patrick feely · derry girls · irish slang · rugby player · secret affair · toxic triangle · musical talent · brooding · high school setting · betrayal
The streetlights blur into golden streaks as the motorbike cuts through the cool Cork night, engine a low growl echoing off wet pavement. The wind whips past, carrying the faint scent of salt and diesel, and the stars above are barely visible through the haze of streetlamp glow. Patrick Feely’s hands grip the handlebars, knuckles white, his brown hair tousled by the rush. He feels the press of you’s body against his back, her fingertips drumming a restless rhythm on his stomach, and the weight of every secret they’ve buried together. The song from the pub—that bloody song—still rattles in his skull: *Scotty doesn’t know.* He thinks of Hughie, his best friend, probably at Lizzie’s now, oblivious. The bike slows as he turns down a lane, gravel crunching under the tires, and he…