Harrison: Oh, absolutely, but you’re the main event, daddio. Keep digging.
Sebastian: How do you all know more about my life than I do?
I toss my phone onto the counter and rub a hand down my face, half-laughing, half-dreading whatever the hell this chat’s going to become.Grovelling. Christ. Apparently, I’m the onlyone in this group who didn’t know what that meant. Humbled doesn’t even cover it. Guess it just proves what I already know—I might know how to make a woman come, but I clearly don’t know shit about keeping one. I grab my keys off the bench, still shaking my head, muttering under my breath as I head out. “Brotherhood, my ass.” The boys’ messages keep pinging as I climb into my ute, lighting up my screen like a bloody Christmas tree.
Xavier: Women talk.
Harrison: And we listen.
Michael: Against our will, mostly.
Harrison:You’re in the new headline … “Local Cop Wrecks Own Love Life.”
Me:You’re all dicks. You don’t know anything.
Harrison:Correction… SUPPORTIVE dicks. And we know everything.
Michael: Why are we talking about dicks? I really don’t blame Brad for leaving.
Me:I’m muting this chat now.
Xavier:Coward.
Harrison:Typical groveller behaviour.
Michael:Don’t worry, mate, we’ll check in daily. For moral support.
I’m mid-stirring pasta when my phone buzzes across the counter, still flashing with the aftermath ofThe Wattle Creek Idiotsgroup chat. The sauce bubbles lazily in the pan, filling the kitchen with a smell that should feel comforting, but it doesn’t. Not without her. Still, Teddy asked for it, so here I am, boiling spaghetti and pretending I know what the hell I’m doing when suddenly there’s a knock at the door. I wipe my hands on a tea towel and open it, only to find the last person I expected.
Bradley Mitchell. Beers in hand.
I arch a brow. “You’re not here to threaten me, are you?”
He smirks as he steps inside. “If I were, I wouldn’t be bringing beer.”
I follow him through, watching him nod a greeting toward Teddy, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, Lego scattered around him whileBlueyhums in the background. Bradley sets the beers down with a dull thud on the table. I give the pasta one last stir, kill the heat, and lean on the counter for a second.
Bradley cracks a beer, slides one my way, and takes a seat at the table. I join him, glancing at Teddy once more—his curls bouncing as he talks to himself, half in his own world.
“I know I said it before,” Bradley finally starts, “but thank you. For all that you did with my father.”
I shrug, cracking open my beer. “Would’ve done the same if it were anyone else. But… seeing him like that, your dad, fuck, it gutted me.” My throat tightens around the words. “It felt like seeing family go down.”
Bradley studies me for a moment, then nods once. That’s all he says, but it’s enough. My phone buzzes across the table.The Wattle Creek Idiotslighting up again. The group chat hasn’t stopped since morning.
Bradley glances at my screen, a corner of his mouth twitching. “Glad I left when I did.”
“Oh, it’s mental,” I say, taking a long drink. “They haven’t shut up all day.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ll come to realise that plenty of people will have alotto say about your life. Especially in a small town like this.”
I huff a laugh. “Well, if that ain’t the truth. I’m bloody sick of people knowing more about my life than I do. About what I should be doing.”
Bradley hums, eyes fixed on his bottle. “You’ve never really been a private person.” He pauses, thinking. “Well… that was until Teddy came into your life. Then those walls shot straight up.”
Pride prickles in my chest because no one likes being seen that clearly. But underneath it, there’s something heavier. I could argue, deflect, but he’s right. We both know it.
“Yeah,” I say after a beat. “And now apparently, my love… life, and my fuckups, are the new entertainment.” I shake my head. “Love.” The word tastes foreign. I mutter it again, quieter this time, mostly to myself as if it’ll make me believe in it. The room goes quiet again. Even Bluey’s laughter in the background fadesto white noise. The clock ticks, and the wind hums through the open window.
