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“Roy?”
Christ. That’s Keeley’s ‘we need to talk’ voice. Glancing over his shoulder from where he’s brewing coffee, she’s also got that pink pillow monstrosity in her lap, so whatever this is, it’s serious feelings time. Roy takes a deep breath, plucks up his corresponding black fluffy pillow and sits down beside her, pillow securely in his lap.
When they’d moved into their new place together, he’d mostly let Keeley do the decorating, but she’d been good enough to make sure that pink wasn’t the only chromatic tone in the place.
“Is this about the tabloids?” Roy wonders. “I told you, I don’t care.”
He doesn’t, either. Sure, it’s not like it’s his first choice having the paparazzi snapping photos of their honeymoon, but the headline had almost been complimentary. Something Old, Something New, Something Long, Very Blue was practically winning, when it came to that sort of thing.
“Um,” Keeley says, shaking her head. “No.”
“Is it the presents from the wedding? I already told you, I don’t mind writing the thank you notes.” He really doesn’t. He’d taken up calligraphy during his PT after the knee injury while waiting for surgery to give his hands something to do that wasn’t pummeling complete knobs who had something to say.
“Not that,” Keeley replies, plucking a few of the feathery pink things on the pillows.
“Okay,” Roy says, feeling like they’re going to be here all day. Maybe something’s really wrong? He really thought he’d get a bit more wedded bliss before it all went fucking down the drain. “Should I just wait until you’re ready to talk?”
Keeley bites her lip, staring at him nervously. She’s as beautiful as ever, especially with her hair loose and not exactly dressed for the day. Roy could spend all day staring at her, so it’s really no hardship that she’s drawing whatever this is out. He’s not got anywhere to be, seeing as the only plan he’s got for the day is his yoga, but that’s not for ages.
Sighing, he sits down beside her and pulls a pillow into his lap.
“Ready to talk,” he prods, giving the pillow a few pats where it’s rubbing against his bare skin.
She nods, frantically, plucking at her own feathers. “Right. Okay, it’s just that…” She tips her head to the side, like she’s thinking about her thoughts again. “Do you remember when we first started dating and…” That’s not it, either. “I love Phoebe,” she says, out of nowhere, “and I think it’s really amazing, the way kids these days…”
If Roy didn’t know her better, he’d think she’s having some kind of mental breakdown, but this is Keeley as she’s working her way around to something.
“Whatever it is,” Roy says, reaching out to clasp her hands, “it’s going to be fine.”
“Really?” Keeley replies, eyes big and wide and hopeful, like that deer from that movie Phoebe’s just watched. “Great,” she blurts out, “because I’m pregnant and I was really freaking out for a while there hoping you wanted kids, even though I know we’ve talked about wanting to have kids together, but talking about it and then having them is another thing entirely, and we only got married, but I am getting a bit older and…”
She’s still speaking. He can see her mouth moving and everything. Only, Roy can’t hear anything because there’s this white noise sort of kicking in and clouding his brain, taking over.
Keeley’s pregnant. She’s pregnant. Keeley’s going to have his baby.
“...and who knows what the tabloids are going to think. Roy? Roy, are you there?”
He grunts his acknowledgement.
Her face falls, misinterpreting his grunt. “You’re not happy.”
“What?” Roy is quick to recover, gaping at her. “Don’t be stupid, of course I’m fucking happy!” The way he’s managed to speak again so quickly (quicker than normal) is pretty good fucking proof, he thinks. “I’m just fucking overwhelmed, I really thought the only infant we were going to be dealing with in the first few years of our marriage was Jamie hanging about,” he mutters, as reality sinks in.
They’re having a baby.
Shit. Roy’s going to be a father.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, “Fuck!”
“Good fuck?” Keeley asks hopefully.
“The one where we made that baby definitely was,” Roy admits, because he can’t help himself. “I’m gonna be a Dad,” he says, like he’s testing out the word for the first time.
Keeley nods, setting her pillow aside so she can crawl into his lap, peppering his lips with kisses. “You’re gonna be the best Dad,” she agrees with that fierce, take-no-prisoners attitude she gets; he loves when she sounds like that, especially when it’s complimenting him. Cautiously, tenderly, he presses his splayed palm against Keeley’s flat stomach.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice cautious and soft, “I’m gonna be your Dad,” he tells the non-existent bump, even though it can’t hear him just yet. It’s probably the size of a bean or a grain of rice or some other insignificant, ridiculously small thing. He turns his face to press his cheek to Keeley’s incredibly flat stomach to stare up at her with wonder. “Definitely a very good fuck,” he announces, as Keeley slides her fingers through his hair.
“You’re gonna be the best Dad,” she announces, with the confidence of a woman who’s not about to let anyone tell her otherwise.
It’s just one of the things he loves about her, but right now, it’s at the top of the list.
Him and Keeley and a little one.
If he’s ever doubted that he could have more of a purpose in life than putting on a number and trotting around on a field, this moment solidifies it for him. He’s gonna be a Dad.
Fuck football, this is where his legacy starts.
REBECCA
It’s not that Roy’s scared of Rebecca. They’ve come to an agreement early on that Rebecca doesn’t need to threaten Roy’s life, because if he ever fucks up with Keeley, then she’ll have no problem avenging herself with Roy going down in a fiery blaze.
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel awkward as fuck around her, especially as she pokes around her cabinets.
“Keeley’s sure she left it here?”
Roy sighs heavily. “She said that she put the biscuits with her unicorn planner and the last place she had both of those was in your office.”
Rebecca waves a hand at him, ducking down to search some more. “Can’t you tell her that they’re not here?” she asks, still obscured by her desk.
Roy says nothing, glaring in disbelief at Rebecca until he remembers she can’t see him. So it’s going to require words. “Fuck no,” he scoffs, because, “I’m not going downstairs to tell my heavily pregnant wife that I couldn’t find the biscuits that she’s craving, which I can’t even go buy because Ted baked them specifically for her this morning. Now she’s dealing with that baby brain thing and she thinks they’re here, and apparently, they’re not and she’s wrong. My heavily pregnant wife is wrong about something. You tell her that,” he challenges.
Rebecca finally straightens up, brushing non-existent lint off her powder blue power suit. “When you put it like that, I don’t think I will,” she says, but follows it up with worse news. “I don’t know what to tell you, Roy. They’re not here.”
“Fuck,” Roy hisses.
He’s in deep shit, that’s what’s about to happen. He’s about to turn on his heel and face the music when Rebecca gets a look on her face, like a thought’s just come to her.
“What?” he demands.
She holds up a finger to instruct him to wait, dialing someone on her phone. “Leslie?”
Who the fuck is Leslie?
“I need you to bring the biscuits Ted brought you this morning to my office. Yes. Yes, I know they were made for you specially, but we have a bit of an emergency. Code Jones.”
Within seconds, they’re not alone.
“Say no more,” Higgins announces, as Roy cranes his neck around.
“You’re Leslie?” he asks in disbelief.
Higgins holds up the little pink box. “Do you want these or not?” he asks. “If you do, think very carefully about what you plan to say next.”
He doesn’t usually talk to Roy like that, but he’s in a desperate situation. His phone keeps buzzing with new texts. Without looking, he already knows they’re from Keeley asking if he’s found her biscuits, if he’s bringing her biscuits, if he can find some more biscuits, and also, can she have a foot massage?
He loves Keeley beyond words, which is why at this very moment, Roy has none to speak.
He grunts and puts his palm out.
“You know,” Higgins comments, “a little gratitude would be…”
“Leslie, do you want to survive this morning?” Rebecca cuts him off.
Good woman, to do that. Wise of her.
Higgins seems to understand, taking the box and setting it in Roy’s palm. He grunts again, but this time with a steady nod of satisfaction as he curls his fingers around the box and digs out his phone to face the onslaught of texts and emojis from Keeley.
He responds with a singular emoji (cookie monster, naturally) and heads off to be Keeley’s knight in...well, yoga pants and grey coach’s jacket.
TED
At some point, Roy is going to get his daughter back.
It’s beginning to look like he might actually have to pry her out of Ted’s vice grip, seeing as he keeps wandering around the locker room with the infant like she’s an extension of his uniform. He’d complain more, but honestly, she hasn’t been settling so easily and with Keeley doing branding meetings with the players, Roy’s happy to let Ted wander and ramble.
Well, to a degree, because Lasso’s started to spout the usual nonsense that Roy doesn’t usually let stand.
“You know, it’s been ages since I held a baby in my arms like this. Wouldn’t you know it, I think they got smaller or this one takes after her cute as a button Mom,” he marvels, bopping Roy’s daughter on her nose. “You got a name for her yet? Because Theodora, while dated and a bit saddlesome, seems to be making a comeback. Theo Kent,” he says.
“Theo Kent-Jones,” Roy clarifies, because it’d been important to Keeley that their daughter gets to have part of her name, especially seeing as they decided to hyphenate as a couple when they got married.
Wait.
Did Lasso seriously just fucking trick him? He wrinkles his nose when he realizes what he’s been tricked into saying. He pokes a finger in Ted’s face. “No,” he says firmly. “No! You tricked me.”
“I’m not the one who said it,” Ted counters, grinning in that stupid muppet way that makes it seem like he’s made of fabric.
The baby seems to like it, though.
She hasn’t cried once since Ted took her into his arms to rock her, this look on his face that makes it seem like his face got stuck between weeping and complete joy. It goes without saying that it looks ridiculous, but when doesn’t Ted look ridiculous?
“She’s not getting named after anyone in SW14,” Roy growls, keeping his voice down because he’d woken her up in the middle of the night when the pitch got too loud, and while he knows how to calm her down, baby-talking his daughter while jangling his keys in front of her isn’t something he can do in the locker room and retain his dignity.
Ted raises both brows. “Does that mean she has a name and we can stop calling her Mini Kent? Though, that does have a very Superman-like feel to it that I don’t hate,” Ted praises.
“We’re just finishing up our conversations,” Roy says, which is code for the fact that he and Keeley have yet to find a name they both agree on. It’s basically been a lot of arguments because every time they think they’ve got a name, Roy has an ex who had the name, or Keeley does and past memories don’t make for good names for their baby.
Ted looks unimpressed. “She’s almost three months old.”
Roy doesn’t need reminders about his daughter’s age from Ted of all people. He grunts, which he thinks gets across his annoyance at the reminder. Checking the time on his watch (brand new wedding gift from Keeley), he’s got less than fifteen minutes before Keeley’s going to be ready to head off. “Give her here,” he says, nodding towards his arms as he settles the papoose back on. “And stop trying to get me to name my daughter before we figure out the perfect one.”
“Theodora,” Ted insists, as Roy takes his daughter back into his arms. “Go on. Do some thinking. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised how it rolls off the tongue.”
He can’t exactly threaten to murder Ted, not when his daughter’s right here in his arms, but Roy’s been practicing his death glare for years. Given the way Ted seems like he shivers from the sheer weight of Roy’s displeasure, he’d say he got the point.
Onward, then, to see if Keeley’s ready for another night in and another round of arguing about what to name their little Kent-Jones.
THE TEAM
He walks into the locker room and a hush falls over the Richmond team.
Roy glares at each and every man, not caring that he’s not their captain anymore. He’s still their temporary gaffer, with Beard off on another city break in Spain with his girlfriend. He demands and fucking deserves respect, which the silent hush is accomplishing. The problem with these idiots is that he can actually hear the thoughts ticking away, trying to come together to form insults in their heads.
“Fucking say something,” he warns them, a hand on his daughter’s fuzzy little perfect hair, where she’s snuggled in her papoose, sleeping comfortably against Roy’s chest.
“Is that allowed?” Colin asks. “Isn’t she going to grow up swearing?”
“Keeley isn’t gonna like that,” Sam warns.
“She’s my fucking kid and my fucking wife, so I think I fucking know what she…” Roy’s rant, impressive and mighty as it is, gets completely cut off when he hears Keeley’s heels approaching, a tell-tale clacking sound on the linoleum floors. He grimaces because he thinks he’s just proven Sam and the others right when it comes to who’s got the upper edge in this relationship.
He fucking hates when they’re right.
“There they are,” Keeley praises as she presses a kiss to Roy’s cheek, bending down to cup the baby’s head with both hands, careful to keep her new manicure from cutting into her hair. “Well? Have you told them yet?”
“Was waiting for you,” Roy admits.
“Tell us what?” Isaac asks.
“We’re having a naming party!” Keeley announces gleefully, but the rest of them don’t seem so excited about that fact. Everyone keeps going about their business, ditching their sweaty shirts in the laundry, chattering like Keeley didn’t just announce very important news.
“Oi!” Roy shouts. “Don’t any of you give a shit anymore?” Roy demands, because he’d have expected at least Rojas to give him some of that golden retriever enthusiasm he’s come to expect.
“It’s just a bit weird, is all, and I suppose we got used to the situation,” Colin says, once Keeley’s taken their daughter out of the papoose Roy’s been wearing (which he has been photographed with and brought to task about, and it’s why his right hand is wrapped in bandages from punching the idiot who called him soft and whipped for using it).
Roy narrows his eyes. “What are you saying?”
“Colin is right,” Dani pipes up. “She’s three months old, she should have a name and Danielle is a very good name which can be shortened to Dani, equally good for a girl,” he vows, impassioned as ever. “You should consider this! For your naming party!”
“Just like Samantha is an excellent name,” Sam pipes up helpfully.
“Theodora!” booms Ted from the office, where he’s clearly wanting to interfere and practically sitting on his hands so he stays put. “Timeless, popularized by the ever-haunting work of Shirley Jackson and reinvented on our screens and in our hearts.”
He loves this team, he reminds himself. He really does.
“Press room,” he barks. “Now. We’ll tell you our daughter’s name and then you can all shut up about it. Deal?”
Keeley gives Roy an amused look as the team starts filing past him. Once the last of them has gone off to the briefing room (hustled along by Ted’s shoving from the back of the line forward to speed up the pace) she gives him a fond smile. “What about the naming party?”
“We’ll have it with our parents,” he negotiates. “If I have to hear Isaac tell me one more time that Isaac’s historically a girl’s name, I’m gonna have to bandage up the other hand when I do something stupid,” he vows. He will, too, because he’s not fucking shouting ‘Isaac’ when their daughter’s in trouble.
Keeley leans up on the toes of her heels, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. He can feel her smile against the bristling stubble of his skin, which gets Roy smiling too. Their daughter, too, given the way she’s gurgling happily.
“Now that’s a happy family,” Keeley praises, squeezing Roy’s arse as she leads him towards the press room, where all the players are eagerly waiting. Ted’s in the front row, centre seat, and Nate’s got his phone out to record.
Well, best to do this once and get it over with, yeah?
He nods towards the microphones, following Keeley to sit down like they’re giving an actual press conference (he refused to do that when their baby was born, instead putting out a succinct single-sentence press release that stated: Roy Kent and Keeley Jones have a healthy, happy daughter. Leave them the fuck alone and don’t ask stupid questions.)
Roy leans in towards the microphones, experiencing the strangest sense of deja-vu, only this time he’s facing a room full of his team and not the woman who’d become his wife. “Right, I’m only saying this once,” he growls, “We didn’t name our daughter after any of you dickheads, because she doesn’t deserve that kind of obstacle in life.”
Glancing over to where she’s falling asleep, her perfect little round mouth open and blowing bubbles, Roy softens.
“We’d like you to meet Madeleine Kent-Jones,” he says, all the fight out of his voice. “Our little Maddie.” She coos and stares up at him, tiny little perfect fingers reaching out and making Roy reach out to match, five of his big ones to her tiny little ones.
“Bruv,” Isaac comments from the first row, “you know how soft you look right now?”
“Hey,” Keeley hisses. “Leave him alone, I think he’s mad fit when he’s being super dad of the year,” she praises, giving Roy the kind of look that got them into the situation that led to him having a baby in his arms.
It’s a very good look.
The room’s noisy now with applause and congratulations, people approving of the name even as they lament that they didn’t pick some self-serving name that had never been on the list to begin with. Through it all, there’s only one place Roy’s looking, and that’s to Keeley to judge whether or not she approves -- and she does.
“C’mon, then,” she coaxes, seeing as the mood in the room is turning into the kind of riotous noise that usually precedes a party. “Maddie’s getting tired and I don’t know about you, but you’ve got my engine all revved up, being the sexy paternal father figure you are,” she says, taking a very long look at him. “Forget being a snack, you’re a goddamn feast, Roy Kent.”
Yeah. Yeah, he’s ready to ditch the club and head home for that.
“Gents,” Roy says smoothly, winking as he leaves the room to the sounds of Sam suggesting cake, Colin suggesting drinks, and someone turning on the music.
On the way out, Roy catches Ted’s eye and finds an approving look and nod. It’s not like he’s searching for it. It’s not like he even wants it, really. Unfortunately, there is a smugness in Ted’s smile that Roy can’t exactly ignore. It’s the smile of a man who knows that maybe Roy didn’t name his daughter after Ted directly, but he absolutely had a hand in it.
Without that fucking book, maybe she would’ve been a Sarah or a Bridget or even a Rebecca, but she’s not. She’s Madeleine, because it’s what led Roy to the path that he’s on with Keeley, and that’s why their daughter is Maddie.
It’s all because of Ted and the man fucking knows it, doesn’t he?
He’s fairly sure that he’s never going to live that down, but Roy’s made bigger sacrifices in his life. He can handle this one too.
RUPERT
One day, there hadn’t been a daycare at the club. The next, Nate got a sign up advertising it, Ted informed Roy that he had a place to leave Maddie for the day. The idea of leaving Maddie on her own with only Nate, Beard, and Ted playing like it’s the 80’s all over again doesn’t sit well, but Beard reassures him that they hired an actual professional.
“Besides,” Beard deadpans, “Tom Selleck wishes he had my facial hair prowess.”
Roy squints at him and declines to point out that Tom Selleck’s mustache is epic and could outdo Beard any day, opting to visit the daycare and settle Maddie in with Clara, the overly cheerful daycare worker, who ends every sentence like it’s a question.
“We’re going to have so much fun? Aren’t we Maddie? Your Daddy is going to go to work? And we’ll make sure we miss him lots?”
Roy grimaces, enduring this because it means he can check in on her daily.
“And we’ve got a playmate for you?”
Wait. A playmate?
Fuck, now he’s doing it himself in his own head. “Who else has got a kid around here?”
“I know I’ve only technically got 2.9% of the club,” comes a dickhead voice attached to a whole dickhead’s body, “but I figure that allows me to use 2.9% of the daycare for Tommy here.”
Roy grits his teeth together and turns to face down, “Rupert,” he greets icily.
“Roy,” Rupert returns, wearing that prickish, smug, genial smile. “Will Tommy be getting a playmate today?”
“Nah, plans changed,” Roy says, holding Maddie a bit tighter like he’s got to protect her from the onslaught of prick vibes suddenly in the room.
“Mr. Kent?” Clara intones, eyes big and wide and ridiculous. “You don’t want to leave Maddie here?”
No he fucking does not, especially not with that fuckboy in training spittling up all over. The last thing he needs is Maddie being influenced by that bullshit, which is why he adjusts his papoose defiantly and storms straight up to Rebecca’s office, only to find Higgins in the process of leaving.
“You know we have a daycare now,” Higgins points out, useful font of knowledge that he is.
Roy glares at him and growls, which does the trick of sending him skittering off.
“He’s not wrong, you know,” Rebecca points out, once Roy’s stormed inside. She sips her tea calmly, raising a brow as Maddie blows spit bubbles all over Roy’s shirt and kindly not pointing it out. “We do have a daycare.”
“Yeah,” Roy agrees. “One that’s currently being used by your prick of an ex-husband, jerking off all his 2.9% ownership to show off and pretending he’s owed time in the daycare.”
He probably is. There’s probably some line about how all owners can use any part of the facilities at any point, same as they can be in the owner’s box, but Roy’s not picking a fight with Rupert in front of his kid and Maddie and fucking Clara who’d probably just start crying and asking them to stop.
Luckily, Roy doesn’t need to go any further.
“Say no more,” she says.
“Great, you’ll kick him out, then?”
Rebecca’s brows furrow as she stands, taking Maddie out of the papoose and into her arms as she gently rests her against her sky blue power suit. “Fuck no, I’m not going anywhere near that man,” she says, stroking Maddie’s jet-black hair back off her forehead. “Maddie and I are going to have an excellent day going over the financial returns from the second quarter. Aren’t we?” There isn’t a single note of baby talk in Rebecca’s sentences and Roy respects her for that.
Should he trust her with his kid?
It’s Rebecca. She can do anything, right? With Keeley’s voice in his head telling him that women like Rebecca are empowered to do anything, Roy decides that there’s no safer place to leave Maddie.
“I’ll pick her up tonight,” he tells her, but Rebecca’s not listening.
She’s already feeding Maddie bits of biscuits from a pink box on the desk, which probably shouldn’t be happening, but fuck it. Roy’s late, his kid’s not going to learn any fuckboy nonsense, and Rebecca gets some company that’s at least on Ted’s level, maturity-wise.
Everybody wins.
JAMIE
“Where is she, then? Where’s my future biggest fan?”
Roy’s always wondered what it’d be like to suffer a rage-induced apocalyptic mental breakdown. The sight of Jamie Tartt smugly grinning at Roy and talking about his daughter fills him with mental thoughts of her when she’s sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and on, and the possibility of her falling for some complete arse-licking dickhole like Tartt or worse, whatever next-generation of footballer comes after him. He’d been a dickhead at twenty-three, same as Tartt is, but what’s the next round going to be like?
Roy grunts, because he’s too angry for language right now, and he’s only making it worse with these hypotheticals.
“I invited him,” Keeley calls from the loft hallway upstairs, “down, Roy, he’s just here because he wants to meet our little one while he’s in town.”
Jamie’s still smug as ever, staring at Roy. “Hope she takes after her Mum,” he whispers, cupping his hands at his chest, “with great big…”
“Keeley,” Roy growls, “I’m gonna fucking put my foot up his arse in a second.”
“You’ll try,” Jamie counters. “Hand her over, then!”
Roy gives Keeley a pleading look, his grip on Maddie tightening just that little bit more that she squawks with displeasure. If he thought it’d been hard to give her up the first time he had to put her in daycare, this is nigh impossible.
“Roy,” Keeley says firmly.
“I’m trying,” he scowls, “my brain’s resisting because it doesn’t want Jamie to get dickhead all over our daughter. She’s too pure and innocent for that.” Maddie squeaks and squawks at him again, even though he really is trying to loosen his grip, it’s only that Jamie keeps smirking like the smug little prick he is, and he doesn’t want to reward that.
It’s probably a good thing that Keeley swoops in to take Maddie from him and settles him into Jamie’s arms, who cradles her…
Well, actually, not half bad.
“Where’d you learn that?”
“I’ve swaddled a baby or two in my time,” Jamie boasts. “A beer-by,” he says only a moment later, when Roy’s actually considering giving him some credit.
Keeley rolls her eyes. “Actually, he won’t tell you this, but Jamie’s great at babysitting,” she says sweetly, even as Jamie scowls and sways with Maddie in his arms. “He’s got three little cousins that he used to watch when their parents came to watch him play.”
“It’s because he’s a child himself, right?” Roy guesses. “They’re about the same maturity level.”
“Very funny, granddad,” Jamie snaps back at him.
“Nah,” Roy drawls, the usual anger replaced by complete pride. “Regular dad now.” His eyes are laser-focused on Jamie, but Maddie seems fairly content. Her eyes are half-fluttered and her mouth is moving a bit, her forehead furrowed in deep concentration. It’s the way she gets when…
Well, he’s not about to ruin the moment, especially seeing as Jamie’s face contorts with disgust. He’s clever enough, isn’t he? Looks like he’s on his way to figuring it out.
“Oh, what the hell is that?”
Roy smells the air, his lips curving up into a smug grin. He knows exactly what that smell is, and he couldn’t be prouder of his daughter. “Good girl, Maddie,” he praises, as Keeley ducks down to dig out the diaper bag from her belongings, handing it to Jamie. That’s his girl, taking a shit right when she’s in Jamie Tartt’s arms.
“Go on,” Keeley encourages with a nod of her chin, “House rules. Whoever’s holding her at the time has to change her. Besides, I know you’d never drop her,” she insists, with the look of a woman who’s giving Jamie a warning look about what will happen if he does.
Jamie won’t have to worry about Roy in that case, because Keeley’s expression makes it clear that she’s more than willing to murder Jamie with her bare hands if anything happens to her baby.
“I don’t…” Jamie opens his mouth to protest, reaching for the bag. He looks like a child himself, pouting as he stares at Maddie, who’s gurgling and laughing at him (good girl, the perfect girl). “...I expect a beer after this,” he complains. “This is not Pavlovian,” he whines, walking past them towards the living area and the changing mat that Keeley’s laying out for him.
Roy gives Keeley a confused look, wondering if he’s had a stroke or if Jamie’s just talking nonsense again.
“I never did explain that one to him,” she whispers back with a helpless shrug. “I thought he’d look it up!”
Why is he absolutely not surprised?
Watching Jamie make faces at Maddie and change her diaper, Roy’s forced to admit that maybe he’s not so bad with children. Then again, is it really a surprise? His maturity is basically on the same level as his infant daughter’s. Of course they’d get along.
Besides, better that Jamie’s focused on making funny faces at Maddie than being an arse about his god-kissed foot or going on about his stats. If he keeps this up, Roy might even consider agreeing to let him visit a few hours a week.
What’s he saying, as if he’s got any say in the matter. If Keeley wants him here, he’ll be here, and what Roy can control is how he feels about it. Still, if Jamie’s like this, then maybe Roy can cross off ‘early aneurysm’ from his list of concerns in life, because…
And he will never admit this out loud.
...because maybe Jamie Tartt isn’t so bad when you stick a baby in his arms.
Still a prick with everything else, though.
PHOEBE
Phoebe isn’t talking to him.
She hasn’t been talking to him since the baby was born and Roy’s time was suddenly taken up by a new job, a new marriage, and a new infant. He knows that he hasn’t been able to give her the time she deserves, but the cold shoulder is a bit much.
“Give her some time,” his sister promises. “She’ll come around.”
Roy bounces Maddie against his chest, lulling her to sleep. Keeley’s eyes settle on him, then waves him away with her perfect manicure.
“Go on,” she urges. “Your sister and I have to talk about vibrators and you can stay, but you’re going to have to hear about your sister’s urgent sexual urges…”
“No!” Roy interrupts, on his feet instantly, heading upstairs to Phoebe’s room.
He can practically feel Keeley smiling at his back, aware that she’s just manipulated him, but he’d rather not take the risk of potentially hearing anything about his sister that happens below the waist.
Phoebe’s door is shut. There’s a new ‘stay out’ sign in sparkly pink letters that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago. It doesn’t have to specify him, but Roy’s fairly sure he’s the only one this new edict applies to. Still, he gently raps his knuckles against her door, hoping that he’ll be able to get himself a pass.
“Phoebe?”
“Go away!”
Right, not that easy. “You can’t talk like that to me, I’m your uncle and an adult,” he growls back at her, but the vibrations makes Maddie start fussing in his arms, which makes Roy bounce up and down on the spot like some kind of fucking spring. “Also, let me fucking in!”
She’s his niece, she ought to be listening to him.
“That’s a bad word and I don’t want to! Go back to your new baby, since you like her so much more than me!”
He deserves that. He knows it’s been ages since he’s been able to see her and he used to come see Phoebe several times a week. She doesn’t get to come to his games anymore, there’s less time for ice cream, and it means he’s missing out on time with one of his favourite people in the world.
Honestly, he’s mad at himself, too.
“Phoebe,” he pleads. “Just because I had a baby doesn’t mean I love you any less.”
“Then why did you stop coming to see me?” He can hear the sniffling hurt in her voice. Fuck, he’s a monster, that’s what he is.
Roy presses a hand to the door that separates them, heart aching. “Because I’m a fuck up, Phoebe, I know that. I should’ve made more time to come and see you, because you’re still my absolute favourite. You made Lasso bleed with a great kick and you let me read stories to you and you’re the reason I know all the words to Under The Sea,” he lists. “Just because I’ve got Maddie, it doesn’t mean that I love you any less,” he repeats, “and I’m sorry if I made you feel like I did.”
It’s what Keeley talks about, yeah? Being accountable.
“Will you let me in?” he pleads.
There’s nothing but silence, but a few minutes later, the door slowly opens. Phoebe is standing there, hugging the Elsa doll that he’d bought her years ago, staring with uncertainty at Roy. Her gaze lands on Maddie.
Instantly, he knows what he needs to do.
“I think we could use some alone time, yeah?” he says. “Anything you want, I’m in. I’ll go bring Maddie downstairs, then you and I can make up for a lot of lost time. What do you say?”
She still doesn’t look entirely sold.
“Today, I’ll spend the rest of the afternoon with you and then tomorrow, we’ll go for ice cream.”
Phoebe’s shifting back and forth, her lips twisted up like she’s starting to consider it. “Will you talk to Mum about letting me get a puppy?”
Honestly, the way Roy feels right now, he’d give her cash if she asked, so this is getting off the hook easily. “No promises, because your Mum never listened to me when we were little, there’s no guarantee she’s about to start now. Name the terms of the rest, but it’s a deal,” he says, bending down to offer his hand to shake.
That does the trick. Suddenly, Phoebe starts speaking rapidly with her demands, like Roy’s opened up the dam of feelings with his promise, but what she wants is easy enough and it’s the least Roy can do, seeing as he’s definitely fucked up in ignoring her.
“Deal,” he confirms. “Let me drop Maddie off, and then I’m all yours,” he vows.
Phoebe’s not crying anymore, which means that it’s absolutely worth it. She bounds back inside to start preparing for their afternoon together, while Roy heads back downstairs to make the trade, handing Maddie off to Keeley.
“Everything all right?” Keeley asks hopefully, resting her hand on Roy’s hand when he gets Maddie settled. She knows how messed up he’s been about Phoebe’s moods, so he’s glad to have finally made some progress.
“Yeah,” he says, breathing out relief. “Yeah,” he echoes, happy to reassure them. “I’m heading back up,” he explains. “Phoebe convinced me to have a princess party with her, and I’ve got to be Snow White,” he says. He can see the way his sister’s shoulders have lowered and the way her lips have relaxed from the pinched and pressed look she’d had when they arrived, so clearly Phoebe’s behaviour had been worrying her too.
“You’re way more of a Princess Vanellope,” Keeley teases, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips.
“Fucking right I am,” Roy says firmly, but he’ll play any role that Phoebe’s got in mind for him, so long as she keeps talking to him.
If all it takes is a tea party, some ice cream, and being a puppy wingman, then Roy’s fairly sure he’s getting off light for his abysmal performance as an uncle these last few months.
This isn’t football with his shit knee. This isn’t a game he intends to give up.
Roy intends to improve his stats, starting right now. “Phoebe!” he shouts upstairs, heading back up. “You’d better have that tiara ready for me!”
He’s going to become the best fucking uncle in the world again if it kills him, that’s what he’s going to do.
It’s a day by day thing, really, this parenthood gig. Still, Roy’s starting to get the hang of it with the help of Keeley, their friends, their family, and even the team (who toes that strange line between friend and family). He’s not saying he’s suddenly an expert and he’s definitely not fucking saying that it’s easy, but…
He’s got Ted giving him teething biscuits and Beard playing classical music as he reads to Maddie. He’s got Rebecca constantly buying little baby powersuits and making faces when she doesn’t think they can see her. He’s got the entire team desperately vying to be the one to get her to walk first (not fucking happening, that’s for Roy, and she’ll do it when she’s ready).
They’re a team off the field in this. Roy knows that he’s not the first to have a kid, but he used to be their captain and when he’d taken the sideline for his injury, he hadn’t expected them to rally around him like they had.
It shows what he knows.