Unravel Me (Playing For Keeps Book 3)
Unravel Me: Chapter 18

“Rosie’s getting laid tonight.”

“No I’m not!”

“Correction: Rosie’s getting railed six-feet deep tonight.”

I glare at Marco. “Not helpful, and not what I meant when I said no.”

He waggles his dark brows. “You’re gonna be on bedrest tomorrow. Maybe all weekend.” He props his chin on his fist and gazes at Archie. “I’ve never seen Rosie dickmatized.”

“I don’t think she’s ever really been dickmatized.”

“Hmm. Right, Brandon didn’t deliver. Pregnancy without orgasm should be illegal.”

“Okay, first of all—” I hold a finger up, one hand propped on my hip “—yes it should. Second, I’ve been dickmatized!”

Archie grins as he spoons pancake batter into a frying pan. “When?”

Crossing my arms, I point my nose to the ceiling. “Just last week, when I attempted to deepthroat his dick. That’s the only way to explain how I even remotely fit part of that thing in my mouth.” I capture my lower lip between my teeth as my thoughts wander back to Adam’s balcony, all the control I happily let go of.

“Look at you,” Marco coos. “You adorable little slut. You’re getting that dick tonight.”

“I’m not sure. Sometimes he seems content to keep things as they are.”

“A guy who likes to take it slow? Sounds like a unicorn; men like that don’t really exist.” Marco drops a bag of chocolate chips at Archie’s elbow and pops a kiss on his cheek, a reminder that he only eats pancakes when they’re loaded with chocolate. “Speaking of taking it slow, when are we gonna meet this mystery man of yours?” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“He’s not a mystery. His name is Adam.”

“He’s a mystery to us, and I’m sick of listening to Daddy Archie late at night, worrying about his sweet Rosie because he hasn’t done an ocular pat down of your boyfriend yet and cleared him to date you. Why are you keeping him from us?”

“I told you,” Archie growls, “stop calling me Daddy.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

I snicker, kissing Archie’s cheek. “I think it’s sweet when you worry, Daddy.”

Archie’s head drops back, and he sighs. “For fuck’s sake. And I’m not worried. You two have been seeing each other nearly two months now, and we haven’t met him. I just want to put a face to the name.” He flips a pancake and shrugs. “And make sure he’s good enough for my Rosie.”

“Have you met his friends?” Marco asks.

“Not yet, no.”

He frowns. “Is he keeping you in his own secret bubble or something?”

My heart patters. “Secret bubble? What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “You’ve never even been out in public.”

“You think…” My throat dries, and I scratch it. It’s not as if I haven’t thought about it, wondered when he’d introduce me to his friends. He’s with them all the time, and they seem like family to him. I’ve been waiting, anxious for them to like me, but the invitation has never come. “He doesn’t want to be seen with me?”

Marco grabs my hand. “No, Rosie. No way. I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. Really, it’s kind of sweet. Like he just wants you all to himself.”

“We really would love to meet him though,” Archie adds with a soft smile. “Why don’t you ask him to come for dinner Sunday? I’m sure meeting your friends will prompt him to introduce you to his too.”

I force the tension in my shoulders away. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. I’ll invite him for dinner.”

“Maaamaaa! ”

I smile, starting toward my bedroom. “And there’s my cue.”

Connor grins as soon as he sees me, reaching his arms up high. “Hi, Mama,” he murmurs as I scoop him into my arms. “Dada?”

“You’ll see Dada later today, honey.”

“Bear? Dada, Bear?”

My heart does something funny, a flutter that drops to my belly, erupting like butterflies.

He’s asking for Adam, not Brandon.

Connor’s grown to love Adam so much, and I can’t blame him. He gives Connor everything he needs, at the forefront of those needs being unconditional love, patience, connection, the things his own father struggles to give him. I don’t want it to be a competition; I want my child to get the love he deserves from all the important people in his life.

“Uncle Arch made pancakes,” I tell Connor as I get him dressed for the day. “Chocolate chip.”

“Pa-cakes?” he whispers with wide eyes. “Wow .”

“Rosie !” Archie calls. “Your phone! Why is the dean calling you?”

“What? The dean?”

He appears in the doorway, phone in his hand. “How’d you already get yourself in trouble? The school year hasn’t even started yet.”

I tear my phone away. “I never get in trouble.”

“Aw-chee! Pa-cakes?”

Archie swings Connor up into his arms. “Come on, little man. I made yours heart shaped.”

I wait for them to leave before answering the call. “Professor McKee? Hi.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Eva, Rosie? You know I don’t like last names and titles.”

“I’m sorry. I panicked.”

Eva laughs, and I sigh, the panic melting. Kinda. Sorta. Not really. Eva’s the kind of professor you hope to have. Approachable, kind. She makes it her mission to make everyone feel comfortable in her presence. But still, it’s August, she’s the dean, and she’s calling me. If that isn’t reason to panic, I don’t know what is.

“Any chance you can pop by my office today?”

“Oh.” I might vomit. “Yeah. Totally. I have my son today. He doesn’t go to his dad’s until later. Is that okay?”

Eva pauses, and the panic in my stomach knots, pulling taut. “It would be for the best if it were just you and I.”

Definitely going to vomit . “Am I…am I in trouble?”

“Of course you’re not in trouble, Rosie. What kind of trouble have you ever gotten yourself into?”

None, but that doesn’t mean bad things haven’t happened to me.

“We need to talk, that’s all. It would be best if you were able to give the conversation your full attention, and I know how challenging that can be when you’ve got a little one to keep your eye on.”

My eyes burn, and I swallow the urge to cry as I start mentally cataloging all the worst-case scenarios. “I’ll drop Connor at his dad’s and come by.”

“Great. I’m here until three. And Rosie, try not to worry.”

The thing about anxiety is that you have no control over it at all. Your brain senses a threat, and every alarm in your head starts sounding. The nerves in your body jump, and you’re left trying to fight the urge to get up and run while every worst-case scenario plays out in your head. Sometimes, what’s hardest to wrap my head around about anxiety is that it’s so damn easy for people without it to just let the thoughts roll off their back, all while I look like I’m losing my damn mind over something so pointless. Because it is pointless, isn’t it, to worry about something out of your control? I just wish my brain got the memo.

My nails bite into my palms to stop the slight tremor in my hands before I call Brandon. It goes to voice mail, and when I call a second time, he answers with a groan.

“I’m trying to sleep.”

“Sorry to wake you. Something’s come up. Can I drop Connor off a bit earlier today?”

“What? When?”

“One, maybe?”

Another groan. “He’s not supposed to come over ’til four thirty. The guys are coming over to watch the baseball game.”

I try to rub the headache from my eyes. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend to watch him?” His tone is sour, and I have no patience for it.

“Because you’re his fucking dad, Brandon, and frankly, I’m sick of you acting like you have better things to do than spend time with your son. Now can I drop him off early, or do I need to find someone else who cares about him?”

“Jesus, Ro, who shit in your coffee this morning?” He sighs, long and low, like he has to think about it. “Yeah, whatever. Drop him off, I guess. I’m not canceling my plans though.”

“Thank you, Brandon.”

“You owe me. You’re dropping him off three-and-a-half hours early, so you owe me those hours back.”

I hang up without a word, because I’m incredibly close to reaching my limit. I think I’m a pretty patient person, but Brandon has a way of testing every last one of my nerves when it comes to our son.

Connor wasn’t planned, I get it, but it’s been seventeen months and Brandon still acts like it’s a chore to father his child. It’s just another stressor today, and when I’m knocking on his condo door several hours later, I can’t help but want to wrap Connor in my arms and take him with me so I know he’s getting all the love he deserves.

Brandon opens the door, a beer in one hand, nacho chips in the other. “Hey,” he tosses out, his back already to us as he heads back to his living room where his friends are spread out on the furniture.

“No,” Connor whispers, staring up at me with wide eyes as I start taking his shoes off. “Mama, no.”

“You’re gonna hang out with Dada.” My smile is so fake it hurts. “Mama will see you tomorrow.”

“No.” He shakes his head, yanking at the hem of my dress. “No. Nooo !”

“Fuck,” Brandon mutters, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “Here we go. Starting already.”

My chest tightens, and when Connor stares up at me with tear-filled eyes, my eyes fill too. I take his sweet face in my hands, swiping at the silent tears as they fall. “I wish I could stay with you every single day, honey. That would make my mama heart so, so happy. You’re going to stay with Dada tonight, and Mama will be thinking about you. When I pick you up tomorrow, I’m going to give you the biggest hug ever so you can feel how much I missed you.”

Brandon leans against the wall, watching me with disinterest. “You think you’re gonna stop smothering him anytime soon? He doesn’t need you to explain every single thing to him like he’s a baby; he needs you to leave. He’ll forget about you as soon as you walk out the door.”

I have this thing about fighting with Brandon in front of Connor. Call it being a mature adult who wants to model respectful relationships, but I don’t think airing our grievances in front of our son is a particularly healthy display of communication. Needless to say, Brandon and I are not on the same page.

I’m also about two minutes from snapping and punching my son’s father square in his tiny, useless dick.

So I close my eyes and breathe, rubbing Connor’s arms. I take his hands in mine and smile, giving him a tender squeeze. “Mama loves you, and I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. I’m going to miss you, but I hope you have so much fun with Dada and his friends.”

“Dada,” Connor whispers, beautiful eyes searching mine as he points at the door. “Bear.”

I press my lips to his tiny pout and pull him into my arms, hugging him tight. “We can see them tomorrow,” I murmur against his ear, savoring the way his little warm body melts into mine. I manage one more squeeze before Brandon pulls him away, leading him into the living room.

“Hi,” Connor says to the three men lounging on the couch. He points to the Batman logo on his T-shirt. “Ba-man?”

Three gazes flick to his before moving back to the baseball game on TV, and my heart sinks.

Connor roots through a small basket of toys, pulling out a plastic cow. He displays it proudly, grinning widely. “Cow. Moo-moo !”

“They don’t wanna play,” Brandon tells him flatly.

Connor places his hand on his dad’s knee, holding his cow out to him. “Ee-ya, ee-ya, bo?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“E-I-E-I-O,” I clarify gently, remembering the patience Adam showed him, the way he worked so hard to figure out what Connor wanted, how he sang and danced with him all through his living room. “He wants you to sing ‘Old MacDonald’ with him.”

“No thanks.”

Connor’s face falls at the same rate my heart hits the floor.

Brandon picks him up and sets him down in the playpen in the corner of the room, emptying the basket of toys in there. “Here. Play in here.”

“Okay, well…” I swallow, wringing my hands. “Call me if you need me. Bye, baby. Bye, guys.”

While I’m waiting for the elevator in the hall, I root through my bag for my phone so I can tell Adam I’m heading to school. My hand brushes something furry, and I groan when I pull out Connor’s stuffed kitty. He’ll nap without his kitty, but he will not—no matter what —go to bed for the night without it.

I head back to Brandon’s, pushing the door open.

“She’s so fuckin’ weird,” someone says, and my feet stop.

“You’re telling me,” I hear Brandon mutter.

“A little overbearing, no?”

“Controlling as hell is what she is. Drives me up the fucking wall.”

Quiet laughter rings out as my chest heaves, my head dipping down. My hand trembles on the doorknob, the other one gripping the stuffed toy so tight.

“Can’t believe you had a kid with her.”

The words hurt, but not nearly as much as Brandon’s response.

“You think I chose this? Chose her ? She wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a casual fuck for a few weeks of summer fun. You know her parents died when she was a kid and nobody ever adopted her. Sometimes I think she poked a hole in the condom or something, just to get the family she wanted. Now I’m stuck with her forever. You think that’s what I want?”

My fingers dig into the stuffed animal, and I try to ground myself in the moment. Feel the softness of its fur, listen to the whir of the air conditioner, inhale the scent of the food spread out on the counters.

But it doesn’t work.

Instead, I hear the words in my head, again and again, like they’re etching themselves there for me to replay at my darkest moments.

You think I chose this? Chose her?

Nobody adopted her.

Now I’m stuck with her.

The words are sharp and vicious, a knife plunged deep and twisted so forcefully. The stuffie falls to the ground as my hand moves to catch the quiver of my chin, to stifle the wounded whimper dripping from my lips. I take a step back, and then another, watching the door slam in my face when I let it go.

I make it to the elevator before I start to crumble.

“Are you feeling okay, Rosie? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“I’m okay,” I lie, wringing my hands in my lap. They’re wet with sweat, shaking with the urge to fall apart. It took everything in me not to on the way here, not to give in to the gnawing compulsion to cry over a man whose words shouldn’t hold any weight at all.

Except in a few simple sentences, he touched on every one of my insecurities. He brought to life every fear I’ve spent years in therapy combating the legitimacies of, and validated all of them in one fell swoop.

“I didn’t sleep well last night. And I’ve got a bit of a headache.” I wave a flappy hand through the air. “This weather, I think.”

The look in Eva’s eyes says she’s not buying it. “How’s your summer been?”

“It’s, uh, it’s been great. Connor and I—” Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head. “Actually, could we not do this? I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m incredibly anxious about why you brought me in here. I’d rather get this over with so I can stop catastrophizing in my head.”

“I can certainly appreciate that. I didn’t mean to cause you anxiety over this, Rosie, but…well, look. To be honest with you, it’s not the best news, so in the spirit of getting this over with, I’ll just come right out and say it.” She rests her elbows on her desk, twisting a pen between her fingers as she watches me. She drops her gaze for only a moment, blowing out a sigh. “You’ve lost your scholarship.”

The half-assed grip I had on my bag fails, and it falls from my lap, the contents spilling out on the floor. “What ?” Eva rushes around the desk to help me. I hold my hand up, stopping her. “No. Stop.”

“Rosie,” she urges gently, watching me scramble to pick my things up, stuffing them in my bag. “Let me help you.”

“I’ve got it,” I snap, emotion bubbling in my throat. “What do you mean I lost my scholarship?”

“The donor felt you weren’t serious about your studies, and they wanted to go in a different direction.”

“Not serious ? But I-I…I’ve worked so hard for this!” I scramble to my feet, clutching my bag to my heaving chest. “I ace everything. I study so hard. I-I…I don’t have a life outside of school. I barely have any friends. I don’t go out, don’t party. School is my life .”

“You’re an excellent student, Rosie, and you have been since the moment you stepped foot inside this school.”

“Then help me understand,” I plead, my eyes burning with tears that want so desperately to fall. “What did I do wrong?”

Eva steps forward, taking my hand. “You’ve done nothing wrong, sweetheart. The donor’s values…it’s become clear they don’t align with yours.”

“What does that mean?”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, like she’s debating whether to tell me. Sighing, she guides me back to the chair. “They were disappointed to learn that you took an academic break.”

“An academic break? But I was on maternity leave. I was raising my son.”

“They felt that in choosing to take a maternity leave at such an important time in your academic life, you decided where your priorities lied.”

“We live in Canada.” I press my fingers against the headache forming in my temples. I can’t be hearing this right. “I’m entitled to a full year maternity leave.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m being penalized for making my son, my family , my priority?”

“Rosie, you’re not being penal—”

“I’m losing my scholarship!” Blood thunders in my ears as I jump to my feet. The room spins, the edges of my vision blurring. “How am I supposed to pay for school? Oh my God.” I spin away from her, trembling hand pressed to my mouth as my world starts collapsing around me, the weight of the realization hitting me right in the chest. “How am I supposed to pay for school?” I whisper. “I used the last of my inheritance to supplement my maternity leave for the last year. I’ve only been back to work for four months. And only part time. And I have daycare expenses. I-I…I don’t have enough saved up. Not even close.” A choked sob escapes my throat, and I slap my hand over my mouth as my stomach threatens to empty itself. “Oh God.”

A hand lands on my back, and though the touch is meant to be soothing, I feel no comfort.

“What are my options?”

Eva pauses. “I’ve looked into some additional funding, some bursaries, but, Rosie, this close to the school year starting…everything’s already been spoken for.”

I hug my bag to my chest, staring at the ground. “I deserve this,” I whisper. “I’ve earned it.”

“I’m not arguing that, but ultimately, it’s up to the donor.” She squeezes my shoulder. “You can take a year off. Work at the clinic and save up. The team is prepared to save your spot for next year. What’s another year?”

What’s another year? Another year means me working as much as I can, long days and nights so that I can cover my rent, pay for daycare, and somehow save enough money to cover the cost of vet school. It’s two more years at Archie’s and being the reason he and Marco can’t move in together, because I can’t afford to move out. It’s less time with my son, a mental battle I have to face for letting both of us down, putting our future on hold for another year.

Slipping my backpack onto my shoulder, I head for the door. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” I tell her quietly.

“Rosie—”

“It’s fine,” I lie. “I’m fine. Enjoy the rest of your summer.”

She watches me closely, and I see the anguish in her eyes. She hates that she has to do this, and I know it’s not her fault. But in this moment, I need to get away from her.

She finally nods, smiling faintly. “We’ll be in touch. Take care, Rosie.”

I rush through the hallways, bypassing the professors and few students roaming around. My throat burns, a tightness that squeezes like a vice. Everything feels blurry, confusing, a muddled mess I can’t see through. I burst through the front doors, stepping into the warm sunshine and fresh breeze, but it doesn’t help. It brings no clarity, and I hurry aimlessly across campus, unsure where I’m going, what I’m looking for.

I won’t find it here anyway, right? I don’t belong here. Not right now, at least.

I…I’m not sure I belong anywhere. And the realization is gutting, buckling my knees, threatening to wipe me off my feet, pull me to the ground.

But I make it to a bench before I fall apart.

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