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“I asked her to marry me,” Roy states in the quiet room. Jamie’s heart skips a beat. “She said yes.”
Jamie had known it was coming. He had known since his unwanted confession, since Keeley’s avoidance, since Roy’s awkwardness around him. He knew that Keeley didn’t love him back anymore. He knew that Roy’s embrace had been a meaningless moment of weakness. They didn’t care - whatever he had done had been a small detail in their happily-ever-after love story.
“I’m not here to rub it in your face, and the timing might seem off, so - I need to say that it happened out of love, not as an attempt to push you away.” Roy pauses, waiting for a reaction that doesn’t come. “I just thought you should hear it from me first.”
“Right,” Jamie answers. There’s a lump in his throat and a weight settles on his chest. “She’s happy about it, yeah?” he asks, not daring to look into Roy’s eyes. Are you too? he thinks.
Of course they are. It’s a fucking dumb question, and he knows it. He just needs to make sure. Needs to break his own heart to kill any hope that might linger there.
“I think she is, yeah.” Roy answers softly, and Jamie hates it. He wants Roy to call him names or punch him in the face, not - not whatever pity party this is.
“We - “ Roy starts again, pauses, thinks about what he wants to say. He corrects himself. “Keeley would like to stay friends. And I’m,” he stops again. “Well I’m your coach, so. I’ll be around.”
He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. Roy’s looking at him expectantly and Jamie knows that he’s waiting for him to be mature about this, to understand that decision. He doesn’t think Roy wants to hurt him, with this - he clearly cares about his reaction. It doesn’t change anything, though. It does hurt. Jamie still feels shattered. His heart is aching - and it’s not even a fucking metaphor. He can feel it. As if a hand has clawed its way inside his chest and tore the beating organ apart, making it bleed out until it was empty.
That’s what he gets for caring. Fuck this .
“No, I think I’m gonna stay out of your fucking way,” he answers, meaner than he intends to. “I hope you two are happy together,” he adds quietly.
The truth is, he actually means it, and not in the bitter way it comes out. They’re good people, both of them. The kind of people he doesn’t deserve. And of course they won’t come looking for him after that - the little prick who might have been a friend once, more than that, even, but who wouldn’t deserve the attention from a busy happy couple. The Jamie fucking Tartt who, instead of appreciating their care and efforts, had put them at risk - only for a second, because he couldn’t be a serious consideration, and they both knew it.
Jamie says nothing else, and Roy stays silent. The younger man goes for the door, ready to leave the room. As he’s standing in the doorway, Jamie hears Roy calling his name once. It doesn’t stop him. It doesn’t matter anymore, he thinks. Whether Roy wants to yell at him or comfort him, he just doesn’t want to hear it.
Later on, when the couple breaks the news to an enthusiastic audience in the locker room, he’s watching them from afar. They look so happy, without him. They’ll be better off.
After that, the old Jamie would have gone out. Looked for someone to fuck away the pain with. It wasn’t enough anymore. It wouldn’t fill his emptiness, not for a second, not after what he’d known and lost. So Jamie went home. He had a few drinks, grabbed a bite his stomach didn’t keep for long, collapsed into bed. The sheets were cold, the bed was too large. If Jamie had been alone before - it didn’t compare in the slightest to the utter loneliness he felt that night.