“It’s very fucking cute you’re defending me,” he said, kissing her. “Very girlfriend-like.”
“Don’t try to distract me. Your brothers aren’t better than you.”
“Yeah, but they were. For a long time actually. I was pretty short when I was a kid, and my kicking was shit, and my grades were average, and then…”
“And then…?”
“I grew six inches when I was sixteen,” he said, tasting the memories. “I wasn’t just tall, I was big. Like I put on weight and my shoulders went wide. My coach did a couple of one-on-ones, helped me with my kicking, and suddenly, I was front and centre with footy.”
“You came into your own.”
“No.” He could see himself so clearly, all knees and elbows and acne. “I got pushed to the front. Suddenly my parents were taking me to clinics and getting told I was gonna be someone. Girls started to like me and everyone who called me ‘Baby Normal’ started calling me Patty. But the lights were really bright out there, you know? I never got used to it. I still don’t think I’m used to it. Even at the Sharks, I had Willow and Derek and John Yarding to take charge and tell me what to do. I’m not a leader. I’ve never been a leader. So how am I supposed to be captain?”
He glanced at Cheryl and the concern on her face made him feel like shit. Here he was with the girl of his dreams, the woman with the sick mum, and he was complaining about football. “Sorry. This isn’t a big deal.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t be mean to yourself. So, what were your brothers like when you got good at football? Were they assholes?”
“Nah. They gave me shit sometimes, but you could tell they were happy for me.” Something inside him whispered a contradiction.
“Maybe they were a bit jealous,” he said. “They downplayed it a lot. Acted like it was just luck. And I let them because…”
“Because?”
“I dunno.”
Cheryl smiled sadly. “Do you want my pop psychology take?”
“Sure.”
“You didn’t want to be better than them,” she said quietly. “Outshining them would mean stepping outside of the whole ‘Youngest,’ ‘baby of the family’ thing and you knew no one wanted that. So, you hid it. Just like you’re hiding from having to be a captain. Not because you wouldn’t be great, but because you’d be so fucking great.”
‘That doesn’t make sense, KitKa—”
“It does,” she interrupted. “You’re scared of being great. You’re scared of what your brothers would say and how they’d make you feel like you didn’t really earn it.”
Cheryl’s words slipped into his chest, between the ribs. She was telling the truth. He knew that to his bones. “Yeah, maybe…”
“You know what I think?”
“What?”
“Fuck them. Your brothers can work nine to fives, and slow roast brisket on the weekend, and bitch about you playing AFL. Let them. You don’t owe them anything. You don’t owe your parents either. Maybe you are better than everyone else, Patrick. Maybe you’re smarter and nicer and braver and more qualified than anyone on the Sharks and anyone from your family. You’re a superstar and you owe it to yourself to shine.”
Patrick lay flat on the bed and smiled. He felt like he was floating in a zero-gravity tank full of champagne and more MDMA and pictures of Cheryl’s ass. “Thanks, KitKat.”
“Anytime, Patty-Bear.”
He sat up and with a surge of happiness, pulled off his hoodie. He didn’t want to talk anymore. Not now she’d said that. And not when his cock was suddenly throbbing. Maybe he was vain, but Cheryl calling him a superstar had really got him going.
She eyed his naked chest. “You’re also so much hotter than your brothers.”
He climbed on top of her. “Stop talking about my brothers.”
“Or what?”
He buried his face in her neck. “I’ll rail you so good they hear you screaming back in Rockingham.”
She giggled. “I don’t think I can have sex. I’m too… delicate right now. Can I just do something to you?”
