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It had been strange, walking in from a November injury to a whole team’s worth of faces Ben didn’t recognise. It’s weirder, still, arriving back from a short off season’s holiday to find a majority of the familiar faces he had been used to now no longer here. People he had trusted, depended on, leaned on as the walls started crumbling and he was thrust from depression to injuries into a season that shouldn’t even be possible for a club like this. A whole team thrown out and replaced in three years. It’s the same building, but it almost feels like starting at a new club, everything is so unfamiliar, so different. When Ben gets out of his car there’s no Mason waiting for him by the main entrance, no Ruben asking him to come for a quick game of fifa before heading to the gym, no Kai falling asleep in the treatment room, no Christian turning his nose up at everything Ben eats. A new start was needed, but the emptiness sits heavily in Ben’s heart regardless.
Tuesday is the first day of training, following Monday’s team meeting, although most of the boys had been coming and going around the training centre for close to a week now. It’s early, a full day of gruelling fitness tests planned, and Ben’s terrible with mornings as it is, but he slept like shit last night and that combined with the absence of his old routine leaves him feeling especially rotten, like someone’s took out a couple of his organs and put them back in just slightly the wrong way.
Reece is already in the changing room when Ben walks in, surrounded by a group of Cobham lads; some seniors - Callum, Trev, Ruben, some still working their way through the academy. Ben is far from a quiet face around the training ground, makes an effort to talk to everyone because that’s what being a team is all about, and he spent a good few weeks training with the academy boys last year, but even so, there’s a couple around Reece who Ben has never met before. They look at Reece like he’s a hero, like he’s made of solid gold. They look at Ben in awe sometimes, the younger ones or the left backs who pay attention to the seniors in their field, but it’s nothing like how they look at Reece. The Cobham boy, Chelsea through and through, even more so now that their previous hero has turned out to be such a disappointment.
It’s not Mason’s fault, not entirely. But Ben is disappointed too.
“Chilly!” Reece grins, waving him over into the little group that’s formed around him. He greets Ben with a hug even though they saw each other yesterday, which still takes Ben by surprise, because it used to be him constantly pressing himself into Reece’s (or anyone’s) space, seeking touch like a lifeline, and he wonders when Reece had decided that it’s his turn to start initiating contact. He hopes it isn’t out of pity. He leans into it anyway, lets his eyes close for a brief second and inhales. Reece feels nice, smells nice.
Ben stays and chats for a while. He’s been told too many times that if he wasn’t a footballer he could talk for England, doesn’t matter who it is or how well he knows them. Something very subtle has shifted; Ben gets asked what he thinks about Pochettino so far, if he knows what they’re doing today in training, if there’s anything they should be working on beforehand, and it’s clear that his answers matter, that it’s being taken on board, like his opinion has genuine meaning. It’s something that Ben has never really had before, teammates he would usually consider his equals looking to him for advice and guidance. Its not just the younger boys, either. It’s strange. It makes Ben panic a bit; he still needs somebody to look after him, and this all feels too much like being thrown in at the deep end.
Ben unconsciously shifts closer to Reece, putting a hand around his shoulder and letting himself lean in further. Reece is sturdy, dependable, like a rock. Ben doesn’t think he would have survived the last two years without him.
Slowly, people start to trickle out of the changing room, off to physio appointments or gym sessions or to get themselves some breakfast before training, and after a while Reece and Ben find themselves left alone, now seated next to each other on the bench, Ben’s arm still glued around Reece’s shoulder. A moment passes, silent. Ben thinks about resting his head in the crook of Reece’s neck, but decides not to push it.
Strangely, it’s Reece who ends up breaking the silence. That might be a first. “It’s different, isn’t it,” he says, like he’s been reading Ben’s mind. Different. It feels a bit better when Reece says it, less daunting. Reece has a nice voice, soft and silky smooth. Ben could listen to him talk all day. It’s a shame Reece can be so quiet.
“Yeah,” Ben agrees. “Different,” he repeats. He wants to see if the word sounds the same coming out of his mouth, but it doesn’t. Ben always gets told that he must like the sound of his own voice, but he hates it sometimes, when the words don’t want to come out and he knows everyone can tell he doesn’t believe a word of what he’s saying. He talks a lot to cover it up, quantity over quality. He doesn’t know how to say things and make it sound meaningful, not like Reece.
“It’ll be good, though,” Reece adds. Ben believes him. He has to, because otherwise he doesn’t know what he’s doing here, and he loves it too much to leave. It feels like home, even now. An empty home, but still a home nonetheless. “We’re gonna make it good, you and me,” Reece adds, enthusiastic, but he says it like it’s a fact, like he already knows. This is their home. The confidence alone makes Ben want to do anything Reece tells him.
“I miss him,” Ben allows himself to say. Sudden, but it’s been weighing on his mind like it’s stuck in there. He can’t bring himself to say the reason why he misses Mason like a piece of him has been cut out from the centre of his chest, he can’t even say his name, but by now he’s sure that Reece knows anyway. They don’t need to talk about it.
Reece’s lips press into a tight line. They move up in the corners a few times, then fall back down again. Ben watches Reece weigh up how to respond, watches him think it through like there’s a right and wrong answer, and it dully occurs to him that maybe he should regret admitting to that, but he doesn’t. Nobody has seen Ben at more lows than Reece has, nobody can understand or relate the way Reece can.
“He made his choice. You made yours,” is what Reece settles on eventually. It might sound bitter to someone who doesn’t really know Reece, but Ben knows that’s not how he means it. Then, with a smile, Reece jabs an elbow lightly into Ben’s side. “Stop moping. Your choice was better,” he grins. He’s right.
Sometimes it still echoes through Ben’s mind, Pep Guardiola pulling him to the side at the King Power and telling him he’s great, could be one of the greatest if he makes the right decisions. The whispers coming back earlier this year, Pep is still interested, Pep hasn’t given up yet. Ben had considered it the first time, but he barely even spared it a second thought this time. Some would call it stupidity, someone would call it lack of ambition, and maybe it is. Eleventh place to a treble winner, still not enough to spark Ben’s interest. He doesn’t think anything could now.
Ben grew into belonging here, Mason grew into needing to be anywhere else. These things happen. Ben wonders how much longer Mason’s ghost will haunt him. He’s mourning too many people, wonders at what point he goes from walking among ghosts to being one himself. He feels each loss chip away at his bones, and he doesn’t know know how much more he has left, how much he can take before it kills him. It’s hard not to take it personally. He feels physically sick at the thought of anyone else leaving him, would get down on his knees and beg for them to stay if he had just a little bit less self respect, not that he has much as it is.
“I know,” Ben says, a small, half-hearted smile dancing on his lips. “It’s just a lot, isn’t it?” He wants to say he feels like he’s been abandoned, that he feels like he’s been thrown in at the deep end with nobody left to guide him out, but he knows how ridiculous it would sound.
Finally, finally, Reece’s arm snakes securely around Ben’s back, and he pulls Ben in gently until his head is resting securely against Reece’s shoulder. Ben is a simple creature, these small things have always settled him near instantaneously. Having to work for the affection from Reece, knowing that he doesn’t just give it out freely the way that Ben does, makes it all the more meaningful.
Reece gives Ben’s shoulder a light squeeze, and Ben hms quietly in response. “No more self-pitying,” Reece instructs. “We’re meant to be leaders now. You don’t see Thiago getting the time to sit around feeling sorry for himself, do you?”
That’s part of the problem, Ben supposes. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to be responsible for everyone else when he barely feels like he can stand on his own two feet, still desperate for someone else to look after him.
Ben takes one final, deep inhale against the skin of Reece’s shoulder, and it gives him the strength he needs to pull his head up and get over himself. They have training to get ready for, a new manager, new teammates. He’s tired of being so fragile.
•
It’s only the third session of Poch’s preseason, yet the exhaustion is setting in with a heavy pull already. Ben’s lungs ache, muscles burn. It’s good, though. It’s what they all needed.
Ben gets to lead drills with Reece sometimes. He’s starting to feel a bit like a second in command, like it’s just falling into place naturally, and he likes that. He likes being at Reece’s side, would probably follow Reece around all day if he let him, like some sad lost puppy. He shouldn’t, though. He’s supposed to be learning some independence.
The usual summer heat hasn’t quite caught up to England yet, but it’s still been relatively warm. It’s a double session today, and by the time they’re finished it’s late afternoon moving into the early evening, with the sun sitting low in the sky, beaming down the last of the day’s heat. Voluntary shooting practice typically follows after training, but with the double session and gym work before, there aren’t many takers - just Misha, who seems to have endless bounds of energy, and a few kids from the development teams who are desperate to prove themselves.
“Chilly!” Misha calls over, his hands making an enthusiastic gesture to beckon Ben over. His English is limited, clumsy and broken at times, but Ben never seems to struggle working out what he’s trying to say. “Shoot with us. It will be fun,” he pleads, hands pressed together like his life will be over if Ben doesn’t stay.
He would usually join in on the drills, but he’s boiling hot and so exhausted he could pass out, and he’s been warned about pushing himself further than his body can cope with more times than he can count, so he knows he probably shouldn’t. “Nah, bro,” Ben says, not quite apologetic, but guilty for letting Misha down anyway. “I’m shattered. I’ll stay and watch though, yeah?” He offers in consolation, which is met with an approving nod and grin from Misha
With Misha’s approval, Ben allows himself to collapse into a shaded area at the corner of the pitch. It’s the place where Mason used to stand and wait for Ben to finish up so they could walk in together and get changed next to each other, and then Ben could take Mason home. But Ben’s trying not to be hung up on it, so he insists to himself that it’s just a piece of grass. It’s not, but it will be, one day.
Reece is on the other side of the pitch, engaged in conversation with Poch and a few other coaches. His skin glows with a golden shine in the sun. Ben doesn’t peel his eyes away until Misha’s calls for him to pay attention pierce through his trance. When he looks back up, Reece is closer, walking over.
When he’s close enough, he stretches out his arm to put a hand on Ben’s shoulder, looking down at him through his bottom eyelashes. Reece’s hands are considerably small for a man, but his nails are always perfectly shaped, not a single one out of place. It’s something that Ben always notices, he can’t help it, always finds himself thinking of the tattered red and swollen mess of his own nail beds. He wonders what Reece does instead when he’s anxious, but maybe Reece just doesn’t get himself worked up like that. Maybe it’s just Ben.
“Soaking up a bit of sun?” Reece asks, a half sort of smirk pulling at his lips. He offers Ben a sip from his water bottle, which Ben accepts gratefully.
“Misha likes it when I watch him,” Ben explains. “Says he doesn’t do as well if I don’t stay.”
The answer makes Reece burst into a full grin, his hand lifting up to ruffle Ben’s hair. The sensation doesn’t last long, but Ben closes his eyes, pushes his head up into Reece’s hands with an embarrassing desperation. He has a weakness for people playing with his hair.
“Adorable,” Reece says, half mocking, half genuinely endeared. “He loves you. Follows you around like a lost puppy, don’t he?”
Ben shrugs. Sometimes all people need is for someone to show a little bit of faith in them. “He just needs confidence. I like making people feel good,” Ben says. He cringes at the obvious opportunity for innuendo, but he knows Reece isn’t low enough to go there. Mase would have. Ben would have pretended to find it funny.
“You’re getting to be a real good leader now, you know?” Reece observes instead. Ben ducks his head, uncomfortable, although he appreciates that more than a crude joke.
“You think?”
Reece nods earnestly. He’s sitting down now, legs crossed, knees only just brushing against Ben’s side. They don’t look at each other. “Seriously, Ben. I’m not just saying it. They look up to you.”
Ben doesn’t quite know what to say, doesn’t know how to take that from Reece of all people, because he’s not a leader, not in the way that Reece is. Natural, like it just comes to him. It isn’t like that for Ben, never has been. Ben has to actively try, do everything he can to be positive even when he feels shit, tell people things that he’s never been able to tell himself. He feels like a fraud, like an imposter playing at the role of being an important part of the team.
“You’re one to talk, mr future captain,” Ben says. It’s supposed to be teasing, and it is for the most part, but something about it makes Ben feel a little unsteady. He’s not sure why. He trusts Reece, thinks that he’s made for the job like nobody else ever could be, but it’s terrifying. Moving too fast maybe. He wonders if Reece would still have time to sit and chat if he gets made captain, or vice-captain. If they would still have time for coffee in the mornings, their new habit, or if Reece would spend all his mornings in meetings, all his afternoons doing media and fixing everyone else’s problems. Time for everyone but Ben.
Reece ducks his head like he’s embarrassed, but Ben can see the spark of hope in his eyes. Reece has dreamed about being captain here, Ben knows he has, he remembers Reece telling him about it over cappuccinos.
“You’re just as likely to get it as I am,” Reece says, and Ben can’t help the laugh that comes out in response.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Ben instructs, because honestly, it’s like Reece doesn’t even realise what he is to Chelsea. Ben couldn’t imagine the club being what it is without Reece. He couldn’t imagine himself being here without Reece.
Reece scoffs, unimpressed. “You’re one to talk,” he jabs.
Ben has nothing to say to that. He knows, and he’s had the conversation more times than he can count, therapists and coaches and teammates picking at his inability to believe in himself, telling him that it’s making him play like shit and ruining his life. He doesn’t need to have that discussion again with Reece, not right now.
Instead, Ben takes a second to sit in the quiet, secure with the knowledge that Reece will stay right next to him. He focuses on the shooting practice in front of him; a bunch of faces he hardly recognises, half of the faces that once felt almost as familiar as his own now no longer present. They’re finishing up now, the boys helping the coaches to pack up the training equipment and slowly starting to filter inside. It looks like a ghost town, like an evacuation. Ben waves a goodbye to Misha, then turns his focus back to Reece.
“Does it still feel weird to you?” Ben asks, because he’s never been one for sitting quietly. “Or is it just me?”
Reece shrugs. “We’ll get used to it,” he says, nonchalant. Ben suspects that Reece cares more than he’s letting on, but maybe he doesn’t, maybe it really doesn’t pull at his heart the way it does Ben’s to think of everything they’ve lost. Reece has to be pretending not to care, Ben can’t be the only one struggling to get over this.
“I know,” Ben concedes. “I just–. I don’t know. I just wish a few more stayed. I feel like we’re the only ones left. Like we’ve been left alone with all this.”
“We are the only ones left,” Reece laughs, gently, blissfully unaware of how those words make Ben’s heart sting. “We’re not alone though, are we? How can we be alone when we’re both still here?”
The ease with which he can say these things is unbelievable to Ben. He makes it all sound so straight forward, like they’re a team of their own, he and Reece slotting together like a simple math problem. Ben can’t quite grasp it. He’s never felt alone in Reece’s presence, but he feels like he’s desperately chasing something, wanting to lean on Reece but not hard enough to push him away. They’re attached to each other in a way that’s maddening, and now there’s no Mase or Kai or Chris to buffer it. Now it’s just Ben and Reece, looking at each other, knees brushing.
Ben realises that this terror he’s been carrying around all summer isn’t because everyone except Reece has left him, it’s because Reece still might.
Reece prods Ben’s side, just underneath his ribs, which sends Ben squirming inwards on himself, grabbing Reece’s offending hand and holding it tight in punishment. “Ow,” Ben comments, unimpressed. “What was that for?”
“You’d been quiet for too long, was freaking me out,” Reece explains with a teasing grin. Ben hadn’t realised it had been that long, and he feels the blood rush to the back of his neck as he realises that he probably looked really weird. “Usually can’t get you to stop yapping. What’s going on? Is it Mase? I know you miss him.”
“It’s not Mase,” Ben says, too quick, but it’s really not. Mason can go fuck himself anyway, because he swore they’d just pick it up where they left off every time they have a couple days spare, but now he doesn’t return any of Ben’s calls and all of Ben’s texts remain left on delivered indefinitely. Whatever. They’ve grown out of each other. It happens.
Reece raises his eyebrows doubtfully. “What is it, then?” he asks. He’s giving Ben that look, the one he gives him when Ben makes some self-deprecating comment after a game or mentions how poorly he slept last night.
“Promise me you won’t leave?” Ben says, so suddenly, the words falling off his tongue before he can consider what a heavy thing that is to ask of someone. He feels stupid and selfish for saying it, sick at the thought of Reece saying no.
Reece’s lips fall open, eyes wide in shock. Of course he’s shocked. Ben shouldn’t have asked that. “Ben…” Reece begins, slowly, and Ben thinks his heart is going to drop out of his own body. The doubt in Reece’s tone says it all, and Ben would give anything to go back to before he said that, so he can pretend that Reece’s answer would be a yes, I promise, and Ben would never have to hear otherwise. “You know I can’t promise that. Neither of us know what’s going to happen. You don’t know you won’t leave. Nobody knows the future.”
Ben nods, tries to swallow down the lump of disappointment in his throat. He supposes that Reece is right, nobody knows, but Ben would happily tell anyone that he has no intentions of ever going anywhere else, he wouldn’t even need to think about it.
“Okay,” Ben accepts. He’s trying not let his voice tremble. “Not Chelsea, then. Just me.”
If Ben had been scared for Reece’s answer before, he’s positively terrified now. It’s not like he’s asking Reece to marry him, it’s not like that between them, not the way it was with Mase, but Ben has always thought there was a kind of mutually agreed upon emotional dependence between them, and for the first time Ben finds himself questioning whether it really is mutual, or if Ben is just clinging to Reece because his best friend slash fuck buddy left and he has nobody else.
(He’s not. If he could pick between only one of Reece or Mase staying, he’d pick Reece every time. He just hadn’t realised that until Mase and everyone else went running off and left Ben thinking about how much worse it would’ve been if it had been Reece.)
Reece rolls his eyes, but he’s broken out into a huge grin, squeezing Ben’s shoulder in what’s either an attempt at comfort or teasing, Ben isn’t sure. “God, you’re so dramatic,” he says, moving closer, pushing himself into Ben’s space, still not close enough. Reece brings a hand up to Ben’s cheek, gently caressing the soft skin just above Ben’s freshly shaved beard. Ben almost flinches away from the touch, not in rejection but out of shock. He’s not used to Reece being this comfortable with him.
Reece breaks the eye contact temporarily to take a quick look around the training pitch, focused and intense, like he’s scanning every inch. Ben doesn’t get the chance to ask him who he’s looking for, because before he can open his mouth to speak, Reece has turned back around, his face inches away from Ben’s, looking into his eyes in a way that drains any coherent string of words straight from Ben’s mind.
Reece holds Ben’s gaze like that for a few moments, like he’s waiting for Ben to get freaked out and pull away, but when Ben doesn’t, Reece moves closer. Closer, until Reece is taking Ben’s lips into a tentative kiss.
Ben isn’t exactly a stranger to top secret, guilt ridden kisses, but this freezes the hot air in his lungs. Right here on the training pitch, in open air and broad daylight, the kind of risk Reece is willing to take to show Ben how much he means it. The chaste quality of the kiss remains more due to Ben’s bewilderment than lack of desire. When Ben’s brain does finally get up to speed enough for him to reciprocate, he finds himself leaning into it, body pushing into Reece’s, savouring the contact.
It doesn’t last long. Reece pulls back, takes a few very precise looks around them, aware of the risk that they might not be alone. Ben sits quietly, waiting for the return of Reece’s attention back to him. He doesn’t think he could speak even if he tried to.
“I’m not leaving you,” Reece says, complete assurance, like there’s not a single doubt in his mind. The relief is so heavy that Ben’s eyes start to sting. He hadn’t realised quite how scared he’d been.
“Okay,” Ben nods. It’s all he’s able to say. He still feels the weight of Reece’s lips on his, unexpected but steady. Ben hopes Reece doesn’t regret it.
“I hope I didn’t misread that, did I?” Reece asks, the delayed panic only just setting in.
A little, Ben thinks. That wasn’t quite what he meant, but maybe subconsciously it was. Maybe that was what he’d been searching for all along, the confirmation he’d been craving, that he and Reece actually means he and Reece.
“No,” Ben says, sure of himself. “You didn’t.”
Reece’s alleviated sigh is immediate. “Cool. Chess later?” he asks, suddenly casual, like nothing even happened. Ben supposes he doesn’t mind pretending. It’s nothing new to him.
•
The last of pre-season approaches much faster than expected, with the opening game against Liverpool at Stamford bridge getting increasingly closer. There’s an air of excitement around the club, spurred on by fast formed friendships and hungry desires. Poch had made it clear that his decision on the captaincy wouldn’t be known to the squad until the last few days coming up to the start of the season, and there’s a nervous tension to the way Reece carries himself as those days approach. He wants this, so bad. Ben can tell, and he wants it too, because he knows how much it would mean.
When Reece is called into Poch’s office for a one on one first thing in the morning, everyone knows what it’s for. Ben gives him a long hug and a fist bump before ushering him off, the final squeeze of his shoulder serving as a premature well done, you deserve this.
In America, they had spent a small collection of nights together. Nothing untoward or scandalous, just sharing a bed, a film on in the background, restrained kisses and a few touches here and there, walking to different cafes for coffee together in the mornings. Once, Ben fell to sleep with his head on Reece’s chest, but that was only the one occasion and it never happened again.
It’s agonisingly slow, but Reece expects so little from Ben, and that means a lot. He’s been thinking more about Mason, what they had and what they lost, and at some point he started thinking about James too, a long healed scar suddenly picked open. Ben realised that he doesn’t want this cycle to keep repeating itself over and over again, he doesn’t want to find another teammate and become their plaything, their personal stress reliever, only important when he’s in close enough proximity to come over for rushed handjobs whenever called upon. He and Reece will be different, or they’ll fade into nothing, but Reece already promised not to leave and Ben believes him.
It isn’t until an hour later that Ben sees Reece again, walking through the corridor. The glow around Reece tells Ben all he needs to know, and the beaming smile is an added bonus.
“So,” Ben says, “am I looking at the new captain of Chelsea football club?”
Reece doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t need to, he just pulls Ben into his arms, immediate and forceful. Ben’s cheeks feel like they could split from smiling.
“I can’t believe it,” Reece says, quietly, after a minute.
“Proud of you, man,” Ben whispers, breath catching against Reece’s ear. “You deserve this. Nobody deserves it more than you.”
Reece is blinking rapidly when he eventually pulls back, and if his eyes are slightly damp Ben does the courteous thing and pretends not to notice. Reece keeps one hand steady on Ben’s shoulder. “I just wanted to let you know,” he begins, “Poch asked me who I think should be vice captain. He says he’s already pretty sure who he’s going with, but he wanted know my opinion as captain.”
Ben nods. He’d jump at the chance, obviously. Who wouldn’t? But he’s been trying not to get his hopes up. There’s Thiago, Raheem, Enzo, all perfectly deserving of the honour. Ben doesn’t see the point in setting himself up for disappointment.
“Oh,” Ben says. He reminds himself that he doesn’t care, that it won’t bother him if Reece has recommended someone else. What’s best for the team is all that matters.
“And I told him I think it should be you,” Reece states. “Doesn’t mean you’ll get it, obviously. I don’t know who he has in mind, but I just wanted you to know that’s what I think. You’re the one I want by my side.”
Ben doesn’t know what to say, how to react. He had never expected to be made vice captain anyway, but knowing that Reece thinks of him so highly, has that much trust in him, that means more than any armband or official title ever could.
“Really?” is the first thing that makes its’ way out of Ben’s mouth. Then, after remembering that he should have a little more confidence in himself, he adds with a great deal of sincerity, “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Reece waves this off easily. “Yes, really,” he emphasises, smiling. “There’s nobody else I’d rather do this with than you.”
Ben supposes he and Reece have always been a little bit like a team of their own. They’re better together, more complete. All their intricate rituals, the way they play when they’re certain that on the opposite side of the pitch there’s somebody who knows exactly what their next step is, the confidence that they instil in each other. They’re right on the edge of creating something special together.
Ben is just about to fall into Reece’s arms for another embrace when a member of the coaching staff comes up behind them, the sound of footsteps defusing the moment instantly as they break apart. “Chilly, I’ve been looking for you,” He greets. Then, with a firm clap on the back, “The gaffer wants to have a quick chat with you when you can.”
He’s gone as quickly as he came, leaving Ben and Reece looking at each other, a knowing glimmer in Reece’s eyes, a smirk on his face. He takes his focus off of Ben to have a quick scan of the corridor, the same movement as that one time in the shade on the training pitch, and then, just like before, he takes the opportunity to capture Ben’s lips in a delicate, rushed kiss. The contract can’t even last for a full second, fear at the forefront of Ben’s mind no matter how much he wishes he could simply savour the moment, but the meaning behind it is clear anyway.
“Go,” Reece says. “I’ll see you for coffee tomorrow morning, yeah?”
Yeah. Their new routine, new roles. It’s not as daunting as it once was, not when ben knows Reece will be here. They’ll be here, together.
Ben sets off down the corridor towards Pochettino’s office, an echo of Reece still on his lips.