used the last of it to support Connor and me on maternity leave. There’s no other way.”

“Then I’ll help.”

“You absolutely will not,” she says firmly. When I open my mouth, she raises her brows, and I snap it shut again. “You will not, Adam Lockwood, do you hear me?”

“I don’t want you to put your dreams on hold, Rosie.”

“What’s one more year?” she murmurs, and the words sound like they hurt to say just as much as they hurt to hear. She shifts off my lap to the seat beside me, pulling her knees into her chest. She looks so small, so vulnerable, I want to wrap her in Bubble Wrap so nothing can ever hurt her again. “Today’s been a stark reminder that I’ve never belonged to anyone or anything. That I’ve never been enough, never been just right to be anyone’s first choice.” She rests her chin on her knee, staring off at nothing. “Maybe it’s less about being someone’s first choice, and more about being loved, being loved enough to be someone’s first choice. She shrugs. “No one has ever loved me enough to make me their first choice.”

“Hey.” I take her hands in mine, pulling her back to me. “We’ll never be right for everyone, but we’ll be perfect for the right person. And when that person comes along, there is no choice. It just…is. We exist exactly the way we are, with exactly the right people, because there is no other way to be.”

I press my lips to hers, and she opens without hesitation, her fingers sliding tenderly through my hair as she sighs against my mouth.

“I want you, Rosie. I want all of you. And there is no other choice.”