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It occurs to Jamie that even though they’d all been fawning over Roy—they had to, because he clearly had a traumatic brain injury because he dumped Keeley Jones— that no one that he knew of had actually checked on Keeley. Sure she had Mrs. Welton, but like, Keeley had been dumped, and that deserved more than a cold pat on the shoulder or however posh people showed affection.
So Jamie texts her, asks if she wants to get coffee and catch up, and he hits send before he can second guess himself.
When he sees her, though, he almost turns right back around and walks out. He’s trying to be a mature fucking adult, because he respects Keeley and Roy has somehow become stupidly important in Jamie’s life. But she’s Keeley, she looks fit as fucking always, and her fucking smile could light up a city. He remembers the early days in their relationship when he was new to London and far from Manchester, when she would put his head in her lap and stroke his hair and Jamie had felt safe for the first time in his entire life. Safe in a way he hasn’t really felt since, save for that fever dream moment after Wembley with Roy’s arms around him.
But he loves her, and he’s really trying to be a better person, and he figures he can’t really say either of those things if he can’t support possibly the most important fucking person in his life.
So instead, he hugs her and she presses a kiss on his cheek and smells like her old perfume and has already ordered Jamie’s favorite sugar-laden cheat-day coffee and maybe Jamie can’t do this after all.
But then she says hi, Jamie, and his mind turns into a fumbling year seven with his first crush. “Hi—hi Keels,” he says, and sits the fuck down, pinching himself on the thigh to try to get his head back on straight. “How’re—how are you?”
“Good,” she says, and her smile meets her eyes a little more than it had the last time he saw her. Body science indeed, and how had fucking Isaac noticed how unhappy she was before he had?
It’s a little awkward at first, Jamie unsure how to convey, no really, how are you, do I need to shave off Roy’s eyebrows, he’s been making me lift enough that I think I could take him. But then she talks about her new firm, and how terrible Barbara is, and Jamie complains a little about Zava because just because he’s trying to be better doesn’t mean he’s totally succeeded. It’s not as easy as their conversations were when they were dated, but it still feels familiar, like humming along with a song on the radio.
Then Keeley says, out of the blue, “I hooked up with someone,” and everything turns back to static.
“I’m glad you’re dating again,” he says, even though he very much isn’t. Or, well, it’s complicated, because Keeley deserves everything in the fucking world, the cream of the crop—and Jamie’s realistic, he knows thats not him, outside of like, football and good hair. But as painful as it is to say, he’d kind of, sort of, thought she might have found it in Roy. So yeah, even if he’d never stop wanting Keeley, he figured loving her selflessly meant making peace that Roy Kent was the best thing for her. Roy Kent, who gave great hugs and stared at her like she was a god and trained Jamie at arse o’clock even though Jamie had once asked if his mum had fucked a chia pet. Roy Kent, who was the best thing for her until he went and dumped her.
“We’re not dating—just a casual thing.” She smirks. “What am I supposed to do, shower by myself?”
Jamie laughs, remembering that morning that feels like a decade ago. “I’m sorry you’ve had such shit boyfriends,” he adds, because the whole thing that tipped Keeley over the edge was that he wouldn’t take responsibility for things, and he still had never genuinely apologized for the whole auction mess, had he?
“Yeah, well,” and Jamie has the fingernails-on-chalkboard feeling of realizing he has no idea what the look on her face means, even though it looks soft. “Things change, don’t they?”
~
“Why’d you do it?” Jamie asks the next morning. He’s laid out on the path in front of Roy’s fucking bench, trying to force the bile back down his throat, and shouting at the power-walking grannies who keep grumbling at having to step around him.
“They only had bagels, and I’m not a fan.” He waves his danish. “They’re too chewy.”
“Not your fucking breakfast,” Jamie says, exasperated. “Keeley.”
Roy goes stiff. “I said I didn’t want to talk about that.” And then he reaches out and kicks Jamie in the side, the twat. Jamie takes the opportunity to grab onto Roy’s foot and pull himself up off the ground like a monkey climbing a vine, and it isn’t until he’s settled on the bench that he realizes he has his hand is clenched uncomfortably high on Roy’s thigh. He pulls it away, but it takes him probably longer than necessary to realize he shouldn’t be copping a feel on his fucking coach, even if Roy hadn’t seemed uncomfortable.
“You’ve made me puke every day for the past two weeks. You owe me.”
Roy stays silent, staring out at the horizon like he’s a soldier come home from fucking war. “It was too good, wasn’t it?”
Jamie stares at him, trying to put the pieces together in his head. “The fuck?” he says, because try as he might, that makes no fucking sense, and he’s pretty sure that, for once, Jamie isn’t the one being an idiot.
Roy waves a hand, danish crumbs scattering on the ground. “She was getting all this attention, right? Clients lining out the door, begging her to take them on. And she was fucking killing it. And she’s getting all these invites to like, fancy networking events and parties with genius supermodels and shit, and there I am, glowering in her shadow and not knowing how to make small talk about KPIs or what-fucking-ever, and just wishing I was at home. It’s not that I was . . .jealous, or anything, it was that I just didn’t fit anymore. In her life.”
Jamie takes a second to process that. “That’s fucking stupid,” he finally says.
Roy rolls his eyes. “What is it with children telling me I’m stupid?” A beat. “No, she could do so much better than me, and I didn’t want to wait around for her to realize it.” And the worst part is, Roy-fucking-Kent, who’s the most self-assured arsehole Jamie has ever known, Jamie included, sounds like he actually believes that.
Jamie means to say something insightful, something wise and comforting. Something Ted-like, that will make Roy believe he is the star of the universe and can do anything he puts his mind to or whatever. Something that makes it clear that, if no one is truly good enough for Keeley Jones, Roy Kent is probably the closest thing. Roy Kent, who said shit like stop bullying Nate all angry and convicted, and then here’s where you went wrong, lad, move your foot like this all soft like at training. Roy Kent, who, even on paper, was always there with a listening ear when a teenage Jamie came home from training, covered in bruises his kit couldn’t quite cover, and didn’t judge when Jamie cried into his pillow so his Mum couldn’t hear.
So yeah, that’s what Jamie wants to say. “You were the first person I wanked off to,” is what comes out, and judging by the journey Roy’s eyebrows take, he’s missed the mark.
“What I mean is,” Jamie says, trying not to blush like a twelve year old with his first fucking nudie mag, and hope Roy never ever mentions this again, “You’re fucking fit, mate, always have been, even if you’re part gorilla. And like, I can’t speak for Keeley, but I think she always wanted someone who would be there, and believe in her and treat her right and shit. And you still went to those parties—and you’re crazy ‘cause they’re fun as fuck—but like, you still went even if you didn’t want to because you knew it would make her happy. And I always saw you buying her coffee and shit, and you act tough but I’ve seen you with your niece and you’re like, a big teddy bear. You know, you’re like, fit on the inside, too, is what I mean.
“And like, even if you were a shit boyfriend,” Jamie continues, “I have it on good authority the last bloke she dated was a total selfish wanker. Anything would seem like an upgrade after that.”
“Yeah, well, you’re right there,” Roy says, but there’s no heat to it. He doesn’t even tease Jamie for admitting he had, like, proper fantasies about Roy when he was a lad. “He was a wanker. Glad he’s not around anymore.” And then he bumps Jamie’s shoulder a little, and it feels almost nice as Roy’s hug had.
Roy still ends up making him do suicides, though, so Jamie is never doing this being a better person shit again.