Unloved (Undone #2)

Epilogue Freddy

“You’re gonna be late.”

“I’m not gonna be late, Mrs. Shariff. I promise.”

“You are,” she moans, tinny through the speaker. “I can feel it.”

I quietly chuckle a little as I grab a program from the man at the door who eyes the phone at my ear like it’s some type of vermin I grabbed off the street.

“I’ve gotta go. I’m here.”

“Matt—”

“See! I told you I wouldn’t be late.”

She sighs heavily, her voice trembling slightly. “I feel like a horrible mother for not being there—”

“Hush with that,” I say. “You need to be there for Daniel. Besides, I’ll be sure to film the whole thing, okay?”

Daniel Shariff’s condition took a turn for the worse in the year after graduation, a second stroke leaving him nearly completely bedridden. I was in talks with a contractor on building them a one-story house closer to Dallas, but Daniel all but chewed my head off at the suggestion.

So we’re still negotiating.

Still, I know Ro’s mother and father both feel awful about missing out on her graduation today. Fortunately, it’s being livestreamed, and I spent most of last night’s flight home using the Wi-Fi to make sure they could find and load the page to watch.

“Okay, o?lum .” My son . She’s called me that since long before we married. “Call me after.”

I agree quickly before hanging up and switching my phone to Do Not Disturb. I spot Archer near the front, knowing he probably showed up as early as they’d let him to grab good seats. He waves to me using the soft, little baby hand currently grasped his wrist.

Shuffling into the center of the row, I smile warmly at the sight of Archer holding baby Elsie—the sweetest, most darling girl I’ve ever seen. The cutest baby in the entire world. If Ro would let me enter her in competitions, I’d have a trophy to prove it.

“How’s my girl?” I ask, taking her from him to rub my nose on her plump cheek, absorbing the new-baby smell.

“Excited to see her daddy.” Archer grins, petting her hair. He turns to the giant diaper bag he always totes around and pulls out a little beanie for her pretty curls. “But it’s freezing in here, so put this on her.”

Talk about a mama bear—that’s been Archer since the hospital.

Overcoming my fear of hospitals happens in seconds—which I think is normal when your wife goes into labor at midnight and waits until 2 a.m. to wake you up, because she’s worried about you getting enough sleep.

Terror really makes the body react.

Not a single bad memory can plague me when I’m too concerned over Rosalie’s cries of pain and the death grip she has on my hand.

Archer makes it there first. He paces around outside her room until I finally invite him in. It doesn’t matter that he’s been an important part of our lives for four years now. There’s still a slight hesitance to him every now and then, that same self-doubt that I’ve seen reflected in myself time and again.

We both wanted the same thing but feared the same outcome—acceptance and rejection.

“She’s beautiful,” he says, leaning over the bassinet by the bed. Ro smiles sleepily from the bed and looks at me.

We planned this, and Ro has made it clear that I’m the one who’s going to tell him.

“Her name is Elsie. Elsie Rose Shariff.”

Ro rolls her eyes at the middle name, but I’m beaming. Named my favorite girl after the two most important women in my life.

And she’s a Shariff. Like her mother. Like me, because I’d taken Ro’s last name after we married. My mom wasn’t a Fredderic. The only father figure I truly knew, Archer, wasn’t a Fredderic. I shed the last name with the haunted memories of my past. My Waterfell friends still call me Freddy, but to everyone else I’m Matt, Matty, or the Sheriff—my new team nickname.

Not to mention, wearing Ro’s last name on my back every game had become something of a bonus for me. It feels even better than seeing her in my jersey.

Tears wet Archer’s cheeks almost immediately, and I follow suit. Until we’re both staring across at each other, flicking our eyes to the sleeping baby girl and back, over and over, crying. There’s so much love in the room I feel like I might burst.

“Can I…” He clears his throat, voice thick. “Can I hold her?”

I nod and he sanitizes his hands before I lift my most precious possession into his arms. He holds her close, mesmerized as he looks down at her.

“Hi, Elsie,” he whispers. “I’m your uncle Archer.”

Ro clears her throat, and her eyebrows jump a little as she not-so-subtly gestures to him.

“Actually, about that,” I say, nerves rattling my voice. I lean a little more toward Ro for strength. “I want baby Elsie to know about her namesake, about Mom. And I want her to know how much you loved each other.” I clear my throat now, feeling almost sick at the mix of nerves and excitement. “You’ve always been a father to me, and I want her to know you as my dad—as her grandfather.”

He chokes out a sob with a swift nod. “I’m… God, kid. I’m honored.” His eyes immediately dart back to the baby in his arms, and he coos even softer now. “I’m your Grandpa Ace. And I love you very much.”

“Am I your second favorite now?” I laugh, massaging Ro’s shoulder.

Archer looks up at me with a blinding smile.

“No, Matty. You’ll always be my favorite kid.”

He’s nearly moved into our house now, a live-in nanny during the last months while Ro finished school and I traveled. Fortunately, baby Elsie came to us after my season ended—not making it past the first round of play-offs.

I commiserated with the guys, but I was thrilled to have that extra time with my wife and our new baby.

That, and I’d found a new hobby—home videos.

Ro cried nearly every night of her fourth year, deep into the research for her dissertation and constantly feeling like she was missing something every time she stepped out the door for school.

So I started videoing everything Elsie and I did—Archer, too—in hopes that Ro never felt like she missed a second. I really put my off-season time to good use.

They read off the names rather quickly before Archer leans over with a quick, “She’s next.” He takes Elsie from me so I can film just off stage where I can see Ro, green high heels the only pop of color—other than the numerous cords decking her black robe.

“Dr. Rosalie Shariff!”

“That’s my wife!” I shout, hand cupped to project my voice. Archer bounces Elsie up so she can see her mom. She coos and giggles, clapping her little hands together. I film one handed and shoot a thumbs-up to Ro as her professor settles the hood on her shoulders. It jostles the funky cap nearly off her head, but Ro puts a hand on the cap to hold it and returns my thumbs-up with one of her own.

Her smile is dazzling.

My cheeks feel wet, tears tracking across as I watch her. She waves to us again, and I look at Archer, realizing he’s crying, too.

I’ve never been so proud in my entire life.

I love you , I mouth. We’re close enough for her to see it and she blows me a kiss and mouths the words back.

These girls—this family we’ve made. This is what I was made for—for loving them, protecting them all.

I know my mom is gone. But she is here, in me. In my softness with Ro. In Archer’s love of me. In Elsie’s vibrant green eyes. I can feel her everywhere, even when I’m not looking for her.