twenty-eight | fool for you

PATRICK CARRIGAN HAD NEVER BEEN GHOSTED IN THE TRADITIONAL SENSE. Not to sound entirely egotistical but being ghosted just didn't seem to happen to guys like him, it normally worked the other way round. He'd deleted numbers thrust at him after one night stands with not a second thought, maybe this was his reckoning for indirectly breaking the hearts of many daughters. The gut wrenching feeling of going to double text her (something that was out of character for him already), only for it to not deliver. He'd stared at the little red exclamation mark, heart shattered on the floor beside him—not to sound melodramatic. She'd had him checking if he'd remembered to pay his phone bill, embarrassingly. Being ghosted sure was a humbling experience, even if he was still in the denial phase of the whole ordeal.

Patty had wandered Suncorp Stadium that weekend, a humongous pit forming deep in his toned stomach as he waited to run into her. He had a whole speech planned in his head for when he did, he'd been rehearsing it all week.

And yet, he never got his moment.

He'd done two huge laps of the stadium before the team meeting before the match, making sure to dawdle in all her usual spots. By the time he finally returned to the sheds to warm up with his team, he felt absolutely pathetic and confused. In the last five days he'd replayed their weekend together countless times as he lied awake in his bed, trying to pinpoint a moment where she'd decided against him yet again but he couldn't pick it. From the bathroom to the bedroom she had acted so into him it hurt to look back on. He even remembered her kissing him on her way out, promising to see him later that night. He'd gotten so used to a constant stream of messages from her, radio silence was throwing him off.

Every slam of the changing room doors had him looking up, expecting her and the camera girl, Korra, to come wandering in. He could count on both hands the amount of times he'd paused the bass filled music flowing from his AirPods, listening in on the conversation being had by the social media team. He hoped someone would drop some information on where the hell she was? Last he checked, it was her job to be here. Perhaps she was coming after? To get the scoop from the winning team (he was getting ahead of himself, bound to jinx the scoreboard). They'd won most the games she'd been to, maybe her boss didn't bother with losers?

It wasn't like him to be so hung up on a multi-night-stand. There'd been plenty of women in his life; faces blurred together by the sound of their moans and the way they pulled his hair. Models, influencers and so many women that—on paper—should've been more memorable and impactful. Yet it was her who he couldn't get out of his head—

"Mate, are you all good? You've caught like two of these," said Jordan Riki, eyeing his teammate with skepticism as he retrieved the Steedan that'd bounced across the room in a loud rubbery echo. The tattooed male ran his tongue across the top of his mouth, biting back the other questions he wanted to ask.

Patty ran a hand through his hair, trying to wipe away the endless stream of sweat. "Sorry, just got a lot on my mind," he muttered, straightening his back. "Go again," he ordered, nodding at the ball Jordan was holding hostage.

Jordan, still looking unconvinced, did as he was told and threw another hard pass at him as he practiced his footwork. He bit back a groan when Patty barely caught it, the egg-shaped ball ricocheting against his chest and forearm. "So, where'd you and Dionne end up after the party?" He asked after a moment, holding the ball hostage from him again as he allowed him to catch his breath.

Patty looked up at the knowing look his friend gave him, his stomach dropping. "It doesn't matter now," he said quietly, stretching his arms out.

"'Now'?" Jordan queried, raising an eyebrow before throwing the ball at him again. "Did something happen between you guys being all over each other on Blake's couch and now. . . ?" Patty looked away, watching the way Reece and Kotoni practiced tackling techniques to the right of them. He wondered if he could just ignore Jordan's prying questions long enough and he'd go away. He appreciated the care, truly, but he didn't want to talk about the humiliation now or ever. "Pat?" Jordan repeated, spewing the question out again as if he hadn't heard him the first time.

"Like I said," Patty huffed, knocking the ball from Jordan's hands, "it doesn't matter anymore. Throw me another one, my right leg feels a bit stiff."

The Maori rolled his eyes before faking a pass, making Patty glare at him. "Don't go into a game distracted," Jordan told him before throwing a real pass, "that's the last thing we need, skipper."

Patty suddenly felt guilty for being so preoccupied in his girl drama when there were real things he should be thinking about. Like the fact he was expected to captain the team for an unpredictable amount of time until their real captain, Adam Reynalds, was back from his near season-ending injury. The last thing the team could afford was their stand-in captain to be out of his mind all game. "Just stressed about not having Reno," Patty lied, hoping it would get Jordan off his back and Dionne out of his brain.

The number twelve didn't look convinced but didn't pry again, knowing better. "What's the worst that could happen?" Jordan joked, not knowing his words had sealed the outcome before they'd even walked onto the pitch that had been rained on all day.

As much as he'd tried to expel her from his mind all game, he'd failed miserably. And it showed in the way he played—according to their coach, Kevin Walters who'd let him hear about it at half time. And even after the brutal spray the team had received, morale had been too low to turn the game around in order to obtain the win.

And so, there he'd been sat, drenched in the water that'd washed away his sweat as he sipped on his XXXX can. The chatter of his teammates faded into the background, he was unable to focus on a single word anyone had said to him after the full time whistle had blown. He'd lost count of how many cans he'd consumed but slowly his mind was starting to feel lighter and his thoughts less coherent. Before he pulled his hoodie over his head, he downed the remnants of his can and turned to his teammates. "I'm going home," he said, voice slurring way more then he'd expected.

"Oh. . . Alright, mate?" Jesse eyed him, looking a little worried but he didn't voice what he was thinking. Deine clapped him on the back as he passed, making a comment about getting them next week with a clearer head. Patty had just nodded along absently.

Before he knew it, however, he was standing at the bottom of a familiar high rise building that overlooked the Brisbane river. Her address had been the last one entered into his Uber app, he must've forgotten to switch it out for his (no wonder it'd been so much cheaper then usual). He stared up at all the floors, trying not to allow himself to chicken out. His fingers found their way to the button that sent a noise up to her apartment.

"H—hello. . . ? Do you have the right apartment?" Came a crackling voice through the speaker, making his stomach do backflips at the familiarity.

"Dionne, it's Patty," he said, voice coming out in a messier slur then it had been when he'd left the stadium.

He heard her sigh. "Oh. . . Patty, you have to go—"

"Please just talk me, tell me what I did wrong," he pleaded, looking like an idiot begging into an answering machine.

"Patty, you did nothing wrong. . . it's complicated, okay? Please don't make this harder then it already is," she spoke, voice soft and tired.

He threw his hands in the air, looking around to see if there was a camera around and he was being pranked. He could understand what she meant. "What's complicated? A week ago everything was great. . . !"

"And now it's not. . . I need to get to bed, I have plans in the morning and you need to go," she replied and he could imagine the face she'd be wearing so vividly.

"Why weren't you at my game? I waited for you all night," he said, voice cracking.

"Patty. . ."

"Fine. I'll go," he huffed.

"You're drunk," she pointed out. 

"And you're being unreasonable," he retorted.

He didn't get a response from her a moment, making him think she'd left. He spammed the button before finally she said calmly, "I'm going now, goodnight Patty. Please go home."

He didn't leave right away, opting to sit at the stairs with his head in his hands as he contemplated every decision he'd made to end up here. Patty Carrigan didn't chase girls, let alone show up at their houses in the middle of the night. He wasn't some pathetic, tortured lead in a rom-com, he was a footy player who should have models chasing after him.

💌

💌 KARLA YAPS !

i took a day off because i went & got drunk instead. i don't really like this chapter but have it anyways lol. hopefully the next one will be more interesting. i kinda just want this story to be over already.