There's No Coldness In California (Patrick Stump/FOB Imagine Short Story)

Part 11

"Pete, wait!" You exclaim, shooting up out of your seat and running out of the ice cream parlor. He stops in the middle of the parking lot, slowly turning around to face you. Before you can say what you want to, he cuts you off.

"What, (Y/N)?" He snaps, his anger not directed toward you, but Patrick, "You can't stop me from doing this. Patrick crossed the line and he needs to know what he did wrong."

"I know he does," You respond, "But I want to be the one to talk to him." Pete's furrowed eyebrows shrink back to their normal resting position, his anger fading away to be replaced with concern. You run a hand through your hair and heave a sigh. "Look, I appreciate everything you guys have done for me, and are offering to do for me and Gabby, but...this is something Patrick and I need to figure out. We've been together for six years, for crying out loud. If we can't deal with something like this...I mean, we have to. We have a family."

Pete approaches you, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you sure, (Y/N)?"

You nod your head. "Yeah. I just..." Your cheeks grow red. "Do you think you could keep Gabby out of the house for a little while? Until I call you or something?"

"Yeah, of course," He agrees with no hesitation, nodding his head and giving you a quick hug, "Tell me how it goes too."

You smile and hug him back. "I will."

*****

You pull your car into your home's driveway and turn the ignition over, the car's engine being cut and silence filling the small space. You look to the front porch and see Patrick perched on the steps, his hands clasped together and his elbows resting on the tops of his thighs. His head is turned in your direction, having snapped up from hanging low when he heard the car swing in. He rises to his feet as you open the car door, letting out a long breath and stepping out of the vehicle.

"(Y/N), you're home!" Patrick calls out to you, taking the two steps down to the sidewalk and waiting for you to approach him. A knot forms in the pit of your stomach as the distance between you and him shortens. "How was the dance class?" He inquires, as if he actually cares. He looks down to your side, noting yours and his daughter's absence, and - before you can reply - tacks on," Wait, where's Gabby?"

"She's with the guys," You answer him, an anxious tone to your voice as you nervously rub your upper arm.

"Why is she with the guys?"

"Because you and I need to talk, Patrick."

He swallows the lump in his throat before stammering, "I-I know we do."

You bite your lip and walk up the porch, escaping inside. Patrick trails after you, following you into the living room where you've sat down in one of the two arm chairs, making it impossible for your boyfriend to sit next to you, or anywhere close to you. He lowers himself into the arm chair across from you and leans back.

For the longest time, neither of you say anything. You just sit there in silence. The knot in your stomach keeps growing, the more and more you think about what you want to say to him. You can't organize your thoughts, every feeling you have and every word you want to say jumbled together in one big mess.

After a while, Patrick breaks the silence with an "I'm sorry," bringing your gaze that locked itself on the scrapbook on the coffee table that you, the guys, and Gabby worked on last summer to his. "(Y/N), I-I don't know what else to say. I fucked up, alright? I know what I did is wrong and-"

"Wrong?" You repeat, "No, Patrick, what you did is break my trust with you, and not just mine, but everyone else's too." You stand up so that you're standing over him. "I mean, I let you go to L.A. because you wanted to work on your solo career. Most girlfriends who just had their boyfriend's baby wouldn't even think about letting their boyfriend go all the way across the country on their own to do something like that, in fears they're not going to do what they said they were going to do." Before can Patrick can get any word in, you continue angrily, "I trusted you, Patrick! I trusted you and you took my trust, kicked it around, stretched it out, and then when you were done messing with it, tossed in the dumpster behind your high-end apartment, as if it meant nothing."

He chuckles in disbelief. "Is that what you think happened? That I went to L.A. just to cheat on you?"

"Well that's happened, did it not?"

"I didn't mean for it to happen!" He shouts back, jumping to his feet to make the playing field a little more level, "I didn't go to L.A. to fuck some other girl behind your back, or consider leaving you and our daughter back here so that I could keep seeing her out there-"

"Hold up," You interrupt, refusing him the privilege of explaining himself, "You were going to leave Gabby and me here, so you could keep fucking Miss Producer there?"

"Oh my god, (Y/N), no! You're not listening to me!"

"Yes I am! That's what you just said!"

"I was trying to give an example!"

The two of you are shouting at each other, passersby hearing your loud exchange and catching a glimpse of the two of you in the living room window.

"You know what, Patrick? Why don't you go back to California and your little whore? Because you and I...this clearly isn't working."

His eyes are wide and an expression of disbelief is plastered on his face. "What? What are you talking about? What do you mean it's not working?"

"I just can't stand you anymore, Patrick!" You cry, tears building up in your eyes, "You've completely changed!"

"Yeah? Well I could say the same about you!" He shoots back, trying to save himself from the sinking ship he's on, "A year ago, you used to love me; you used to care about me!"

"I still do!"

"You're such a fucking liar, (Y/N)! If you still loved me and cared about me, you wouldn't be telling me that you don't think things are working out anymore!"

"Because they're not, Patrick!" You shake you head and drops your hands that were entangled in your hair to yours sides. "For fuck's sake, are you blind or do you just not care to acknowledge the fact that things have changed? I hate to be the one to break it to you, but we didn't stop living our lives just to wait for you to come back. We moved on, and apparently so did you. So why don't you just go back to California with all your fake-ass friends and fake-ass life? I mean, since that seems like that's the only place you're actually wanted..."

He scoffs. "Fine, I will!"

"Good!"

"God, I can't believe I actually considered spending the rest of my life with you!" He shouts, making his way to the door.

"Right back at you!" You scream.

"Glad we're on the same page."

"Me too."

"Goodbye, (Y/N)," He murmurs, yanking the door open and slamming it behind him, leaving you alone and in tears.