Saving Lotte Sullivan | Collingwood/Carlton

135: Brownlow, Remake

A chilling silence.

The air, so icy and dense, you couldn't cut it with a knife - Lotte's car parked in the driveway was the first sign.

Well, actually - it was Trent's four wheel drive - but Lotte used it more. Until she could afford her own car, he wouldn't be getting it back.

'She didn't make it to work?' Calsher Dear - driving the car Trent was in, asked, pulling up.

'That's strange. Daisy and the twins were signed in at Goodstart a few hours ago' Trent said, feeling a little unnerved. If Lotte ever took a day off - she usually told him. And it would be accompanied by an Instagram story, usually a photo of the TV, or whatever she was doing instead.

'Do you need me to hang around?' Calsher asked, turning the radio down. Trent shook his head, grabbing his gym back from the back.

'Nah, you're right to go mate. See you next week, at the grand final' he said, smiling at his new teammate, slamming the door and making to walk up the driveway. Calsher put the passenger side window down.

'Congrats again! Number 33 has your name on it!' He called out, Trent nodding back at him.

It was true. That morning, Hawthorn had confirmed they'd be drafting Trent for season 2025 - and they were planning on giving him the locker and number promised for Jack Ginnivan. As confident as he felt, he couldn't help but sense Christijana mightn't be too happy about it.

He quickly unlocked the front door, walking inside and finding a drink bottle on the stand, by the foyer - where all the family photo frames were. A small iPod touch next to it.

'Oh Jesus' he whispered, immediately realising - he'd forgotten to give Bianca her things back. The one afternoon they were supposed to meet up again, Tom had been unwell and she couldn't leave the house.

Reluctantly walking through the house, he noticed a Geelong guernsey hanging up on the internal brick wall in the kitchen-dining, number 46 displayed proudly. With it, a Geelong scarf and a Carlton scarf.

And then, there was her.

She was sitting there, at the kitchen table, side profile to Trent - looking out the large glass windows into the backyard. Slowly finishing her leftover pizza from the night before.

She was long out of her work uniform - now wearing black sweatpants and another white jacket, white singlet underneath. That's another thing Trent had noticed lately - Lotte was constantly wearing white, almost dressing exactly like her friend Chloe Geraerts. Like she was no longer herself.

Long, brunette hair cascading down her back in waves, a sports headband keeping her overgrown curtain bangs out of her face. Nikes on. Who was this woman? Where had Lotte gone?

The further Trent walked on, the more he noticed - Jordan Boyd was sitting across from Lotte at the table, scrolling on his phone. Monique Cripps in between them. She had been staying the night at Crown, and suddenly rushed down with news to give Lotte - when Lotte had news to give her.

'Ah, the man of the hour is here' Jordan announced sarcastically, glaring straight at Trent, who hovered by the kitchen bench, unsure.

'Lotte, what is this?' He asked nervously, surprised to see her friends hanging around during the day. Surprised to see her hanging around during the day.

'That's a kitchen bench, idiot' Jordan replied, going on with the sarcastic act. Lotte glared up at him, shaking her head. Stop. He discreetly nodded, going back to his phone.

'No work today?' Trent asked, nervously laughing. Monique's eyes ever so slightly squinted - now she was glaring too. It made Trent feel so uncomfortable, the heat of her judgemental eyes. The way Lotte wouldn't even look at him.