Unravel Me (Playing For Keeps Book 3)
Unravel Me: Chapter 24

I’m certain these hands have never felt something so soft as these waves, fine blond wisps scattered across Connor’s forehead. They’re perfect in every way, this sign of innocence I hope never fades away.

I run my fingers through the wisps, brushing them off his temple, sweeping my thumb over the apple of his cheek, where it’s just as soft as his hair.

And yet, I can’t help but remember the roughness of Adam’s calloused palms as they grip mine, the way they scrape down my sides, grab my hips, and pull me against him. They’re soft in a different way, drifting down the curve of my spine while I lie wrapped up in him, twining through my hair, the pad of his thumb running over the dimple in my chin before he presses his lips to mine.

And I miss him. Miss the way he makes me feel so savagely needed while so utterly treasured with the simple sweep of his gaze over my body, the touch of his hands. So passionately loved with the quiet, sure words he presses against my ear.

He’s everything soft and gentle, greedy in only the warmest way. A man who’s happy with everything he has, yet insatiable, a feral need to keep his happiness tight within his grasp, unwilling to let it stray.

I saw it last week in his gaze, the reluctance to give me what I needed. Time to think, space to breathe. He didn’t want to give it to me, but like he said then, he’d give me anything I asked for.

But all I’ve ever asked for is him.

I’ve spent this past week searching for clarity, but I’m not sure my brain has gotten any less foggy.

One part of the why is clear. It’s written in every headline that mentions Adam’s superstar status as a goalie in the NHL, how much money he’s worth. Every headline that violates his right to privacy when it posts a picture of him and his ex-girlfriend, speculates the reason of their breakup, the unwanted pictures of him on date after date, wondering which girl will be the lucky one to finally nail down the NHL’s most desirable and available heartthrob. It’s clear Adam had a difficult time knowing which relationships were genuine and which were self-serving, and I can’t imagine how challenging that would be to navigate with the severe lack of privacy this man has.

But the other part of the why , the part that lied to me, it wonders why, after all the time spent together, learning each other, loving on each other, he still didn’t feel safe enough with me to trust me. To choose me to share all of himself with.

All the horrible insecurities I’ve spent years fighting try to claw through my mind, and at the forefront is that I’ve never been anyone’s first choice. That not a single person has looked at me and seen the possibility of forever, a certain permanence that comes with a chosen family, an unconditional love I’ve spent my life chasing.

Deceit doesn’t speak of permanence. Beyond the intentional pain inflicted by the twist of the knife lodged in your back, is the emotional turmoil of being only a fleeting moment in someone’s life. Because lies are never forever, and I can’t understand the point of them with someone you intend to keep in your life.

Despite the fears that have sunk their teeth into my bones over the years, I pride myself on never having given up hope on finding my people. It’s not always benefited me, like the time I spent trying to force something to work with Brandon just to be a family. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about putting myself in a position where I’m repeating history. There’s not an inch of me that has ever been worried about that with Adam.

Until last week, when the life he’d been hiding from me was thrust in my face.

“Rosie?”

My gaze snaps to Eva, waiting in the doorway to her office. Her smile is easy; I wish I could appreciate it more.

“Thanks so much for coming in again last minute.” She waves me inside, pouting at Connor as I carry him past her. “Sleeping?”

“We spent the morning at the park, and one of the day camps was going on a trip, so Connor wanted to watch all the buses drive off.” I don’t tell her that he asked for Dada and Bear twenty times over after he found Adam’s hat in my bag. I don’t tell her that he put the baseball cap on his head and toddled around saying Dada hat. And I don’t tell her that when Connor took his first bite of his peanut butter and banana sandwich, then held it up and asked for Dada again, wanting to share his sandwich with him like he always does, the first tear broke free.

“Sounds like a fun day so far.”

Thrilling.

At least there’s no mascara left on my lashes for when I cry again at the reminder Eva’s about to give me about my future being delayed another year. Hell, maybe she’ll tell me they can’t hold my spot anymore, not two years in a row. To figure it out and get the money together in four days so I can start next week, or give up my spot in the program altogether.

I’m going through a bit of a pessimistic period right now, if you can believe it, so when Eva called this morning and asked me to come in for another chat, I was pretty much resigned to being kicked out.

“You don’t already have all your textbooks and materials for this year, do you?” she asks, sitting on the edge of her desk, gesturing to the chair across from her.

Connor stirs when I sit, tucking his face into my neck and stuffing his thumb in his mouth.

“I’ve been buying the materials one at a time to make it more affordable.” I press my lips to Connor’s hair, my knee bouncing. “I could probably sell them, though. I’m sure there’s a student who hasn’t purchased yet. It’s no big deal.”

“Rosie, what are you talking about?”

“I can’t afford to pay my tuition this year without my scholarship. Isn’t that why I’m here? You’re going to tell me they won’t save my spot for me anymore? That I have to pay and attend this year or leave forever?”

She stares at me for a long moment, and when she finally laughs, I don’t know whether to laugh, too, or cry. I have no idea what’s going on in my life anymore, but it feels like it’s unraveling before my eyes.

“Rosie, you’re our top student. We recognize how damn hard you’ve been working over the years, and the veterinarian world would be taking a huge hit losing you before you’ve even gotten the chance to get started. We are so proud of everything you’ve accomplished. You’re an incredible student, an eager learner, and a dedicated mama. We’re so lucky to have you.”

“Oh. Uh…” Heat crawls up my neck, prickling my cheeks. “Thank you. It’s really nice to hear that. To be recognized.”

“You must realize how much you bring to the table, no?”

“It’s hard to see what you bring to the table when no one sits down at it with you.”

“Here’s the thing, Rosie. You don’t need anyone to sit at the table with you. You need to be happy sitting there with yourself. That’s the only way you’ll ever understand and treasure your own worth.”

I catch the tear as soon as it sneaks out of my eye. My gaze falls to the little boy in my arms, the only person who thinks the world of me. But maybe he’s the only one that matters.

“Well…” Eva walks around her desk, sinking down to the chair behind it. “I’m glad to hear you have all your materials together. I’d hate to have you scrambling just four days before classes start.”

“Pardon?”

“And I do hope you’ll find your worth this year. I’m sure you will, at the very least here in the classroom.”

My pulse thunders in my ears. “I’m confused and emotional because, quite frankly, this has been a shit week. So I’m going to need you to put me out of my misery and tell me what you’re speaking in code about.”

She chuckles softly. “A gentleman stopped by my office yesterday, wanting to set up a new annual scholarship fund for our veterinarian students. Outlined all the qualities he’d like to see in the recipients, not just as students but as real people. Someone dedicated to their family, someone who prioritizes the things that really matter, someone caring and compassionate who’s committed to helping animals. Someone who sounds a lot like you, Rosie.”

“Who?” I ask, the single word breathless as my chest heaves, my eyes prickling with tears. “Who’s the donor?”

“He wishes to remain anonymous.”

“Eva, I can’t—”

“You can, Rosie. You can accept this for exactly what it is: someone who wants to see you succeed in all your dreams, because you deserve it.”

My chin quivers. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying go home and get some rest this weekend, Rosie, because you’ve got a wild year ahead of you. You’re the first recipient of the Stardust Lane Scholarship.”

It’s hard enough to wrap my head around being gifted a scholarship at the last minute, allowing me to finish my schooling when I’d just about given up hope. But hearing the name of the scholarship is what brings the tears streaming down my face.

Because Stardust Lane? That’s the name of the street I grew up on.

The last time I was home with my parents.

“Gastric what?”

“Gastric dilatation and volvulus,” I repeat to the woman standing before me, one hand clutching her purse strap, the other laid protectively over her dog’s stomach. “It’s when a dog’s stomach fills with gas and bloats, or what we call gastric dilatation. It progresses into a volvulus when the bloated stomach twists, blocking the entrance and exit of the stomach.”

“And Pepper…she needs surgery? There’s no other way?”

“GDV requires surgery to correct.”

“And it will? The surgery will work, and Pepper will be okay?”

I look down at the beautiful, docile St. Bernard on the examination table, the pink bow she wears on her collar. Big brown eyes stare back at me, and I wish I could lie. “Surgery is not a guarantee.”

“What’s the mortality rate?”

“The survival rate—”

“I asked for the mortality rate, not the survival rate. I want to know what the chances are that my dog dies if I let you put her on that table.”

I clench my fists in an attempt to still the violent tremor in my hands. “In uncomplicated cases, the mortality rate is about fifteen to twenty percent. Depending on how long the stomach has been twisted and whether other issues are present during surgery, the mortality rate can jump as high as thirty-eight percent.”

She nods, staring at her dog. “I need some time to decide. Maybe I’ll bring Pepper home, and we’ll see how she does over the weekend.”

“Mrs. Greene, with all due respect, GDV is a life-threatening emergency and requires immediate intervention. It’s crucial we relieve the pressure on Pepper’s internal organs as soon as possible.”

Her eyes pool with tears, and she looks to Dr. Holmes at my side, like my professor might tell her I’m wrong.

“Rosie is correct,” she says simply. “And the longer a dog goes without treatment, the higher the mortality rates are. Untreated, a dog with GDV will die. Is surgery a guarantee? No. But we can guarantee we will do everything in our power to help your girl. Your other option is euthan—”

“No. I won’t consider that.” Tears slide down her cheeks, and I fight to keep myself in check, biting my tongue to draw the pain out of my chest as Mrs. Greene stares down at her best friend. “I don’t understand how this happened.”

“There isn’t any rhyme or reason,” I tell her gently. “It does tend to favor bigger dogs, like Pepper, but it can happen to any dog.”

She wipes at her tears. “Can I have a few minutes alone with her?”

“Of course. We’ll start prepping for surgery.”

Dr. Holmes follows me into the operating room, watching as I organize the required instruments. “Is this how you imagined finishing off your first week of fourth year?” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Prepping for surgery? I’d hoped so, honestly. I’ve been so eager to be on this side of the glass. But for GDV?” I think about Pepper, unconscious in her mom’s SUV when she rolled up here, how Mrs. Greene said she was sick all morning. “No, this isn’t how I imagined finishing this week.”

But truthfully, it’s on par with how it’s been going. There was no easing into the year. We jumped right into the emergency setting at the campus clinic, and there hasn’t been a quiet moment since. I’m exhausted, barely keeping my emotions in check, and last night I passed out on my bed with my shoes still on and my dinner—an apple—half-eaten in my hand. I’m beyond grateful to be here, but I can’t wait for a break.

Dr. Holmes hands me Pepper’s chart as she’s rolled into the room. “Can you tell us about Pepper before we get started?”

I smile down at the sweet, gorgeous girl as she stares up at me. “Hi, sweetheart,” I murmur, stroking the brown spot between her eyes. “Pepper is a three-year-old, one-hundred-and-twenty-seven-pound St. Bernard. Her mom reported that she didn’t seem well earlier this morning. She didn’t eat breakfast, was quiet and lethargic, and was favoring her bed, all of which are unusual for Pepper. Mom brought her in when she collapsed trying to walk to her water dish.” I smooth my hand over her ears, giving her a scritch. “And she’s got the most gorgeous brown eyes.”

“She certainly does, doesn’t she?” Dr. Holmes fixes her mask over her mouth and pulls on her gloves. “All right, let’s make sure we keep Pepper comfortable, and let’s get started.”

I don’t release Pepper’s paw from my hand. Not when we put her under anesthesia, and not when I hand Dr. Holmes the scalpel so she can make the first cut into her abdomen. I don’t let go when her stomach suddenly ruptures before surgery can even really begin, and I don’t let go when the energy in the room becomes frantic as Dr. Holmes works as fast as she can, does everything in her power to save her.

I don’t let go, even as I watch her pulse drop lower and lower, until she flatlines right there on the table in front of me, her paw still warm in my grasp.

I don’t let go when Dr. Holmes touches my shoulder, tells me this is the toughest part of the job and she’s sorry I had to see it so quickly.

I don’t let go until the room empties, until it’s time for the moment I dread, something I’ve spent these years hoping I’d somehow never have to do.

“Does it ever get easier?” I ask on a whisper, peeking at Pepper’s mom through the small window in the door.

Dr. Holmes hesitates. “Never.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Rosie.” She catches my arm, stopping me before I can open the door. “You did great today. You were thorough and quick with your assessment of Pepper earlier, allowing us to get her onto that table as quick as we did, even if we were still too late. Give yourself some grace. We need to keep our emotions in check here, yes, but I don’t need you to be a robot. If you need to cry after this, scream, swear…give yourself the grace to feel what you need to feel. I find we can’t move on until we do.”

I nod, and before I lose my nerve, I push through the door.

Mrs. Greene jumps to her feet, wringing her hands. “That was fast. You said it would be longer.” She smiles, but it’s shaky. “Is that a good thing?”

I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be responsible for breaking her heart, for telling her that her best friend isn’t going home tonight, that she won’t be curled up at her feet, or resting her head in her lap.

I clear my throat and step toward her. “Mrs. Greene—”

Her breath hitches, and she presses her hand to her throat, stepping back. “No.”

Everything pulls taut, so tight I feel like something has to snap. There’s a lump in my throat making it harder and harder to breathe. “Pepper’s GDV was extensive and advanced. Her stomach ruptured from the pressure shortly after we began, and we were not able to save her.”

My eyes burn as I watch hers fill with tears, spilling relentlessly down her face. I blink my own away, press my lips together to stop the sob that wants to escape.

“She was not in pain when she went. We made sure she was comfortable and loved. She was not alone.” My voice breaks on the last word, and I feel a gentle touch on my shoulder.

“Rosie held Pepper’s hand all the way through,” Dr. Holmes tells Mrs. Greene. “We know this is a lot to process. Would you like a moment alone, or would you like a shoulder?”

“I…” She sinks down to her seat. “I don’t…but Pepper…she was fine last night. Just last night she was fine.” Her gaze is lost, fixated on the floor, but I’d bet she’s not seeing a damn thing. Her eyes start roaming, bouncing around the room, like they’re making sense of the news.

Like she’s realizing she just lost her best friend.

I do fine. I swear I’m doing fine, even as her chest starts heaving. But when her face crumples, when a sob breaks free and she collapses into herself, burying her shaking hands in her hair and crying out for her dog, something inside me shatters. I clutch at my chest, trying to claw the pain right out of there, and Dr. Holmes whispers a simple, “Go,” in my ear before she takes a seat next to Mrs. Greene.

And I go. I throw my clipboard down at the doctor’s station and burst through the double doors leading to the reception area. I rush past the stares and out the front door, into the warm September afternoon, and I run.

I run across campus, until I wind up at the same bench I fell apart at two weeks ago, when Adam found me here after I lost my scholarship.

And I do the same thing I did then.

I don’t want to, but I give in to the pain, burying my face in my shaking hands and letting it go.

Like I did right here on this bench in the safety of the arms of someone I loved and trusted, I fall apart.

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