7. 7

Chris arrived at the stadium late the day after Joq stopped replying. He was just going to check in, make sure he was alright, see if maybe his phone was broken.

He knew his phone wasn't broken. He knew he needed to take the hint.

There was a lady in the ticket booth, eyes fixed on a computer screen. Chris could hear the roaring from the crowd inside and didn't understand how people got so excited over people they didn't know doing things.

He arrived at the front of the plexiglass. The woman didn't look up. He tapped on it.

"Hello?"

She spun to face him and scooted her chair over.

"Can I help you?"

"I'd like a ticket please."

She looked at him like he was insane. "It's a sell-out. It's almost over."

"It sold out?"

"A month ago," she continued like he truly was crazy.

He didn't get it, but he just needed to get in there, find a security guard and get them to call Joq.

"I'll be back," he told her.

"Uh, okay?"

He took a few steps away and called Brendan.

It was about to ring out when Brendan's muffled, "Yeah? Everything alright?" came down the line.

"Were you asleep? Sorry," Chris said, eyes up on the expanse of concrete, the night lights.

"Must've fallen asleep, all good, you alright?"

"Yeah, fine. Do we have a box at the stadium?"

"Yeah, course. What do you want to go to?"

"The football."

Brendan yawned, there was rustling like he was moving to get up. "Hang on," he said and Chris heard his muffled "It's Chris," to Tegan before he came back on the line. "I need to get my laptop. I think it's booked out, but of course you can use it. Hold up, did you say football?"

"Yeah, tonight's game."

"You want to go to the football. Tonight," he was walking as he talked, and he sounded a lot more awake.

"Yeah, I'm here now, but they say it's sold out."

"Yeah, ‘cos it's the bloody finals. Why do you want to go?"

Chris ran a hand through his hair and turned back to the building. He looked at the enormous flags with players on them. "I want to see Sydney play," he glanced around. "Sydney? Sydney have two teams?"

"Sydney proper and Western Sydney," Brendan replied. "And it's not Sydney versus Western Sydney tonight, it's Melbourne. And you want to see them play? It's over isn't it?"

There was another thunderous roar from the building.

"Not yet. Can you send me a ticket?"

"You don't need a ticket. You own the bloody box, just tell them who you are, show your license and they'll—"

"Awesome, thanks."

"But why do you—"

Chris hung up.

He went back to the booth. Tapped on the plexiglass.

The woman dragged herself over to him slowly, her expression caught between confused and annoyed.

"Yeah?"

"I'm Christopher McLachlan," he said as he pulled out his driver's license and slid it over, "owner of the McLachlan Group box and I'd like to go up. Please."

She looked at it, forehead creasing. "Hang on," she said and slid over to grab a radio.

A few minutes later, she rolled back, smiled and told him to go right on in, that gate, yes, it'd be open, and then explained, a lot bewildered when he asked, where his box actually was.

Chris went in, the expansive concrete halls empty and cool, and made his way to the stairs and followed the directions until he was outside his box. A security guard was manning it. Perfect.

He introduced himself, showed his ID, and the burly, soft-spoken Maori hunched down to listen over the noise from the crowd, nodded his head and opened the door wide so Chris could go in.

"Actually," Chris took a deep breath. "I'd like to see Joaquin, Head of Security, can you get him for me?"

The guy looked around, alarmed. "Did something happen?"

"No, no, nothing like that. Joaquin and I are," he tried to think of the word, "friends."

The guy relaxed. "If you're friends, why don't you just call him yourself?"

"I tried, it would seem his phone is dead," Chris replied. He'd prepared for this.

"Hmm," the guy said and pulled his radio out. He gestured to the camera in a corner with his radio. "Look up there, he'll see you."

Chris followed where he indicated, looked up, and hoped he looked normal. He felt like a bug on display that Joaquin could crush with a word.

"Boss, camera four. You know this dude?"

Chris swallowed, waited.

The radio crackled to life.

"Boss called it, he ain't here," a voice very much not Joq came down the line.

The guy turned to him. "He's not here."

Chris deflated. He didn't realise he'd been so tense until the energy sagged out of him.

"Will he be here tomorrow? Is there a game tomorrow?"

"I reckon, but he'll probably charge his phone by then," the guy replied.

"Right," Chris said. But he wouldn't answer it if Chris called.

"You wanna go in," the guy held the door open.

Chris glanced around at the bar, the buffet, all the men in suits holding drinks, felt accosted by the noise and drunken language.

"No, thank you," he said and tucked his hands in his pockets. "I'll just," he jerked his chin behind him.

"Course, nice to meet you, Mr McLachlan, good luck with the boss," he smiled like he meant it and for some reason, it made Chris feel worse.

"Thank you," he replied anyway, "and call me Chris."

"Chris," the guy nodded.

"Right, bye," he said and turned around, headed back for the stairs.

As he stepped out onto the empty concourse, he wondered what to do with himself. Joq was clearly fine, at least he'd managed to glean that much—he'd been to work that evening and already left for the night.

Which meant he wasn't replying on purpose.

Chris needed to take the hint.

He strolled back over the bridge, preoccupied by what he'd done wrong. Everything seemed fine. He'd kissed Joq goodbye before he left his apartment to rush off to the board meeting the day before, his suit hastily thrown over a quick spray of Joq's deodorant. Joq had kissed him back so deeply, Chris had ended up straddling him on the couch again before he had to pull away or he'd have been even later.

The streets were busy and as he meandered in and out of the throngs of people towards the garage where he parked his car, he thought nothing about that sent the message that they were over.

By the time he got to his car, he was decided.

After knocking on Joq's door for a third time, he had to concede he wasn't there. But Chris already knew that. The place was dark and it felt empty.

He thought about staying but then he imagined Joq turning up with another guy in tow. Chris felt all the life drain from him at the thought. What had Joq said—‘It's not like I can't bring hook-ups home anymore'—and maybe that'd been a revelation for him?

They weren't together, so what was stopping him doing it now?

Chris couldn't stay for that.

He left, his dress shoes clicking loudly on the concrete steps, and felt a pang of jealousy and hurt shoot through him unlike anything he'd ever experienced.