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It starts like it always does, with a tickle in the back of his throat. But by later that night, Jamie’s throat is on fire, flames that can’t be quenched with water, though he tries. He makes himself tea with honey before bed like his Mum used to make. It’s not the same, though. Is it ever the same if it’s not made with your Mum’s loving hand?
Jamie spends the night tossing and turning, unable to sleep due to the uncomfortable sore throat. It’s as if someone poured lava directly down his gullet. When at 3:52 he can no longer delay dragging himself from his bed, Jamie changes on autopilot. It’s a Herculean effort he’s unsure he can repeat multiple times today, let alone train.
But Jamie has no choice. It’s barely been a few weeks that Roy has been training him; Jamie would have to be dead to cancel. And even then, he would probably force his ghost to train, lest he disappoint his former idol. When Roy pulls up at 3:59, Jamie grabs his headlamp, switches it on and stumbles down the stairs. He pulls the door open just as Roy is about to knock.
“Good, lad,” Roy says, nodding at him, and the same warm feeling as always when Roy compliments him spreads through his belly.
Jamie returns his coach’s nod but doesn’t say anything. He needs all his energy for the workout and can’t waste any to speak. He wants to finish the workout so he can attempt another hour of sleep before training with the team. His nose dripping as they jog. He’s unsure if it’s due to the frigid weather or the cold he knew was coming. The chilly November air felt like it was seeping into his bones, the grey weather matching how Jamie felt. This is by far the coldest it’s been since last winter and the chilliest day he’s spent training with Roy.
His nose continues to run, and it’s gross, but Jamie keeps wiping his nose with the back of his hand. As the weather grew colder, Roy had forced Jamie to start wearing gloves and Jamie had never been more grateful than he was today. Old people really are wise. Not that he’d ever admit that to Roy.
“You alright?” Roy asks.
The coach has taken a slight pity on Jamie, giving him a rest after the first round of burpees while he sips a cup of hot tea from a nearby shop.
“Yeah,” Jamie chokes out, voice hoarse. Coughing to clear his throat, he squeaks the word out again. Jamie hadn’t spoken yet, and his voice was thick from disuse and his cold.
“You sick or something?” Roy asks.
“Nah,” Jamie waves a hand, then sneezes, barely having time to bring his elbow up to his mouth in time. “Just a cold or something. It’s nowt.”
Roy sighs exaggeratedly, stands from the bench, and bins his empty cup.
“Alright, back to the house, you fucking muppet,” Roy says, motioning in the direction of Jamie’s home.
“I’m fine, Coach,” Jamie says, forcing a cheery tone to his voice and dropping to do more burpees. “One.”
“You’re not fine. Get up, and let’s go the fuck home.”
“Two–No, Coach, I’m good–Three–Tell me how many you want me to do, and I’ll do ‘em. Watch–Four,” Jamie continues to count off.
“Four, I want you to do four. Now, come on. We’re going back to your house, and that’s a fucking order.”
The command finally forces Jamie to stop. Can’t disobey an order and all that. Jamie pauses, hands on his knees, attempting to catch his breath. Roy rises from the bench and starts in the direction of Jamie’s house, Jamie dragging his feet behind him. They don't run back, just walk leisurely, Jamie trying to breathe through his mouth rather than his congested nose. Jamie’s willing himself not to be sick. He hates being sick and the way your head feels like it will explode with a cold.
“Go shower, as hot as you can stand it. It’ll help clear your sinuses,” Roy instructs once they walk through Jamie’s door, placing his hand on Jamie’s lower back and pointing up the stairs.
More orders Jamie’s unable to disobey, even if he wanted to. Head down, Jamie toes off his trainers and trudges upstairs. He’s never been happier for the heated bathroom floor as he undresses and climbs into the steaming shower, shivering slightly before the hot water hits his skin. After fifteen minutes, Jamie emerges from his shower, skin raw from the heat, dries himself and wraps himself in his fluffiest robe.
Dressing quickly, Jamie searches the house for Roy while gently towel-drying his hair. Jamie checks all over, disappointed to find his house empty and Roy’s Mercedes gone from his driveway. Jamie can’t help but feel a bit sad at this development. He thought Roy might at least stay for breakfast like he usually does. But then again, the coach probably doesn’t want to risk Jamie getting him sick.
Jamie reluctantly blows his hair dry, the wet hair having made him shiver slightly. He has to stop periodically to blow his nose, and Jamie can no longer convince himself it’s running solely due to the cold air. When he emerges from his bathroom and returns downstairs to make something to eat. Jamie screams when he realises someone’s in his kitchen, but his heart rate returns to a normal rate when he sees it’s Roy.
“What the fuck, man? You scared the shit out of me,” Jamie says, running a hand through his hair. “Thought you left.”
“I did. You have fuck all here for cold meds,” Roy explains, motioning to some bags on the counter.
“Oh. That was nice of you,” Jamie says.
The coach grunts. It’s Roy’s you’re welcome, grunt, Jamie realises and smiles to himself as he slides into the new stools he bought for his island. Roy places a bag of cough drops, a mug of tea and a glass of water in front of him. Jamie dutifully begins to sip the wonderfully warm tea, briefly wrapping his hands around the warm mug. He grabs the box of cold medicine and opens it, popping in the daytime pills as he chugs half the glass of water with them. Lastly, he lets the cough drop cool his aching throat once he finishes the tea.
“Wait. It’s five a.m. Where did you find an open store?” Jamie says, suddenly realising.
“Went to Ruth’s,” Roy says shrugging. “She’s closer to here than my place.”
Jamie’s unsure if Roy committed a breaking and entering and robbed his sister of her supplies or being a doctor; she’s better prepared than most, or at least better prepared than Jamie. Roy slides a plate in front of the under-the-weather athlete. An omelette with spinach and peppers as well as a side of cut-up banana. The coach joins him, sitting slowly in the chair beside him with his own plate and mug of steaming tea. They eat in companionable silence, Jamie stopping only to blow his nose or cough and clear his throat occasionally.
“So, what’re we doing at training today?” Jamie asks.
It’s the first day of the international break, so Jamie was actually looking forward to training again since Zava would be gone. Jamie hadn’t actually paid attention to who or where the striker was going, simply happy to have a break from the coldness of Zava’s depressing shadow.
“You’re not doing shit,” Roy says, taking another bite of his omelette.
“It’s just a cold, Coach. I’m fine,” Jamie protests, dismayed at the whiny tone he hears in his voice.
“You’ll run yourself fucking ragged if I let you. And I am not fucking letting you.”
“You have me up at 4 am every day,” Jamie scoffs.
“Yeah, so you can be better than Zava,” Roy says. “Did you fucking mean it or not?”
“Of course I meant it. But–”
“No fucking butts. You’re going to eat. Then you’ll drink the smoothie I’m making you, and then you’ll go back to bed. And you’re doing fuck all until you feel better.”
“I feel fine,” Jamie says but breaks into a cough.
Roy raises his eyebrow at him.
“Okay, okay, maybe not fine,” Jamie says. “But I can still fucking train.”
“What happens then? Cockburn gets sick? And Isaac? And then we know Colin will get sick because Tweedle Dee and Tweedle fucking Dum can’t be apart?”
Jamie exhales loudly. The last thing he wants to do is get anyone else sick. But the second to last thing he wants to do is give anyone a reason to think he’s not strong enough to make it through training just because of a little cold.
“Look, it’s fucking freezing out. If you go out there, you could get worse, and then we’d have our best player out. This way, you rest; you’ll be right as fucking rain for the Liverpool match when International Break is over.”
“You think I’m your best player?” Jamie asks hopefully.
“Sorry, can’t hear you,” Roy says, pressing the button on the blender.
“He said I’m the best,” Jamie says to himself, smiling and then sneezes loudly.
Roy places a smoothie in front of Jamie, motioning for him to drink up.
“Added more kale, banana and berries than normal,” Roy explains. “It helps when you’re sick. Come on, bring that with you.”
Jamie picks up the smoothie and waits as Roy refills his water, grabs one of the bags and motions for Jamie to go upstairs. The younger man shuffles his feet, not wanting to go to bed yet, but his yawn on the stairs betrays him, followed by another sneeze. He is starting to feel a bit better, though, and the cold medicine is beginning to take effect. Roy motions at the bed and then disappears into Jamie’s ensuite. He returns shortly, placing the rubbish bin from Jamie’s bathroom by his bed as Roy deposits the glass of water on the nightstand. Jamie pulls off his joggers and then his socks.
“Alright, give me your feet.”
“My feet?” Jamie asks, confused.
“Yeah, your fucking feet,” Roy says, motioning towards Jamie to give Roy his feet.
Jamie does as he’s told because Jamie always does as he’s told lately. Roy pulls out a container of Vaporub and begins to rub it on Jamie’s soles, one foot at a time.
“Vaporub? On me feet? For a cold?” Jamie questions incredulously.
“My Grandad swore on it. Always did it when I was sick when I was little. Ruth says it doesn’t work, but some things you don’t need a fucking medical degree for. Okay, socks back on.”
“But I get hot,” Jamie complains.
“Just try it. If you get too hot, you can take them off. Now take your shirt off so I can put it on your back.”
Jamie chucks off his shirt and turns around. Roy’s strong hands rubbing the ointment onto his tired upper back muscles feel amazing. Slowly turning Jamie around with his hands, he continues to rub it on Jamie’s chest and neck. Roy returns the Vaporub to the table as Jamie shrugs back into his t-shirt as Roy lifts up the duvet for Jamie to climb into the bed.
“I have to go to training, but I’ll be back later. There are some cans of soup you just need to heat up on the stove, but I’ll make you the real thing tonight, okay? Make sure you eat something for lunch, even if it’s just some of the fruit I left. Text me if you need anything else specific, okay? Don’t be a twat. If you think of something, tell me, okay?”
“Yes, Coach,” Jamie says, snuggling into his pillow.
Roy brushes the walnut mist off Jamie’s forehead, “Good lad. Now to go to sleep.”
Jamie’s asleep before Roy makes it out of the room.
When Jamie wakes a few hours later, he feels well-rested but thinks the cold symptoms may be returning as he sneezes loudly. He checks his phone, noticing it’s been almost four hours since his last dose of medicine. Jamie pulls on his joggers, realising he hadn’t taken his socks off while sleeping after all. He finds his slippers, puts on a hoodie, wraps a blanket around his shoulders and trudges downstairs.
Jamie’s lonely already, knowing his teammates are all together and he’s stuck at home. Not only confined to his house but also ill. He takes his next dose of pills and chugs some water. He takes a moment to light his fireplace before he settles onto the couch.
An hour later, Kleenexes surround Jamie like confetti. He belatedly remembers Roy’s instructions to eat and the promise of homemade soup. Jamie pushes the canned soup aside in favour of a chicken, broccoli and brown rice concoction he had meal prepped the day before. He’s not hungry, but he hears his Mum saying feed a cold, starve a fever in his head so he chokes down ninety percent of it while sitting cross-legged on the couch, one blanket across his legs and another wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak.
Rain taps against the windows to his garden, and with the hum of the television it takes Jamie a little while to recognise a new sound as someone knocking on his door. He gathers his discarded tissues and medicine packets and dumps them in the bin before trudging his way towards the door, sneezing right before he makes it to the door and then opening it. He’s greeted by Ted and Roy standing on his stoop. Jamie had expected Roy, but not Ted, and not this early. He checks his watch. Training should still be ongoing.
“What’re you doing here?”
“Heard our favourite Pop Tartt was under the weather,” Ted says, smiling.
“Told you I was coming back,” Roy says, holding up a couple of bags from the grocer.
“Sorry,” Jamie says, shaking his head as if that can help clear the congestion in his sinuses and his brain fog. “I meant this early. It’s only one.”
“Canceled the second half of practice. I mean training,” Ted explains. “I thought the team could use an afternoon off, and you could use some company.”
“Oh. Well, thanks for coming over then,” Jamie says, sniffling slightly.
“Can we come in, Jamie?”
“Oh right, sorry,” Jamie says, moving aside as his coaches enter. Ted and Jamie follow as Roy makes purposeful strides towards Jamie’s kitchen.
“Hey you ever wondered why there’s no Mom Tartts?” Ted asks as they walk.
“Uh, no,” Jamie answers.
“It’s because of the pastry-archy.”
“That’s bad even for you, Ted.”
Ted shrugs, then checks his watch and turns to Jamie. “Rest of the fellas should be here soon.”
“The rest?” Jamie asks, grabbing a tissue and blowing his nose. Jamie was resigned to spending the next few days on his own with only his used tissues to keep him company. He wasn't expecting his team to come over, especially after how lonely he's been since they signed Zava.
“You eat lunch like I told you to?” Roy interrupts his thoughts.
“Yes, Coach. Chicken, rice and broccoli.”
“Good lad,” Roy says, continuing to put away items and then turning on Jamie’s electric kettle.
Jamie turns back to Ted expectantly, and the manager leads Jamie to the couch. Ted opens his mouth to speak, but the doorbell rings. He holds his finger up to Jamie and leaves to answer the door. The American returns shortly with Isaac, Colin, Jan, Sam, Dani and even Beard.
“What’re you all doing here?” Jamie asks, shocked they are all there to see him.
“Came to cheer you up, boyo,” Colin says.
“Your house is much nicer than I anticipated,” Jan Maas shares while looking around. “I assumed it would be filled with gaudy decorations and naked oil paintings of yourself.”
“Not now, Jan Maas,” Sam says under his breath.
“Oh, never mind. I was correct,” Jan adds, pointing to a lamp with a golden gun as a base.
“What? I thought it looked cool,” Jamie says a bit dejectedly.
“I thought only Americans were obsessed with guns?” Jan says, turning to Beard and Ted.
“Not all Americas. For example, I prefer axes for home defence,” Beard explains.
“Not touching that one,” Colin says under his breath.
“You shouldn’t all be here. What if I get you guys sick?” Jamie asks and then sneezes to emphasise his point.
“I think I got you sick, hermano,” Dani says. “So you will probably not give it back to me.”
“We’ll be careful, bruv. Besides international break, innnit? We’ll at least be sick together.”
None of the Greyhounds had been called up this break except Zava and Bumbercatch. Colin might’ve had a shot had he not been benched for Zava. Dani, who already had a number of caps for Mexico, was used sparingly for international duty as his Mexican National Team coaches wanted to play it safe with his knee with the World Cup coming up next year. The Canadien team had tried to reach out to Zoreaux, but there was a communication mix-up as they were unaware the goalkeeper was going by Van Damme.
“Yes, don’t worry, we will be safe,” Sam says, pulling items one by one from a bag. “We have plenty of hand sanitiser. We should be fine as long as you don’t accidentally sneeze in anyone’s face.”
The group sets up a makeshift headquarters in Jamie’s living room, with pillows, blankets and footballers strewn across the couch and floor. The coaches occupy themselves in the kitchen. Jan grabs a plethora of blankets. Sam organises the snacks, both homemade and store-bought, on the coffee table. Colin and Isaac set about serving tea and water to their teammates and supplying Jamie with cough drops. Dani took charge of the television as he snuggled up with Jamie.
“Your pick, amigo, what do you want to watch?” Dani asks.
Jamie thinks for a few moments before saying, “Have you seen Stardust?”
To Jamie’s surprise, only Colin has seen it, or at least remembers seeing it. Jamie’s eyes are heavy by the time the first act has finished, and by half way through, he’s snoring on Jan’s shoulder.
When Jamie wakes two hours later, he finds himself drooling on Jan’s hoodie.
“Sorry,” Jamie croaks, his voice dry with disuse.
The Mancunian sits up and breaks off into a coughing fit. Jan leans forward, patting his back gently and offering water. Jamie takes a few grateful gulps, his coughing finally subsiding.
“Sorry,” Jamie says again, grabbing a tissue and attempting to blot the drool from Jan Maas’s sweatshirt.
Jan gently grabs hold of Jamie’s wrist, then takes the tissue from his hand.
“Jamie, it’s okay. I would not have sat next to you if I was concerned about a little drool. I have sat next to you on the bus before.”
“I don’t drool,” Jamie sulks. “It’s only because I’m sick.”
“Yes, you do,” Jan says, and Isaac laughs. “Isaac, I don’t know what you are laughing at. I’ve sat next to you on the bus as well.”
Isaac’s mouth slams shut comically, and Jamie starts to laugh until another coughing fit cuts him off.
“Here, do you want another cough drop?” Sam asks, holding out the bag to Jamie once he stops coughing.
Jamie takes the bag gratefully and offers his friend his appreciation, “Thanks, Sam.”
“Our sleeping beauty is awake,” Ted says, standing over the back of the couch. “Perfect timing, Jamie.”
Suddenly, the smell of chicken soup filters its way somehow through Jamie’s clogged nose. He blows his nose one last time before pulling himself to stand, stretching out his body, sore from being curled in an awkward position on the couch. Jamie wraps the blanket back around his shoulders and shuffles to his dining table, where Sam and Colin are already sitting. Roy hands him water and more cold medicine before placing a steaming bowl of soup in front of him. Jamie holds the warm bowl in both his hands, holding it up to his face, letting the steam fill his stuffed nostrils.
“Are you going to eat it or let it give you a facial?” Colin asks.
“Fair enough,” Jamie says, putting the bowl down and dipping his spoon into it.
The rest of the players and coaches join at one table or his breakfast nook, eating and laughing with each other.
“This is really good, Roy,” Beard offers, and the rest of the group agrees.
“There’s leftovers for tomorrow,” Roy tells Jamie.
“Mint,” he says through a mouthful of chicken.
Eventually, the group piles back into the couch area. The lads argue over what movie to watch next. They enjoyed Jamie’s pick, but they know he’ll most likely fall asleep before the next movie is over, so they’ve vetoed allowing him to choose. They eventually land on Never Been Kissed, and surprisingly, Jamie makes it through the entire movie without falling asleep, though he spends the movie cuddled around Sam.
Jamie stays awake but yawns excessively enough that Ted decides they need to leave Jamie to rest when the movie finishes. They all pull him into hugs as they filter out the door, all except Beard and Roy. Beard nods at him, which Jamie takes as the closest to a hug from Beard he would get. Roy clasps him on the back, the last one to leave.
“4 am, Coach?” Jamie asks.
“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Roy says, and Jamie grins.
“You rest, you muppet. Ted cancelled training already, so sleep in. That’s a fucking order.”
“Yes, Coach,” Jamie mock salutes.
“Come on, I’ll rub the Vaporub on you before bed. It’ll clear your sinuses and help you sleep,” Roy says.
They trudge slowly up the stairs, Jamie’s feet heavy with sickness and Roy’s knee slowing him. Jamie brushes his teeth while Roy turns down the bed and retrieves the nighttime cold medicine from the pack. Jamie takes the pills as Roy rubs the Vaporub onto Jamie’s back. The coach repeats the process with Jamie’s chest and then his feet again once he sits on the bed. Jamie’s inclined to agree with Ruth that it’s an old wives tale, but he’s not going to chance telling Roy that. Finally, Roy holds the duvet up as Jamie climbs fully under the covers, nuzzling into his pillow.
“Your alarm off?”
“Yes, Roy,” Jamie sighs but speaks without opening his eyes.
“Alright, muppet, sleep tight. I’ll stop by tomorrow,” Roy says, mussing Jamie’s hair and shutting the light.
The night-time cold meds work sparingly. Jamie’s able to sleep a few hours, but even with his head propped, as suggested by Google, he finds it difficult to sleep. At half three, he pops in another cough drop, hoping it’ll soothe his throat enough to keep the cough suppressed long enough for more sleep.
It’s half eight when Jamie finally abandons any hope of more sleep and pulls himself from bed, blowing his nose as he sits up. He’d managed a few more fitful hours after his last cough drop, but not enough to feel fully rested. Jamie changes and stumbles downstairs to his kitchen, turning on the kettle as he takes his latest round of medicine and drinks down some pre-workout.
The talking heads on the television absentmindedly discuss the latest international games, but Jamie quickly shuts it off when the discussion turns to Zava, playing tonight for his home country. Jamie had hoped to not think about Zava during the international break but the pundits had not agreed. He carefully mixes some honey into his tea and returns to the couch.
Despite his head aching, Jamie scrolls through his phone, not trusting the television again and too lazy to find something else to watch. It’s raining, so he alternates between Instagram, Twitter, TikTok and watching the rain in his garden. Tea finished, Jamie can put off his plans no longer. He trudges to his home gym downstairs, stretching appropriately before starting on the treadmill, first at a walk, then a jog, and finally forcing himself into a full-out run. It’s a trudge as if he’s running through sand, and Jamie reaches for the sound system remote to put the music up louder to help motivate him.
Running is the last thing Jamie wants to be doing now, second only to anything involving spending time with Zava. Or listening to anything about Zava. Okay, maybe running is third. But still, he doesn’t want to be here, on this treadmill, sweating and wiping his leaking nose with a towel. He thinks that no washing could save said towel as he wipes his running nose again.
But Jamie’s keen to work out, even if Roy wouldn’t approve. He’s never going to be better than Zava if he doesn’t push through things like colds. David Beckham would’ve played with a cold. Fuck, Roy played his last few seasons hobbled on one leg. He definitely would have played through a cold. Jamie’s head is pounding in tune with his steps on the treadmill. He’s feeling a bit wobbly, like the treadmill needs to be serviced, but he knows it doesn’t, and he’s beginning to wonder if he’s drunk enough water or if it’s just the cold making him feel unsteady.
While Jamie hadn’t seen or heard from his father since his knuckles connected with James’ jaw in the Wembley dressing room all those months before, his Dad's voice still filled his head with every heavy step. He punches the speed up on the treadmill in response, willing the music and his footsteps to drown out his father’s insults. He’s a bit lightheaded, but maybe it’s that runners-high Jamie is always hearing about. He pushes through, finally beginning to hit his stride for the run, when a voice cuts through the music.
“Tartt! What the fuck are you doing?”
Startled, Jamie turns towards the voice, his right foot connecting with the edge of the treadmill. Jamie desperately reaches a hand for the safety rail, but his momentum is too much. He has just enough time to think, oh fuck, before he loses his footing completely and unceremoniously falls off the treadmill.
When Jamie doesn’t answer after knocking, Roy’s glad he took Jamie’s key and sneakily made a copy after their first 4am training. Roy was hoping Jamie was still sleeping. He hadn’t expected to hear music coming from Jamie’s home gym. But when he had, Roy hoped the muppet was stretching or doing some of the yoga moves Roy had taught him to improve his core strength. Anything but cardio, he prayed.
The music was almost deafening as Roy slowly made his way downstairs. Roy was going to have a talk with Jamie about long-term hearing health if this was the decibel the music was always at. Mentally preparing his speech, Roy rounded the corner into the gym and saw Jamie running full speed on the treadmill. Inwardly groaning with both worry and envy at the rate Jamie’s 25-year-old legs could run, Roy clenched his fists and yelled over the rapping tones of Aitch blaring through the speakers.
“Tartt! What the fuck are you doing?”
Startled, Jamie turns towards the voice, his right foot connecting with the edge of the treadmill. Roy watches in horror as Jamie desperately reaches a hand for the safety rail, but his momentum is too much and Jamie clumsily falls off the treadmill.
“Fuck!” Roy yelled and rushed to where Jamie was sprawled on the gym floor.”Are you okay?
Roy kneels gingerly by Jamie, hands gently on the younger man’s shaking shoulders.
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
The music somehow seems even louder than before.
“I can’t–“ Jamie starts but breaks off in a cough.
Roy pushes himself to stand, wincing as his knee protests, and steps towards the treadmill, hitting the emergency stop button, grabbing the sound system remote and turning the music off. Jamie’s continued coughs suddenly sound deafening in the small space. Returning to Jamie’s side, Roy rests his hand on his back as he continues to cough. Concern and anger vibrate off Roy as he waits worryingly for Jamie to stop hacking.
“Are you okay?” asks Roy when the coughing finally ceases.
“You scared the shit out of me! What the hell, man?” Jamie asks, hand to his chest.
“Well, what the fuck are you doing running?”
Jamie groans and puts his hand back on the ground, breathing heavily and blinking rapidly.
“Fuck what hurts?” Roy asks nervously, eyes drifting up and down Jamie’s prone form.
“Nothing, I’m just a little dizzy,” Jamie says, sniffling and exaggeratedly breathing out his open mouth.
“Did you hit your head? What day is it?” Roy questions, pulling his phone out and debating if he should call 999 or, at the very least, his sister.
“No. I was a little dizzy before.”
That’s all the information necessary for Roy. He presses the button to call Ruth, putting the phone on speaker and laying it on the floor.
“Who’re you calling?” Jamie asks.
“My sister. She's a doctor,” Roy says.
“I don’t need a doctor.”
“Hello?” his sister greets.
“Jamie fell off the treadmill.”
“You didn’t push him, did you?”
Roy rolls his eyes. “No, the muppet’s sick and thought that was a good time to do fucking cardio. He’s dizzy. Said he didn’t hit his head but was dizzy before he fell.”
“I only fell because he scared me,” Jamie says into the phone. “I’m not dizzy any more. I were dizzy, but now I’m not. I’m fine.”
Jamie breaks off into another coughing fit and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. Roy hands him the towel from the treadmill, and Jamie gratefully wipes his nose and then his hand.
“Does he have a fever?” Ruth asks.
Roy reaches over to Jamie, but he swats his hand away.
“He doesn’t have a fever,” Jamie says. “It’s just a cold. I’m fine. You’re supposed to sweat it out, right? Tell him.”
Jamie fits Roy with a smug look.
“That’s actually a myth,” Ruth says, and Roy gives Jamie his best told-you-so look. “You were probably dizzy because you’re dehydrated. Roy, is he currently drinking water?”
“Where’s your water?” Roy asks.
“Forgot it upstairs.”
“Alright, let’s go get you water,” Roy says, offering Jamie his hand.
“Wait!” Ruth yells through the phone. “You said he fell off the treadmill. Jamie, does your neck or back hurt at all or feel numb?”
Roy watches as Jamie seems to mentally test his body. He’s still half lying, half sitting, leaning on his hands like he was when he first became dizzy.
“No,” Jamie finally says.
“Okay, stand up very slowly. If you rise too fast, you could become light-headed again.”
Jamie slowly moves to all fours,, lifts one knee, and pushes himself to a standing position. Roy hovers his arms out in case Jamie starts to fall. Satisfied he’s standing upright and going to stay that way, Roy is about to end the call with Ruth when Jamie starts towards the stairs but hisses and hops onto his left foot.
“Fuck,” he grinds through gritted teeth.
“What’s wrong?” Ruth questions over the phone.
“My ankle.”
“Fuck,” Roy curses, putting an arm out to support Jamie. “Maybe you should-”
“I’m on my way.”
Twenty minutes later, Jamie’s sitting on a kitchen stool, waiting for Roy to return to his kitchen with his sister. Jamie attempted to get the door when it rang, but one look from Roy kept him glued to the chair. After the initial shock of pain from his ankle, it’s subsided into a dull throb, nothing like when he’s sprained his ankle before. But by then, Ruth was already on her way, and Jamie knew Roy wouldn’t let the younger man out of his site without an all-clear from some type of medical professional.
Roy returns a few moments later, trailed by a dark-haired woman with unmistakable Kent eyebrows. Jamie’s unsure what he pictured, but it wasn’t someone this fit. She smiles at him in an unmistakably un-Roy way that reminds him of Phoebe.
“Hi Jamie, you alright?” she greets easily. “Pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Ruth. This one’s told me a lot about you.”
Jamie winces a bit, wondering what Roy is telling his sister about the Prince Prick of All Pricks. He didn’t imagine any of it was good, though he hoped things had changed since Roy started training him. Roy had let Jamie meet Phoebe recently, more than just seeing her in passing, so that had to mean something.
“Have not,” Roy grumbles, but Ruth simply smiles wider. Jamie likes her already. And Roy wouldn’t have denied it if he hadn’t been saying positive things.
“I’m going to try to make you feel a bit better. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for coming, ugh, you didn’t have to,” Jamie shrugs, then sneezes.
He’s unsure how convincing he is currently, sitting on a stool, ankle propped on another stool and covered in ice at Roy’s assistance, still sitting in a sweaty t-shirt and joggers. Jamie grabs a tissue and blows his nose loudly. Jamie couldn’t help but wish he looked a bit better meeting someone new. Ruth seems unphased, though, as she places her bag on Jamie’s island and places items on the countertop.
“I don’t live far, and I’m off for the day, so you’re in luck. Any allergies I should be aware of?”
“No.”
“Great. How about I get you started on an IV to hydrate you? That sound okay?” Ruth asks and waits for Jamie to nod.
She pulls out a long rod, pops it open and leaves it on the floor next to Jamie.
“Where the fuck did you get that?”
“Bought it when you had your surgery, remember?” Ruth says before pulling on a pair of gloves and then tying off Jamie's arm, and deftly inserting the needle. She tapes it off and sets to work, connecting it to a clear bag and then hanging it from the pole, removing the gloves and binning them. “That should help you feel a bit better and should help with the lightheadedness. But since you did fall, I want to examine you for a concussion, just in case.”
Jamie nods and sneezes into his elbow, not attached to an IV. Ruth waits for him to grab another tissue before she walks him through concussion protocol. Satisfied, she continues her examination, checking his lymph nodes, his throat, and ears, and eventually putting a cold stethoscope to his sweaty back and chest to check his heart and lungs.
“What’s the damage, Doc?” Jamie asks.
“Upper respiratory infection,” Ruth says, wiping the stethoscope and putting it back into the bag.
Jamie’s eyes go wide, looking back and forth between Roy and his sister. “What does that mean? I thought it was just a cold?”
“Just the medical terminology, Jamie,” Ruth explains, patting his knee reassuringly. “It means you have a common cold. No need to worry.”
“Told you,” Jamie smirks at Roy, then breaks into a coughing fit that has Ruth grabbing her stethoscope again to listen as he coughs.
“Everything alright?” Roy asks, eyebrows scrunched together.
“Yes, just wanted to be thorough,” Ruth says, returning the device to her bag a second time.
“Let’s check that ankle then, shall we?” Ruth says, carefully removing the ice, Jamie’s trainer and sweaty sock before easing his foot into her hands. “And you were able to bear weight on it?”
He nods again. Jamie’s been through ankle exams before, so he knows exactly what to expect as Ruth manipulates the joint and asks him questions about his pain level. He’s relieved that the pain is still minor, despite her manoeuvring, even if there is some slight swelling. Roy’s staring at her expectantly, and Jamie’s unsure if he’s worried or angry. Even though Jamie’s becoming more fluent in Roy Kent grunts, he’s still learning to decipher Roy’s eyebrow creases.
“Jamie, in case you don’t know, that’s Roy’s worried look,” Ruth says smiling, reading his mind.
“Fuck off,” Roy replies and Ruth smiles brighter.
“I think what you mean is ‘thank you for making a house call to come look at my friend,’” Ruth teases.
“Seriously. Fuck off,” Roy says, and Jamie’s struck by how different his swearing sounds when directed at his sister and not him or a teammate or, more recently, Trent Crimm.
“Well, your ankle looks unremarkable,” Ruth declares.
“Unremarkable?” Jamie scoffs. “I think you mean-”
“Injury wise,” Ruth rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath, “Fucking footballers.”
“You should continue to ice it, and I’d like to wrap it, just for some extra support. Follow up with Richmond staff whenever you return to training, but you should be fine in a couple of days. That being said,” Ruth looks at them both sternly. ‘No working out. I assume you have ankle strengthening exercises you’ve been given before?”
Jamie nods.
“Those only. Other than some stretching. No running. No walking. No biking. For at least 72 hours. Stay off it as much as possible. I’m sure I don’t have to explain RICE to you.”
Jamie nods again.
“Good lad. If the pain increases, your range of movement decreases, or you lose feeling, let me know. I’ll leave you my mobile in case,” Ruth says, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen from her bag and writing down her phone number before sliding it towards Jamie. “The IV should be finished in 10 minutes. Then why don’t you shower? Then I’ll wrap your ankle and leave you two to whatever you have planned for the day. I’ll send you the bill later, Roy.”
“Oh, I can pay,” Jamie says. He doesn’t want Roy to have to pay. He’s the one who's sick and hurt, after all. “I have cash somewhere, or I can write a check.”
“Just taking the piss, Jamie,” Ruth says, then straightens up.
“Oh. Well, it was dead nice of you to come.”
“Well, I owe Roy for all the babysitting.”
“Have I mentioned you’re my favourite fucking sister?”
“I’m your only sister. Besides, I have to look after Phoebe’s-”
“Don’t you dare fucking say it!”
“Phoebe’s favourite player,” Ruth smirks. Jamie gets the impression nothing could have prevented the doctor from saying it.
Jamie feels warmth fill his belly and even more so at the triumphant look on Ruth’s face and the frown on Roy’s.
“Favourite, you say, Ruth?” Jamie beams, then eyes Roy. “And what about you? Am I your favourite, too?”
“No,” Ruth shakes her head, Jamie’s mouth falls open, and Roy huffs out a laugh.”It’s Zava.”
Jamie’s mouth drops open more before turning into a frown.
“Fucking with you, mate,” Ruth laughs, and Jamie smiles in relief, assuming she’s going to say he’s also her favourite player. “I don’t think I have a favourite. Sorry. I probably told Roy when you were teammates that you were my favourite to fuck with him, though.”
Fucking with Roy is something Jamie can get behind.
“Looks like this is done,” Ruth says, tapping at the IV bag. “How do you feel?”
“Better, yeah, thanks.”
Ruth puts on another pair of gloves and removes the IV from his arm. Jamie slowly limps upstairs to shower, letting the steam help clear his sinuses. He dresses and returns downstairs to Roy cooking and Ruth at the island, a cup of tea in her hands. Soon Roy is depositing plates on the breakfast nook while Jamie tries to grill Ruth about embarrassing Roy stories. The doctor is more than happy to oblige while Roy grumbles and curses at the two of them.
“I should have never introduced you too,” Roy says, and Jamie and Ruth fix him with identical grins.
Ruth clears the plates while Roy cleans the kitchen, both Kent siblings making sure Jamie stays where he is despite his protests and offers to help. Jamie sees the family resemblance again when they both aim the same determined stare at him. Once finished, Ruth leads him to the couch to wrap his ankle with an elastic bandage, then ice it again.
“Any questions from either of you?”
Both Roy and Jamie shake their heads.
“Good lads. Roy, I will see you tomorrow. Jamie, take care of yourself.”
“Cheers, Doc, thank you,” Jamie says as Roy walks Ruth to the door.
Roy is gone a suspiciously long time, and he thinks he hears Ruth laughing from the doorway, but eventually Roy returns, standing by the couch next to Jamie.
“You should rest. You feel like a nap?”
Jamie could use a nap, and a yawn escapes his lips, answering for him.
“Guess so,” Jamie says, yawning again, pushing himself up from the couch.
To his surprise, Roy yawns, too.
“Looks like you could use a nap, too.”
“Yeah,” Roy admits, following as Jamie walks to his bedroom. “Couldn’t sleep this morning; used to fucking waking up at 4 am with you, I guess.”
The pair slowly walks to Jamie’s room, Roy grabbing the VapoRub from the nightstand and repeating the process from the night before. Roy holds the duvet for Jamie to climb into bed and to Jamie’s immense surprise, walks to the other side of the bed and climbs in himself.
“What’re you doing?” Jamie asks, surprised.
“What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?”
“Oh,” is all Jamie’s cold-muddled brain can think to reply.
“I’m not going to drive all the way back to my place to nap. And I don’t trust you to follow Ruth’s orders if I leave you alone.”
There’s silence in the room as both men get comfortable in the bed.
“So,” Jamie says, turning from Roy so he can’t see the smirk on his face. “That’s your sister?”
“Not another fucking word, Tartt.”
Jamie laughs, and for once, it doesn’t dissolve into a cough. Jamie’s still smiling as he falls asleep. And the grin returns when he wakes and realises Roy has spooned himself around him.
The rest of the day and week is spent mostly the same. Roy comes over, makes him breakfast and later soup, watches as he does his strengthening exercises then ices his twisted ankle. Various members of the team and coaching staff come by around lunch, someone bringing Nando’s, kebabs, Thai or Indian. FIFA tournaments commence, including arguments over who plays which team. Movies are watched, blankets are snuggled, and bodies are cuddled. Jamie’s symptoms lessen and lessen with each passing day, with only a cough persisting by the fourth day.
Jamie’s allowed to return to training on the fifth day, although on a moderate basis and only once his ankle is given the all-clear by the physios. Roy refuses to share Ruth’s address with him, but he’s able to convince Keeley to provide him with it once she knows his full intentions. Richard picks out a nice bottle of wine, and Jamie sends it to her as a thank you, along with a Tartt kit for Phoebe.
They’re back at Jamie’s during the second week of break watching Bumbercatch and Switzerland route Bulgaria four-nil. Jamie sits between Sam and Isaac on the couch, a blanket strewn across all their legs. Colin and Dani occupy the other ends of the couch, the Welshman arguing with Isaac about what they should watch with the match finishes.
“How about we let Jamie decide? It’s his house, after all,” Sam suggests.
His friends are quiet as Jamie scrolls through Netflix. Sam sneezing cuts through the silence.
“Please tell me I didn’t get you sick, Sam,” Jamie frets.
“Just a tickle in my nose, Jamie; I’m fine. Do not worry about me,” Sam smiles.
Jamie lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His chest unclenches just as Isaac sneezes.
“Oops, innit.”
“Don’t worry, lads,” Jamie says, putting an arm around each of his friends and pulling them close. “I’ll take care of you.”