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Jamie hadn’t thought it through, not when he opened the door of the Aston Martin, not when it slammed onto his hand, not until the pain almost sent him to his knees.
“Fuck!” he screamed.
He shoved his other fist into his mouth to help stifle the rest of the whimpers. Why had he done that? He had been on his way to the gala, and suddenly, it was like someone or something had taken over him. By the time he came back to his body, his hand was crushed.
He hadn’t been looking forward to seeing Roy and Keeley there, especially after what happened last year. Roy was back coaching now, and it was awkward, but Jamie was determined to make the most of his second chance at Richmond and that included letting Roy coach him, even if he was a dumb hair twat. And Ted had already said he would be sitting at a different table, one with Sam and Dani, so he wouldn’t have to see their relationship on full display, flaunted in front of him as a reminder of past mistakes and lessons learned. He wasn’t even sure if Roy was going, but it wasn’t something Jamie was willing to take a chance on.
And sure, after Lust Conquers All, a particular subset of fans had become even more brazen with him and his body, but it was fine. And for the gala, he had a plan. Or at least he had a plan until Gwen cancelled on him. Bex’s friend, who had promised to bid on him so he wouldn’t end up with someone like that woman Cheryl, had texted him as he was walking out the door, saying she had food poisoning and couldn’t make it.
When he read it, panic bubbled inside him. It was too late to find someone else, and after last year and everything that had happened, he couldn’t exactly ask Keeley to bid on him, especially not if Roy was there, and he wanted to keep both his ex and his new coach on his good side.
But it would be fine. So what if someone like Cheryl won him? Jamie was fast; he was sure he could avoid her and her roaming old lady's hands if need be.
It would be fine.
Jamie was, like, ninety per cent sure Keeley and Roy were joking about him having to do anything with her anyway.
I wish I was that ice cube.
It would have been fine. And if it wasn’t, well, it was for a good cause, innit, for the children and all that.
It would have been fine, but now it wasn’t. Now his hand was very much not fucking fine. Jamie didn’t need to even look down to know it was completely fucked. The pain was throbbing at an impossible level and radiating up his arm, even cradled against him, unmoving. It was fine, though; he didn’t need his hand for football. It was fine. But yeah, he probably should go to A&E and get it checked out.
Just in case.
Awkwardly pulling his phone from his pocket, he dialled Ted with one hand, biting his lip to suppress the building knot in his throat and his burgeoning anxiety, waiting for the American to answer. The gaffer’s voicemail picked up, and relief flooded through him at an alarming rate. Jamie ignored the overly long greeting, waiting for the beep so he could leave a message.
“Hey, coach, it’s Jamie. I’m sorry, um–I had a bit of an accident. My hand got shut in the car door–accidentally. So I can’t make it to the gala. Tell Ms Welton I’ll write a check, though. I’m not trying to get out of it or nothing, swear down. I just, I think I should go to A&E. So yeah, I’ll uh, I’ll bring a check to training tomorrow. Sorry.”
Jamie groaned when he realised he couldn’t drive his automatic with one hand. Dejected, he walked to the front door, and his legs collapsed under him as he sat heavily on the steps and ordered an Uber. The phone in his hand vibrated, startling Jamie so much that it clattered to the walkway. He picked it up slowly, Ted Lasso flashing across the screen.
He let it go to the voicemail.
It was easy enough for Jamie to say he didn't have service in A&E. He was in too much pain to listen to Ted Lasso level his disappointment at him. Jamie could picture the downturn of the moustache, the crinkle leaving his eyes and the slight noise of disappointment the American would make at him.
Maybe he should text Higgins to let him know, too. Make sure Ted didn't miss that he would bring a check to training tomorrow. He would cover whatever Higgins thought he could have made being auctioned off. Hell, Jamie would fucking double whatever Higgins thought for how guilty he felt for missing the night.
As he waited for the Uber to arrive, Jamie began to wish he had the time to change from his gala clothes or at least grabbed a hat–something–anything. But it was too late for that; the pain was making him nauseous, along with the feeling of grinding inside his hand at every minuscule movement, and Jamie didn’t think he would have been able to change himself anyway.
He had really fucked up.
A car pulled up to the drive, and Jamie pushed himself to stand on shaky feet, the pain and the gravity of the situation hitting him all at once. Little dots danced in front of his vision, and he worried he would pass out as he blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear his vision. Jamie managed a half step forward, not wanting to keep the Uber waiting when his knees buckled.
Firm arms clasped around his elbows, barely stopping him from hitting the ground and lowering him the rest of the way slowly. His hand jostled in the almost-fall; Jamie hissed loudly as agony ripped through his crushed hand, up his arm and across his chest, tightening with each breath. Jamie blinked into the glare of the late-day sun, and his saviour's face cleared into view.
Ted.
“Easy there, Jamie.”
Belatedly, Jamie realised the car wasn’t his Uber.
“Is he alright?” a voice yelled from the car.
A second surprise. Leslie Higgins.
Well, this was another layer Jamie had never thought this night would take. Guilt slashed at Jamie’s insides; not only would he miss the gala, but he had also taken Ted and Higgins from it. Two fewer people to support the cause. Two fewer people to help raise money for the kids who needed it. All because Jamie had fucked up royally.
“I’m sorry,” Jamie blurted out before Ted could say anything else. “I wasn’t lying or nothing, I swear. I am going to A&E. I’m just waiting for my Uber. Me car’s a standard, and I don’t think I can drive it. I didn’t mean to make you come all the way here. I promise I’ll bring a check to training tomorrow. I was about to text Higgins and let him know, too.”
“I’m not worried about that, Jamie. I’m worried about you.”
“Oh,” Jamie deflated a bit; now he had worried Ted on top of it all. “Yeah, I’m good, Coach.”
Ted’s face scrunched in disappointment as he asked, “Can I see that hand?”
Jamie reluctantly pried his injured hand from where it had been pressed protectively against his chest and held it gingerly out to Ted, fighting his instinct to guard his injury and not expose any weakness.
Ted whistled under his breath, “Looks like you did a number on yourself there, Jamie.”
Chancing a look at his hand for the first time, Jamie was unsurprised at Ted’s reaction. His hand was discoloured and red, somehow both swollen and indented slightly. Nausea threatened to spill from his throat at the site.
Fuck.
“You put ice or anything on it yet?”
“No. I’m okay.”
“Well, you might feel a little better with some ice on that hand. How about I go grab some inside for you, and then we let Higgins take us to the ER?”
“I have an Uber coming,” Jamie said, pushing himself to stand, only staying upright through pure determination and a bit of luck. “You can go to the gala; seriously, I’ll be fine. I can still go if you want me to if they don’t take too long at A&E.”
Ted shook his head in displeasure. “Cancel the Uber, Jamie. We’ll take you.”
With a slightly trembling hand, Jamie unlocked his phone to cancel the Uber, ignoring the cancellation charge and hoping his rating didn’t get dinged too severely. He shoved his phone under his armpit and awkwardly fished the keys from his pocket. They clattered to the ground when Jamie’s shaking hands dropped them after the first try to open the door. Ted scooped them up before Jamie could bend down and opened the door easily.
“You doing okay, Jamie? I can grab the ice and get you to Higgins’ car, but I’m going to be honest: you’re paler than Devon Sawa in that one movie, and I’m afraid you’re going to keel over.”
“I’m good,” Jamie said, hoping his voice sounded more robust than he felt.
“I’ll be back quicker than Britney Spears’ first marriage.”
“Kitchen is straight ahead,” Jamie called after him, leaning heavily against the open doorframe.
He hadn’t felt as shaky until Ted arrived. He was in pain and maybe a bit nauseous but not as wrecked as he felt currently. Jamie closed his eyes as the edges of his vision began to go white.
“Let’s get you patched up,” Ted said, placing a hand on Jamie’s lower back as he reappeared and locked the door, pocketing Jamie’s keys.
The hand didn’t move as Ted led him to the car, with Higgins in the driver’s seat awaiting them. Ted opened the rear door, helped Jamie sit, and carefully reached over him to buckle his seatbelt.
“May I?” he asked, nodding at the hand Jamie held precariously before him.
Only managing to nod, Ted took that as enough go-ahead and gently placed the ice on Jamie’s hand. A small measure of relief was immediate.
“This might help too,” Ted said, placing a wet paper towel on the back of Jamie’s neck. “Just lay your head back and let the Higginsbulance get us to the hospital.”
“We’ll get you taken care of soon, Jamie,” Higgins added.
“Thank you,” Jamie said, swallowing the lump in his throat, unable to express more than that as he laid his head back and closed his eyes.
The ride to the hospital was agony; the ice helped some, but pain radiated from his hand up his arm, and Jamie exaggeratedly breathed through his nose in an attempt to fight the building nausea. His eyes remained closed, afraid if he opened them, he would be met with twin fatherly concern from both Ted and Higgins.
Ted helped him from the car when they arrived at the hospital, his legs suddenly filled with lead. Ted, seemingly realising how difficult it was for him to put one foot in front of the other, eased Jamie into the chair closest to the entrance before continuing on to speak with the receptionist. Jamie let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes again.
“Jamie?” Ted asked as Jamie cracked one eye open, then the other. “This lovely woman is going to get you looked at. Do you think you can get in the wheelchair?”
“Don’t need–” Jamie said, standing before his legs faltered, and Ted had to catch him again, somehow managing to lower him into the wheelchair.
Between the woman, Jamie didn’t know if she was a nurse or not, and Ted, they settled him onto a bed in an exam bay. Another bed, thankfully empty, sat in the same room, separated by an open curtain. She left them in silence, Ted watching her leave with his hands in his pockets.
They must’ve looked like an interesting pair. Jamie was unsure how many people arrived at A&E in suits. Isaac had convinced him to wear a shirt, though just barely, and he regretted it now with how his hand and wrist were swelling. Ted wore the same suit as last year. It looked nice on him. It wasn’t very high fashion but was a step above the man's standard jumpers and collared shirts.
“You don’t have to stay,” Jamie said before hastily adding, “You look nice.”
Ted’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion or concern; Jamie still hadn’t managed to decipher Ted half the time. “I know I don’t, Jamie. You want to tell me what happened?”
They were interrupted by a doctor, and Jamie would have felt relieved if he hadn’t had to tell the doctor the embarrassing story instead. He purposely avoided Ted’s gaze as he spoke, but he knew what it looked like.
Concern.
Pity.
Disappointment.
The emotions likely fought for dominance on Ted’s face. Jamie didn’t want to know which one was winning.
X-rays were ordered, though Jamie didn’t need to be a doctor or have X-ray vision to tell his hand was broken. He was grateful for them, though, when shortly after the doctor left, an orderly arrived, and he was granted a stay of execution regarding Ted Lasso’s disappointment. The stay wasn’t nearly long enough, though, as Jamie was being helped back onto the exam table moments after the painful scans were complete.
He barely noticed the IV as a nurse inserted it into his good arm, the pinch nothing compared with the throbbing agony of his hand. The promise of painkillers reaching his bloodstream shortly had him almost giddy with relief.
“I’m sorry,” Jamie offered preemptively.
Ted frowned. Shit. He’d even fucked his apology.
Do you even know what you’re sorry for, Jamie?
“I shouldn’t have missed the gala. I know it’s important for the team to all be there to support Ms Welton and the charity. I fucked up, and now I’m missing it but making you miss it, too. I really didn’t mean to, and it were an accident. Swear down, it were an accident. I really was on my way there. Wouldn’t have put this on if I weren’t,” Jamie said, gesturing at his outfit.
“Jamie, that’s not the point–”
“I’ll write a check tomorrow. And I know it’s not about the money but being there, and it doesn't look good for me not going. Looks bad for the team. I’ll apologise to Keeley, too. Do whatever she or Ms Welton think is right for me to make it up.”
“Jamie,” Ted said slowly. “Do you think I’m mad you got hurt?”
“Well. Yeah,” Jamie said, trying to find a way to fist a hand under his shirt, but it was tucked in. He settled for shoving his good hand under his thigh instead. “If I didn’t hurt me hand, I would’ve, we both would’ve been at the gala. I fucked it.”
Ted exhaled loudly. Jamie felt the knot in his throat, the one he ignored since he read the text message from Gwen, the one he would do anything to swallow away, grow.
“You fudged your hand; that part’s true. But accidents happen, Jamie; you don’t need to borrow more pain than you’re already feeling.”
He wasn’t borrowing anything; the pain was real. His guilt was real. Did Ted not believe him?
“Jamie, have you seen Doctor Fieldstone?”
“What?”
What did Doctor Sharon have to do with anything?
“Right. Patient confidentiality and all that. You all have HIPAA over here?”
“I guess, like, in zoos and shit. I dunno, I’ve never been,” now Jamie was even more confused and wondering how strong these painkillers were.
“You ain’t never been to a zoo? We need a team–you know what, never mind, not the time,” Ted caught himself, then gave Jamie a sad smile. “If you haven’t talked to the good Doc, I think you should.”
Jamie was confused. How did he and Ted speak the same language but never speak the same fucking language? The frustration wasn’t necessarily new; Jamie felt like he had missed some type of translation with a lot of people, but it was especially challenging with Ted.
“Yeah, I can do that. I do talk to her, I mean, but I will–more if you want me to,” Jamie said, wanting to be agreeable. “Just–please don’t kick me off the team. I’ll do whatever you want. Swear down. I’m sorry.”
The lump grew more prominent, and Jamie fought desperately to keep his composure–to prevent the dread that had been building since that first email about the gala from spilling from him. He pushed it down like he did everything else, shoved it to the pit of his stomach where he kept all the bad shit locked away.
Ted sighed, and the dread grew strong.
“I need Richmond, Ted. Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Ted stood, and Jamie dropped his head and waited for the inevitable. He waited for Ted to leave, to turn his back on him, to get away before Jamie infected the older man with the worst parts of him, the dark parts he tried to hide, but that seeped out like blood soaking through bandages. He waited for Ted to remember what Jamie truly was: a broken, unworthy thing, an easy thing to hurt, to discard, to leave. He waited for Ted to leave him alone with his pain, and his hurt, and his failures.
But Ted didn’t leave.
Not this time, at least.
Instead, he closed the curtain around them before returning to his chair. He then leaned forward with his elbow on his knees and the most earnest look on his face Jamie had ever seen. Jamie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Or run.
“Jamie, I’m worried about you.”
He should probably run.
Part of Jamie was now wishing Ted had left. The part of him that loved to be noticed but was afraid to be seen. The part of him ashamed by the dark parts of his soul that the sun never shined on. The part of him that might’ve told him to shut the car door on his hand.
“I’m fine,” Jamie said, huffing a noise of disagreement.
He was shocked that the words had made it past the lump in his throat and the tightness building in his chest.
“You shut your car door on your hand, Jamie,” Ted said, words dripping in disappointment.
“I told you,” Jamie said, fighting to keep his words from sounding too defensive. “It were an accident.”
“You’re one of the most gifted athletes I’ve ever seen. You can do things with your body that I did not think were possible. Steve Urkel, you are not. I don’t believe your “did I do that” moment.”
“What? Who the fuck is Steve Urkel?”
“You really do miss some classic television over here, but that’s not the point. The point is, I don’t think this was an accident, and that worries me a whole lot, Jamie. The idea that you would hurt yourself to miss the gala, that’s a scary thing, son.”
“I didn’t–”
“Is this about Roy and Keeley?”
“What? No,” Jamie scoffed.
He wasn’t looking forward to seeing them together at the event Keeley went with Jamie to the year before, the event where she broke up with Jamie, but he wouldn’t hurt himself for it. He wouldn’t hurt himself in season.
“No. I wouldn’t. Why would you even think that?”
“This wouldn’t be the first time you hurt yourself to escape a situation.”
Did it to piss off me Dad.
“That was different,” Jamie sat up quickly, groaning as he jostled his hand.
“Was it? Because it sure sounds to me like there was something you didn’t want to do. So you made a bad decision to get away from it.”
“It's–it’s not like that.”
“I’m not mad about it, Jamie. I’m worried about it, worried about you and your mental state right now if you thought hurting yourself was the best option.”
“I told you, it’s not like that. I was–I was going to go, I was! I didn’t–I didn’t–do this on purpose,” Jamie said, gesturing agitatedly at his ice-covered hand as his breath came faster and faster. “Why would I do that? I wouldn’t–I wouldn’t hurt myself. I wouldn’t!”
“Okay, Jamie, it’s alright, let’s just breathe,” Ted said, cutting the distance between them.
“I fucking am,” Jamie said as his breath hitched in his throat, and he took an exaggerated inhale and exhale to calm himself.
“I’m sorry,” Ted said, laying his hand on Jamie’s good hand once his breathing returned to normal. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just trying to help.”
“I don’t need you to fucking help me. There’s nothing to help.”
“Okay,” Ted said, putting his hands up defensively.
There was a finality to it, the air in the room seemingly feeling it, too. Jamie shook his head, trying not to catch the hurt look on his gaffer’s face as he returned to his seat; the hurt look caused by Jamie’s actions.
Unable to stomach it, Jamie grabbed his mobile beside his leg and scrolled through it. He had been avoiding his phone since they arrived, braced for Keeley's disappointment and his teammates' ridicule. And there were a plethora of text messages from Keeley and the Greyhounds alike, but they were all checking on him, worried. He expected them to be criticising him for missing the gala or at least taking the piss, but they all seemed to be filled with genuine concern, and Jamie bit his lip as the lump in his throat enlarged again.
A nurse came to check on them, and he realised the pain in his hand had decreased some, the medication taking its intended effect even as his anxiety increased.
“Thanks, love,” Jamie managed, smiling at the nurse as she left, promising to check on a timetable with the doctor.
Before long, an hour had passed without Ted seemingly saying anything, something that was beginning to concern Jamie even more than his broken hand. He didn’t know how to bridge the divide that had grown between them. Ted clearly wasn’t going to leave, and Jamie could sit in awkward silence and wonder what was going on in the moustachioed head of Ted’s, or he could try.
Ted would want him to try, and Jamie sometimes, more than anything, wanted to be someone who made Ted proud; God fucking help him. He owed Ted his career; he could give him a conversation when Ted gave up his night for him.
Jamie cleared his throat, words suddenly unable to pass the lump. He cleared his throat again, which caught Ted’s attention. His head snapped up, and his features creased with concern.
“You okay?” Ted asked, crossing the small room to the cup of water the nurse had left and bringing it to Jamie. “You want some water?”
Jamie managed a nod and Ted held the straw to his lips. He could’ve done it himself, could’ve held the cup and drank, but Ted had offered and who was Jamie to deny him.
“Thanks,” Jamie managed once the cool water had coated his throat, lessening the size of the lump marginally but enough that he could speak without worrying tears would spill with the first syllable. “For everything. Letting me back on the team, coming here tonight. Everything.”
Ted nodded and moved the water within easy reach of Jamie, but he did not return to his seat, and for a moment, Jamie was worried he was going to leave.
“Please don’t leave,” Jamie blurted, alarmed at how high and needy his voice sounded.
“I won’t. I promise,” Ted said, sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels.
“I’m sorry, too,” Jamie dropped his head to avoid eye contact, took a deep breath and lifted his head to Ted again.
“I know, Jamie, but you don’t have to be sorry. It was an accident.”
“What if it weren’t?”
Lead settled into Jamie’s stomach, heavy and final. Saying it aloud made it real, made it something he couldn’t deny any longer, something he couldn’t ignore any longer–not to Ted–not to himself.
“I mean, I think it were an accident. But what if you’re right?”
“Well, then we can talk it through until you feel better about it. Until we find a way for something like that not to happen again. Or if I can’t help–that’s what we have people like Doc Sharon for, people with letters after their names that I pretend to understand but don’t, that can help.”
Jamie bit his lip. The lump grew, though for different reasons than it had been expanding all night.
Slowly, Ted moved his hand to Jamie’s shoulder. “You’re not alone, Jamie.”
Jamie still wasn’t sure if he meant to shut the door on his hand or if it had been an accident, a mistake, or bad fortune. He didn’t look forward to Doctor Fieldstone cracking open his head and peering inside to find the answer, but if it was something he did on purpose, he knew he didn’t want it to happen again.
Ted had walked away once, leaving Jamie alone with a monster. But Ted had given him a note and an army guy and gave Jamie something to hold onto, at least for the bus ride home.
Ted had walked away a second time, leaving Jamie alone with his crushed dreams, worried he might have fucked his career. But Ted changed his mind and gave Jamie a chance at redemption.
But today, Ted stayed. Ted wrapped his arms around him gingerly and didn’t let go.
And Ted would stay when Jamie was discharged hours later with a thick splint and painkillers, along with a referral to an orthopedist. He would be there when Jamie had a surgeon insert pins into his hand a few days later and placed in a cast that meant he couldn’t use his left hand for weeks. Ted would rub his back when he finally worked up the nerve to call his mum after he was released from the hospital.
Ted would stay, and Jamie would brush aside this night and his injury, move forward, and rehab his hand and work with Doctor Fieldstone. He would return to the pitch, and any thoughts of the gala would become a distant memory for Jamie—at least until Amsterdam.
At least until he opened an email with Save the Children in the subject line, and Jamie’s hand began to ache.
At least until Jamie held the car door open for just a little too long and wondered.