Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other life but this.”

Henry David Thoreau

A heavy sigh escaped Roy’s lips as he lay in bed watching Jamie and Keeley's Instagram stories. Roy willed the room to stop spinning, the light from his mobile illuminating his face in the darkened room. The pair were in Brazil together for Jamie’s shoot with Nike, and Roy was in London, pondering the future of his coaching career. A few hours earlier, Rebecca’s assistant called to schedule a meeting with him the day after tomorrow. Roy wasted no time calling Beard, but Ted hadn’t left him any more insider knowledge than Roy possessed. It was Beard who, in his infinite wisdom, suggested what this situation needed was alcohol.

The hangover Roy was going to have tomorrow might disagree with that assessment, but Roy was grateful for the company. And there was no universe where Roy could deny the American a night away from the woman he was apparently now engaged to. God help him. Maybe someday Roy would have the courage Higgins posessed to talk to his friend about his questionable relationship, but then again, Roy wasn’t exactly someone who should be giving relationship advice. Or career advice, either, he thought. They would more than likely be on the job market together soon enough.

Roy could almost hear Rebecca’s words as she told him Richmond hired some twat as the new manager.

We were looking for someone with a little more experience.

We needed someone a bit more even-keeled.

We wanted someone who didn’t get into a bloody fistfight with our best player like a fucking Neardeerthal over our head of Marketing.

Roy’s time with Richmond was likely coming to a close, and with it, his daily interactions with Jamie and any extra excuses to see Keeley. A normal person would be sleeping off their inebriation, but Roy chose to wallow instead as he clicked on the highlight of saved stories from the former couple’s week in Brazil. Roy was likely going to be unemployed come Monday, and all he could think about was the two people he cared about most at Nelson Road.

At one point, Roy had toyed with the idea of accompanying Jamie to Brazil. Neither Jamie nor Roy were convinced Keeley would still travel with Jamie after the disaster of the two of them showing up at her house. Jamie was reluctant to travel alone and Roy was in limbo with Ted having left and unsure if he still had a position with the Greyhounds. The Mancunian maintained Roy deserved some fun in the sun even though Roy reminded Jamie it was technically winter in Brazil. But Roy knew Jamie was hoping Keeley would still travel with him and Roy couldn’t fault the younger man for that.

Bruised and bleeding, the pair were disrespectful to show up on Keeley’s doorstep and tell her she was allowed to choose. They were lucky she accepted their apologies at all, and because Keeley was Keeley, she agreed to still accompany Jamie. And Roy was happy she was going, he really was, what would he do in Brazil anyway? He knew Jamie was nervous, and Keeley was like the human form of a weighted blanket. And it seemed they were having the time of their fucking lives according to instragram and their text messages.

They deserved to have all the fun they were having. Jamie worked so fucking hard this year and Roy was immensely proud. While Jamie hadn’t handled Zava well at first, he kept it to himself and stopped himself from relapsing into the Prince of Prick of all Pricks like he could have. Once Roy offered to train him, he kept his head down and did whatever was asked. And Roy did mean whatever he was asked, he didn’t blink an eye when Roy tied him to his bike.

Watching Jamie take charge during total football and evolve into the incredible player he was always meant to be was the type of thing that made Roy believe he had actually found his calling in coaching. He had almost fucked it at the end, missing all the signs Jamie was struggling until he collapsed on him in the boot room, but they had worked through it and Roy vowed to never miss the signs again. And Jamie’s meteoric rise was only just beginning.

Keeley, too, deserved a chance to relax and let loose. She worked tirelessly since starting KJPR and Roy could not be prouder of her either. The company she grew and her grace in the face of adversity ash she transitioned to KBPR showed Roy just how strong she was and reminded him why he fell in love with her. He was wrong to ever make her doubt that, wrong to break up with her, wrong to think she would take him back when he hadn’t grown as she had. If anyone deserved a holiday, albeit a working one, it was Keeley fucking Jones.

Roy wasn’t jealous of the pair being together. He wasn’t. He was an adult. He could handle his ex-girlfriend being in one of the sexiest countries in the world with her ex-boyfriend, who also happened to be Roy’s (not best) friend. Yet, he found himself unable to sleep, watching and rewatching their stories. Stories of the pair drinking, laughing, enjoying themselves. Enjoying themselves without Roy. Maybe he wasn’t jealous. But he was lonely. That he could admit, even if only to himself.

Watching it all, Roy found his stomach clenched. No, it wasn’t clenched in envy. It wasn’t. It was the espresso martinis Beard had convinced him to consume and the dairy they contained that had his midsection so painful. He was really starting to regret those drinks. Not only had he barely made it home, he had been too unsteady to even attempt the stairs. So he sprawled across his downstairs guest bedroom, regretting all his Keeley Jones related decisions of the past month. Maybe the past year. Maybe forever.

Jamie and Roy both apologised to Keeley after their fight, but Roy knew he would never get the same chance with the CEO again. Would Jamie? Roy wasn't proud of his thoughts, but they came unbidden all the same.

He closed his eyes and willed thoughts of Keeley and Jamie, of Keeley and Jamie specifically, from his mind. Or he tried to, at least. Nausea formed everytime he closed his eyes and the room spun. Roy tried the one leg on the ground trick, trying to get the room to stand still even if his brain and heart were tumultuous. Eventually, he fell asleep, but that night, when he dreamt, he dreamt that Keeley had joined him in Marbella last year.

They walked along the beach, hand in hand. The sun was shining, and the waves were crashing softly against the shore. They laughed. And they talked. Roy couldn’t remember what they said, but he felt relaxed, and he knew he was smiling. His hands tingled and he felt weightless with the kind of joy you only feel when you know you’re loved.

He knew then, on the beach, and perhaps he had always known in that part of his heart kept hidden, locked behind steel doors and more keys than he had bones in his body, that Keeley was the one for him. Roy couldn't imagine his life without her. Ever since that first kiss in Liverpool, Roy had been a goner. He never stood a chance he realised as the water swirled around their feet and the sun kissed their skin. He was the luckiest man in the world, he had Keely fucking Jones to love and to love him in return.

But then, the dream began to change.

The beach turned cloudy and grey. Keeley slowly pulled away from him, and he could see that she was sad, though he couldn’t figure out why. She told him that she couldn’t be with him because she was in love with Jamie. And then Jamie is there, shirt off, the body Roy helped mould through four am session after four am session, on full display as he walked from the water like Daniel Fucking Craig in Casino Royale.

Keeley was no longer sad. She jumped into Jamie’s arms, and they spun around before they disappeared into the ocean together, leaving Roy cold and confused on the shore. Leaving Roy heartbroken and alone.

Roy gasped awake, a cold sweat covering his chest.

He layed in bed for a long while, breathing heavily and staring at the ceiling, replaying the dream. Roy’s jaw was painful, and he had to work to unclench it. He knew that it was only a dream, but it felt so fucking real. He couldn't help but wonder if Keeley really was in love with Jamie. He knew that he should move on, but lying in bed, alone, still slightly drunk, with the two people he cared the most about after Phoebe and his sister, together an ocean away, he couldn’t keep the dark intrusive thoughts at bay.

The worst part was this was all Roy’s fucking fault. He had fucked it with Keeley when he broke up with her. But then he apologised and he thought maybe they could be more than friends, but he realises now they were never going to get back together. Then, he fucked it with Jamie at Bones & Honey. And now Jamie was in Brazil because of the Nike shoot. The Nike shoot that stemmed from Jamie’s emergence as one of the best players in the Prem. If Roy hadn’t trained Jamie, he would’ve stayed the sulky prick he was at Ola’s.

If…

If I…

If I hadn’t…

Roy fell back asleep with one thought spinning like a top through his head.

I wish I never trained Jamie.

Roy’s dream was nothing more than a hazy memory when he woke later that morning, somehow back in his bedroom. He must've woken during the night and made his way upstairs, though he didn’t remember. Roy always preferred his own bed. Other than Keeley’s and the occasional times he had spent in Jamie’s guest bedroom, no other beds even came close to the comfort of his.

The off-season meant no 4 am training to wake for and Roy spent the last few weeks enjoying waking without an alarm. Still, he missed the extra time with Jamie. They still trained, but Jamie had International matches and had spent some time in Manchester with his Mum and Simon. Roy couldn’t begrudge his friend time with his family, especially after the last few weeks of the season, even if Jamie did seem off each time he returned from visiting home.

The past few weeks Roy found himself making excuses to text Jamie whenever they weren’t together. Stupid videos or pictures of Phoebe mostly, but some actual football related texts as well. But now, with Jamie in Brazil and the time difference, even their communication was off. With a groan, Roy remembered the bright green envy he felt scrolling through Instagram last night.

Now that he’s no longer drunk off martinis, the light of the day obliterated the jealous monsters that fed on his insecurities. Alone in the dark, he had been unfair to both Keeley and Jamie. Keeley made her choice clear and after their apologies, the three had parted as friends. Friends he could live with if it meant Keeley and Jamie were still a part of his life. Roy felt embarrassed by his envy the night before. Why is it always in the dark when things feel the worst?

Sighing, he pushed down any remaining feelings of jealousy. Jamie and Keeley were due back early this morning, and Roy was taking Phoebe to the zoo, somewhere Jamie had begged to tag along if he was back in time.

I ain’t never been to the London Zoo, Roy. You know Phoebe will want to see me and you’ll miss me too even if you won’t admit it.

Roy did miss him he could admit, if only to himself. Roy checked his phone to see if there was anything from Jamie, but he didn't have any text messages past mid-May. Was his phone malfunctioning? It’s fucking June. Where were all his messages? He locked the phone, intent on restarting it. Roy’s lock screen greeted him: a photo of Phoebe and Jamie that Ruth had taken on Uncle’s Day. Phoebe looked adorable in her costume, that was the only reason he chose it, Jamie just happened to be in the picture too. And if he also happened to be wearing his England jacket then that was a coincidence, too. The picture was changed, replaced with the one that was on there before, Phoebe in her football kit. But it wasn’t the picture that caught his eye this time, it was the date.

12 May 2023

What the fuck?

That can’t be right. He googled what is the date? And Google gives him the same answer.

“Siri? What day is it?”

“Today is Thursday, May 12th, 2022.”

Maybe he was having a stroke.

Roy looked through the most recent messages on his phone. There’s one from Ted from last night, or well, May 11th.

Ted: Are you still good with doing the press conference tomorrow? 9 am.

A response from Roy agreed to it, or at least sent a thumbs-up reaction to the message. It’s 8:20 am currently. He remembered the press conference on May 12th, the one he did with Sam and Jamie. Jamie’s reactions during the conference were the first sign that Jamie was struggling.

Maybe he was having an aneurysm, because if it’s really May 12th, he should’ve been up hours ago, training Jamie for their usual 4 am workout. Roy didn’t have time to process that thought though because even if he was dreaming, he still needed to be at Nelson Road for the press conference lest he deal with Rebecca Welton’s wrath again. The hairy ass comment still stung, and Roy didn’t relish the idea of a similar scolding.

Roy started doing more press conferences after Isaac attacked that homophobic fan, and it was his idea to have a rotation of players join him. It helped show the lads as human beings, not just machines designed only to kick a ball in a net. Even the reporters could only take so much of Ted’s folksy charm.

In the car, Roy started to think if this really was May, then was he given a second chance? He could fix things. He could help Jamie now rather than wait and follow him through the streets of Manchester. He could try to prevent Jamie from being injured in the match. He couldn’t make City lose to Liverpool, but he could make it so that his fist never connected with Jamie’s nose.

He could make it so he didn’t show up to Keeley’s with a ripped shirt and bloody knuckles and Jamie bleeding all over his new fucking hoodie. He could stop the conversation after I’m proud of you. He could do right by Keeley, at least for this instance. He could do right by Jamie. He doubted he could ever fully do right by Keeley after last year, but he could do right by Jamie. He would do right by Jamie.

Roy didn’t know how he got this chance, but he sure as fuck was going to use it. And if this was all a dream, well, then he would wake up sooner or later.

But on the off chance it wasn’t, he was going to fix everything.

Roy arrived to the press conference just in time to slide between a smiling Sam and a sombre-looking Jamie. How had he not noticed Jamie’s subdued demeanour the first time around? Roy had no time to say anything to either player, and Roy’s confusion grew with each question. He couldn’t understand what was happening. The questions aren’t the same as he remembered the first time. There was no mention of the win streak and the tone of the room was not the laughing atmosphere he remembered. Thankfully, Sam answered most of questions despite sideways looks to a confused Roy. He remembered how the press conference went, and it wasn’t like this.

“Yeah, better, Trent,” Roy managed to say, calling on another journalist.

“Marcus Adebayo, The Independent. Jamie, how does it feel to return to Etihad for the first time since you left under a cloud of disgrace?”

What the fuck?

Roy’s so shocked he couldn’t think of a response that wasn’t his forehead connecting with the reporter’s nose.

“Uh, yeah, just another match,” Jamie said, chewing on his finger.

“Don’t you want to ask him about being Premier League Player of the Month?” Roy asked, finally finding his voice.

He was met with awkward silence as the reporters looked back and forth between each other.

“Cristiano Ronaldo was the Player of the Month,” Marcus said, finally.

What the fuck?

“Alright, let's call it there,” Roy managed. “Thanks, everyone, that was great.”

Jamie and Sam fled the press room before Roy could ask them anything else. When he made it to the changing room, Lasso’s mother sat talking with the team like he remembered. How are some things the same and some different? He must be having a stroke. Or a nightmare. It's probably a nightmare. Jamie would never let him hear the end of it if he had a stroke.

A stroke, Grandad? Christ I knew you were old but this is ridiculous, innit?

Roy felt an overwhelming sense of dread as he watched Jamie melt into his locker. Roy wasn’t waiting for Jamie to make some innocuous comment about the importance of being safe over looking cool this time though. This was the same Jamie Tartt that risked second-degree soup burns because he thought he looked stylish without a shirt under his fucking suit jacket. No way he valued caution over fashion. Jamie had changed in a plethora of ways since then, Roy just wasn’t convinced this was one of them.

“Tartt! Boot room. Now!” Roy said, more heat to his voice than he intended.

As soon as Jamie turned to face him in the boot room, Roy held his arms up to hug the younger man. Jamie pushed him before his arms could make their way around him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jamie asked.

“I was going to hug you.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Jamie scoffed.

Okay, maybe Roy came at him too quickly.

“Okay, what can I do to help you?” Roy tried again, voice softening at what he knew was coming.

“Fuck off, Grandad.”

Roy blinked in confusion. He expected Jamie to break down like last time and tell him he couldn’t eat or sleep. Roy waited to hear Jamie say he lost his wings, to grip his face, and to cry on his shoulder. But Jamie did none of that. And that might be the most disorienting part of an already disorienting day.

“Have you been conditioning your hair?” Roy said the first thing he could think of.

Jamie’s hand went to his head, eyebrows knitting together in confusion, but he saved face by running the hand through his hair. This time Roy noticed the tired bags under Jamie’s red-rimmed eyes and the blotchy skin. How had he not noticed this before? How had he spent so much time with Jamie and not noticed his best friend was struggling?

“Fuck off! Even without conditioner, my hair’s still better than yours. What the fuck do you want anyway?” Jamie asked, hands fisting under his shirt. “Thought you weren’t supposed to talk with me by yourself?”

“What? I’m trying to help you,” Roy says as he hears the door open behind him.Why couldn’t he talk to Jamie by himself?

Jamie takes the opening, as aggressive here as he is on the pitch. “I don’t need help, and I definitely don’t fucking need it from you. William.”

Jamie nods at Will before rushing out of the boot room, leaving Roy at even more of a loss at how to proceed than last time.

What the fuck just happened?

“Look, I’ve got to go do something,” Roy said to Ted, sticking his head into the office.

“Okay. Everything alright?” Ted asked.

“Yeah. I’ve just come down with a case of ‘none of your fucking business.’”

He probably didn’t have to be that harsh. Jamie was Ted’s business too, after all. But Roy didn’t trust Ted with Jamie. He guessed he never had, going back to the time he shared with Jamie as players. Ted hadn’t been fully wrong about every thing with Jamie, he just hadn’t executed it correctly. Like being an American in London, yeah Ted technically was proficient at driving, but he was still doing it on the wrong side of the road. And Ted was distracted by his Mum, Roy couldn’t trust the most important player on the team to the American right now.

Roy walked away before Ted could say more. He had to find the only other person he trusted with Jamie. He needed Keeley.

Keeley would help, both with Jamie and to calm his nerves. Even though she fucked it before, Jamie was different in this fucking reality, and Keeley might be the only one that could get through to him. At least things with Keeley would be the same. They were still in that weird space after they hooked up but at least Roy had a better idea where they stood now. Keeley had always been better at this than him and she knew Jamie better than Jamie knew himself half the time. She would know what to do.

The hope he held initially on ride to Keeley’s office was extinguished quickly when listening to the radio. The talking heads on the radio were discussing the upcoming match between Richmond and Manchester City, but they weren’t discussing how close the Greyhounds are on the table. In fact, it seemed that everyone assumed Man City would clinch another title with an easy win over Richmond. How could that be possible?

Roy turned the questions from the press conference and the topics from the radio over in his mind as he rode the elevator to Keeley’s office. He saw Barbara eating an apple just like the last time when he arrived. At least that hadn’t changed.

“I’m not here about the pipes,” Roy said before she got a chance; whatever was going on with Jamie, with Richmond, he didn’t have time for small talk.

“Why would you be here about the pipes?” Barbara questioned.

“Is Keeley here?” he asked, dodging her question.

Keeley appeared from another part of the office, same apprehensive look on her face as the last time. Roy hadn’t really noticed it before, too excited to see her and too hopeful she’d solve the Jamie Tartt puzzle for him.

“Roy?” she asked. “What’re you doing here?”

“I need to talk.”

“Roy?”

“No, not that. I just, I need your help with Jamie,” he said. “He’s all fucked in the head, and I’ve tried to do it myself, but it’s all that emotional shit you’re good at. Also, you look nice.”

He remembered Keeley breaking into a smile when this happened before. There was no smile on Keeley’s face now. If anything, she started to frown.

“Roy, I don’t want to get involved in whatever you two have going on,” Keeley said, shaking her head and crossing her arms.

“He’s all fucked in the head,” Roy said.

“Roy, this isn’t a good idea. I’ll call Jamie, but anything between you and him, I’m not getting involved in. I already have enough on my plate trying to do damage control after last month with the two of you. Thank you for being civil during the press conference today, but we still have a long way to go to rehab your image.”

“Last month?” Roy asked.

They were on a fucking win streak. Last month, Jamie made his England debut. Jamie had been at fucking Uncle’s Day. There was nothing Keeley had to do damage control for other than Isaac’s altercation with the fan, and Roy had handled a lot of that in his press conference post-match.

“Roy, I’m sorry, I really don’t have time for this right now. I’ll reach out to Jamie, yeah?” Keeley sighed.

Roy left Keeley’s office more confused than he had been earlier.

Roy drove directly to Ruth’s house from Keeley’s office, needing the comfort and stability only his sister could provide. Plus, if he was having a stroke, probably best to see a doctor. Phoebe’s still at school, and thankfully, Ruth wasn’t working. Ruth and Phoebe were his constant. At least things would be normal with them. Surely Ruth would be more pleased to see him than Keeley or Jamie were. And maybe he could convince Ruth to fill him in on what’s going on without having him committed to a psychiatric facility.

Roy knocked and waited. He scraped a hand through his hair and shook out his hands, restlessly waiting to see his sister’s face. Seeing Ruth would calm him. She was so removed from any drama at Nelson Road that he didn’t have to worry about things being off with her. Ruth’s Range Rover was in the drive, so he knew she was home, what was taking so long to answer the door? Roy was about to use his key in case she was in the shower when Ruth pulled open the door.

“What the fuck do you want, Roy?” Ruth asked, scowling at him.

What the fuck was right.

“Is that a way to great your fucking brother?”

Ruth had to be fucking with him. They were siblings; they fucked with each other all the time, as evidenced by how gleeful she was every Uncle’s Day and the fact that she helped facilitate Phoebe’s invitation of Jamie Tartt. Roy couldn’t handle it if things were fucked with Ruth, too. This was turning from a dream into a fucking nightmare. Roy was supposed to make things better, to fix things. How were things even more broken than they were before?

“It is after last weekend,” Ruth said, crossing her arms.

Fuck.

“What the fuck happened last weekend?”

Roy swallowed hard. He looked from Ruth to the sky. What the fuck was happening?

Ruth shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t have time for this,” she said and turned back into the house.

“Wait!” Roy called out, barely catching the door before it closed.

Ruth growled and turned but didn’t tell him to leave. Roy took that as the closest he was getting to an invitation and followed her into the house.

Roy could see the vein in Ruth’s neck bulge as she stomped into the kitchen. “I can’t even look at you until you apologise to Phoebe. So if you’re not here to ask me for ideas on how to make it up to her, then I don’t have anything to say to you.”

Roy sat heavily at Ruth’s kitchen table, dropping his head to his hands. He had to be having a stroke and was in a coma or something. Or maybe he was dead. That must be it. He was dead. And this was his personal hell. There was no other explanation for how he could ever do anything to hurt Phoebe. Even at his lowest, post-retirement, one look at Phoebe could pull him from the darkest depths.

A strangled sound escaped his lips. Roy could hardly believe it came from him. Maybe he should just go to bed and hope he woke up back in the real world. The season will be over. They won’t have won, but they’ll have made second. They’ll have done something no one believed they could do, save maybe Ted. He’ll still have fucked any relationship hopes he had with Keeley, but she would still be his friend. Jamie would still be his friend. He wouldn’t have failed Phoebe, the most important person in his life.

“Roy?”

Ruth’s voice was tentative, unsure. Concerned even. A far cry from the venom that was in it earlier when she mentioned whatever he did to upset Phoebe. He lifted his face to see her, and his sister’s face matched her tone. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve either of them.

His voice cracked. “I think I’m losing my fucking mind, Ruth.”

“You’re scaring me, Roy,” Ruth said, sitting in a chair next to him.

“I don’t know how to explain this without you thinking I’m going mad.”

Ruth raised an eyebrow at him but doesn’t say more, waiting for whatever he planned to tell her.

“I might prefer you being mad than the prick you’ve been the last six months.”

“What?”

Six months? He and Ruth were in a great place. They’d never been closer. He was still spending a lot of time with Phoebe, but they’d also spent a lot of time with the three of them. They were talking about taking a vacation somewhere in the fall when Roy had time off during the World Cup and it was easier for Ruth to get time off work. What the fuck had happened?

“Yeah, and honestly, I’ve held my tongue for long enough, but after last weekend, I can’t anymore,” Ruth said, standing up, her anger radiating off her again. “After you broke up with Keeley, you were around a lot. And while I thought you made the wrong choice, I loved having you around. And Phoebe loved it more than anything. But as the team started getting worse, you started getting pricklier and pricklier. And then they got better but you were still fucking mad all the time. And you’re always here. Which would be great if you weren’t always in a fucking mood. And you snapped at Phoebe just because she asked about Jamie Tartt, for Christ’s sake, Roy. She just asked a question, and you yelled at her. That was the last fucking straw, Roy. You want to be pissy to me that’s fine but you do you not have the right to yell at my daughter.”

“I yelled at Phoebe?” Roy asked, shocked.

Roy couldn’t breathe. He had never raised his voice to Phoebe. He would never raise his voice to Phoebe. He and Ruth were raised in a home with an angry man, and Phoebe had spent the first four years of her life with another angry man. Roy had vowed the first day he held his niece he would never make her feel the way he felt around his Dad. And after Ruth’s divorce, he doubled down on that promise. Why on earth would he break it?

“Yes,” Ruth said plainly. “Which is ironic considering all you do is talk about Jamie Fucking Tartt and how much you hate him, about his stupid hair, about the rude thing he said at training. If you bring up Jamie Tartt one more time, I’m going to fucking scream. I’m sick of you always being in a shitty mood and always fucking being here. I thought things would be better when you came back, but they’re worse.”

He hadn’t seen Ruth this upset in a while. Not since the dark days near the end of her marriage. Her divorce was like a weight lifting off her chest once she and Phoebe finally moved out. Other than her concern when he was injured and his career ended, and those months when he didn’t bother to shave or cut his hair, Ruth had been pretty even-keeled and upbeat. But that was worry she had shown her brother. This was bordering on rage. Ruth was a kettle about to scream. Roy’s unsure if Ruth has ever been truly cross with him the way she was now.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry, I can’t believe I, fuck. I don’t remember.”

Ruth’s face morphed into concern. Dr O’Sullivan replaced the angry mother.

“What do you mean you don’t remember?” Ruth asked, sitting back next to him at the table.

“I don’t remember.”

Can he tell his sister the truth? That he went to sleep, and it was the end of June, and he woke up in the past? Can he tell her he woke up in a world where somehow everything had gone to shit?

“What do you mean you don’t remember?” Ruth asked again, her brows knitting together. “Have you been having memory issues? Do you have any other holes in your memory?

He could see the wheels turning in Ruth’s head. She wasn’t his sister right now, she was a doctor, and if he told her the truth, he would earn himself a trip to hospital and probably a padded room. Roy couldn’t explain what was going on, explain that he woke up and he’s travelled back in fucking time and everything was wrong. If he told Ruth what he thought was happening, he would end up in an insane asylum. Maybe that was where he belonged. Maybe that was better than the devastation he was feeling currently.

And if Roy continued saying he doesn’t remember, then he would earn himself at least a CAT scan. Roy couldn’t fix anything if Ruth was worried he had CTE.

“I don’t want to remember,” Roy said quickly.

He watched as the worry on Ruth’s face morphed back to indignation.

Roy would fix things with Keeley and Jamie. He would, he just needed time to fucking think.

“Can I come back and talk to Phoebe after school?” he asked, a voice filled with hope he didn’t deserve. “And apologise.”

Roy couldn’t leave without making amends with his niece. His heart shattered thinking how Phoebe must feel, especially after everything with her father. If he made her feel anything like her father did when he was still with Ruth, then Roy was going to spend every day of his life making it up to her.

“She’s going to her friend’s house,” Ruth said sadly.

“Fuck, we leave tomorrow for Manchester. Won’t be back until late Saturday. Sunday, then. I’ll be here. I'll take her to breakfast. That place she fucking loves with the stupid name.”

“Yeah, fine,” Ruth conceded. “Don’t Go Bacon My Heart. But only if she wants to. I won’t force her.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. About Phoebe, about everything,” Roy added, and he could see Ruth softening a bit. He was pleading really. Phoebe and Ruth were the most important people in his life. He couldn’t live without them, how could he have been so uncaring and cold?

“Yeah, well, take it up with Phoebe,” his sister said, holding her ground.

“I will; things are weird with Jamie, too. I can’t believe he was just here in this fucking kitchen—“

“What’re you talking about?” Ruth interrupted, her eyes squinting with confusion.

“At Uncle’s Day,” Roy said, hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

“Why the fuck would Jamie Tartt be at Uncle’s Day?”

Roy sank to his bed and held his head in his hands. He rushed from Ruth’s house, not even fully sure what excuse he gave her, and he hoped he hadn’t made things worse. He sped through the streets of London, needing to get home and see for himself. Roy rushed immediately to his bedroom, desperately searching. He opened his closet, looking everywhere, moving items around, tossing others on the floor in his haste. He tore his bedroom apart but after his conversation with Ruth, deep down he knew he wouldn’t find it.

The England kit Jamie gave him on Uncle’s Day was nowhere to be found.

After Roy took a few minutes to steady his breathing, he trudged to his office, feet heavy with apprehension and did what he should’ve done this morning. He opened Google and searched.

Jamie Tartt + England

Thousands of results for Jamie populated Roy’s screen simply mentioning he’s English, including his Wikipedia page. Roy clicked on that and scrolled down. There was no mention of his England caps.

England National Team Roster + March 2022

Roy found the rosters for the two matches at Wembley. Jamie wasn’t listed on either of them. Fuck. He pulled up the search engine again.

Zava + retirement

The failed Zava experiment crashed and burned the same as he remembered, so what was the butterfly effect that changed everything? What could have changed enough to turn Roy’s life into a living nightmare? Roy’s stomach cramped, and not from the espresso martinis. The memory of the dream and his subsequent thoughts slammed into him like a freight train.

Would Keeley and I have gotten back together if I never trained Jamie?

Fuck.

I wish I never trained Jamie.

But it was just a half-drunk, half-hearted wish. How did he end up in the fucking Twilight Zone? God had never answered his prayers before. Why the fuck now? Why this, of all fucking things? He never got to talk to his Grandad again. He watched for years while Ruth struggled in her abusive marriage. Roy never got his fucking knee back to anywhere near normal strength. Why this? Roy didn’t even fucking mean it. Training Jamie had been the best thing to come out of the last year. He had to go see Jamie, figure shit out.

What had Keeley said when he was at her office? After last month. What happened last month? Roy almost didn’t want to know. With trepidation, he made one last Google search.

Jamie Tartt + Roy Kent

Articles, tweets and videos filled the screen, and most were dated within the last month.

Tartt and Kent: Here We Go Again

Dejavú - Tartt & Kent come to Blows on Pitch

Rivalry Reignited at Nelson Road

Tartt Bloodied and Booed

The photo was a closeup of Jamie, blood flowing from his nose, an arm held protectively around his midsection. Roy reluctantly clicked on a video, ignoring the slight trembles of his hand.

The video showed the match from six weeks ago. They were home playing against Liverpool. The Greyhounds won the match 3-1 with goals from Sam, Richard and Dani. Jamie assisted on all three. The video showed the score as 2-1, with Liverpool leading. Jamie was subbed off, and then Roy and him got into a screaming match with him on the sidelines. Eventually, yelling turned to pushing until Roy actually punched Jamie. Jamie hit him back before they were pulled apart.

Roy gasped while watching. That didn’t happen. It didn’t. He would remember. He felt the sting of his knuckles, the soft crunch of Jamie’s nose when he did actually punch him when after Bones & Honey. What would have caused him to actually hit Jamie? On the fucking pitch, no less. He was almost afraid to try and find a video with sound. And when he did, he wasn’t brave enough to watch it.

Thought you weren’t supposed to talk with me by yourself?

He called Jamie, but the call went straight to voicemail.

What the fuck was Roy going to do?

Chapter Text

After googling everything he could find about Jamie and the Greyhounds, who were apparently middle of the table now, with no fifteen-game win streak to speak of, Roy spent a sleepless night willing himself to wake up from the nightmare he was trapped in. Four am was the worst part of the night; it was as if he kept waiting to be visited by the ghost of trainings past.

Roy should have been training with Jamie at that time. Instead, he spent the last six months doing what exactly? Wanking off to his own miserable life? Letting every hurt and every feeling fester until he exploded? Pushing away everyone around him while simultaneously ignoring a slowly spiralling Jamie?

It was as if he lost the entire identity he worked to build since his retirement with one stupid fucking wish. Instead of a helpful coach, Jamie Tartt’s friend, supportive Uncle and brother, he was just another angry, washed-up footballer, holding on by a thread at the only club that would have him. He was the type of man who yelled at his innocent niece. The type to yell at Phoebe, the sweetest, smartest, most supportive child in the world.

When Roy finally managed to fall asleep around five, it was to fitful dreams, or maybe memories, of this multi-verse of madness he was trapped in.

The team yelling at each other at training.

Roy spending the night in Amsterdam alone in his hotel room, googling Jack Danvers.

Shoving with Jamie on the pitch.

Punching Jamie outside Bones & Honey.

Phoebe crying.

Ruth slamming the door in his face.

For the second day in a row, Roy woke in a cold sweat. Dread held him down like a stone as he caught his breath, afraid to check the date on his phone. Disappointment squeezed his heart when he read it.

13 May 2022

Of course, it was fucking Friday the 13th. As if his life wasn’t a horror movie already. He hadn’t realised the date the first time around, but now it struck him that if this was a movie, then he was the villain in the story. He was the villain in Jamie’s story. What was that movie quote?

You either die the hero or live long enough to become the villain.

Jamie once looked to Roy as a hero.

You know, I had a poster of you on my wall when I was a kid. Used to love watching you play.

Had turned out to be a lie, but Roy couldn’t blame Jamie for it. But Roy had been Jamie’s fucking hero at some point. How many kids had Roy’s poster up on their wall? Too many to think about. But only one had Roy physically assaulted. Only one looked at Roy as someone to be afraid of. Only one Roy actually gave a shit about what his opinion was. And only one fucking needed him.

Maybe they all would have been better off if Roy died before making the transition from hero to villain. Roy sighed and threw his arm over his eyes. Only Roy Kent could fuck something up this spectacularly. He had never deserved Jamie’s admiration, but he had gotten it for years, and Roy not only threw it away, he ran it over with his fucking car.

He debated texting Ted that he was sick and he couldn't make it to Manchester for the match. Typed it out and everything, but as he was hitting send, he pictured the disappointed faces of Phoebe, of Keeley, of Ruth. And then, as he had done almost non-stop the last twenty-four hours, he thought of Jamie. He saw Jamie’s face as it crumbled in the boot room before he cried on Roy’s shoulder. He saw Jamie bleeding from his nose minutes after Roy told him he was proud of him, all because Roy’s own pride was wounded.

The Jamie that had, against all odds, become his best friend had been replaced by an angrier, lonelier version of the Jamie that was Roy’s teammate. This Jamie might not believe him, but Roy would recognise the Mancunian in every world, see him in every universe. This was still Jamie, still his Jamie, hiding his pain behind a front of prick. Roy hadn’t bothered to look behind the curtain when they were teammates, but he sure as fuck wasn’t making that mistake again, not when Jamie needed him. Roy was still putting together the Jamie Tartt Rubik’s Cube but would spend the rest of his life trying.

Jamie needed him; whether the younger man would accept it or not still remained to be seen. The rest of the team seemed apathetic to Jamie’s struggles. Had they all simply not noticed? A distinct possibility, considering none of them had the first time around. Or had Jamie pushed them away for some unknown reason? Maybe not so unknown, Roy thought suddenly, maybe the reason had a fucking manbun.

Zava.

Roy made one last search, scanning again everything with Richmond and Zava. Nothing new related to Jamie stuck out. Even with Zava, the team hadn’t managed to win a match for weeks after Roy and Jamie started training together. Following the disaster of the West Ham loss, they suffered through six straight draws before Zava called it quits on a career, rather than spend a season of mediocrity at Richmond. Rather than spend his last season with a team he probably assumed would be relegated. And they might have been had he not retired. Total football wouldn’t have worked with Zava. Totally football only worked because of Jamie.

He wasn’t exaggerating at Ola’s. Jamie frowning while the team was on a win-streak wasn’t a good look. What if no one had told Jamie that then? What if no one had shown interest in Jamie, while everyone basked in the sun that was Zava, while Jamie was left in the cold of the superstar’s shadow? What if Roy never trained him and gave him an outlet? Roy never believed in him and he continued to be inadvertently iced out by his teammates.

It wasn’t hard to imagine that Jamie’s attempt to be a humble teammate would eventually crack and he’d snap at the closest Greyhound. It wasn’t hard to imagine Jamie, hurting and alone, would distance himself even more from a team that all but forgot he existed, a team that didn’t need him anymore. Zava would have continued chipping away at whatever confidence Jamie had left until it was obliterated. Until Jamie put walls up so high even Jan Maas could not see over them.

Roy hadn’t trained Jamie only so he could be better than Zava. He realised now he was giving Jamie a lifeline when the lad was drowning. Only in this shit hole of a universe, instead of giving his former teammate a life preserver, Roy simply watched him drown. Roy stayed on the door by himself when he sure as fuck knew Jamie could fit on it as well. Fuck, he had to fix this. He had to pull Jamie from under the water and pray he hadn’t frozen to death yet. Christ, he really had become Ted if he was, likening his life to the sinking fucking Titanic.

Hurriedly, Roy tossed clothes and toiletries in his suitcase. He had gotten so distracted he was almost late for training. Arriving late, he walked directly onto the training pitch. As they normally did when travelling the day before a match, the team practised in the morning before heading on the road. Whereas last time, the stands were almost filled, there were only about ten people there today. The team lagged way further behind on total football than they should have. Roy couldn’t understand it. Even without Jamie’s extra training, it shouldn’t have changed Jamie explaining it to the team like he did in the Arsenal match.

You gotta stop going to me and start going through me.

“I thought we were more experienced in total football than this,” Roy chanced to Beard.

He knew Beard wouldn’t be one to pry as to why he was asking questions about something he should know. Fuck, maybe he needed some of Jane’s magic mushroom tea to set him right.

“Nope,” is all Beard answered.

Roy waited. And waited. And just when he was about to give up, the older American spoke again.

“They only really started getting it last month,” Beard sighed, still looking straight ahead. Roy would give anything to see what those mysterious eyes were thinking behind his friend’s sunglasses. “After Jamie and Isaac almost came to blows. This was when you were, uh, off.”

Off? Isaac and Jamie almost came to blows? Isaac had yelled at Jamie in the changing room before Jamie finally spoke up. Had that continued to escalate? And when the fuck was he off? What the fuck had happened? He only ever missed if physios forbade him or he was bed-bound. That hadn’t happened since he started coaching.

With dread, he remembered his fight with Jamie. It was like a bad dream, something that happened to someone else, not him.

Thought you weren’t supposed to talk with me by yourself?

I already have enough on my plate trying to do damage control after last month with the two of you.

I thought things would be better when you came back, but they’re worse.

His absence had to have stemmed from their fight on the pitch. But, what could possibly happen that would cause Roy to punch Jamie?

I ain’t stepping aside.

Fuck.

Roy forced himself to breathe, forced himself to stay with the plan.

“How’d it finally click?”

“Jamie,” Beard said plainly, still looking straight ahead.

Roy restrained himself from strangling the information from Beard. He’s pretty sure Beard could fight him off anyway.

“How’d the little prick do that?”

Roy might as well play into how much he supposedly still hated Jamie. The ease with which it came was startling, like riding a bike. Only in this universe he doubted Jamie took the time in Amsterdam to teach him to ride a bloody bike. Fuck. He couldn’t even ride a bike anymore. Another knock to whatever the fuck was happening currently.

He couldn’t ride a bike because they never spent the night together in Amsterdam. Jamie never opened up to Roy about his two very different trips to Amsterdam with his parents. Jamie never opened up to Roy about his rape. They had been training together for months by then, but that night in the Netherlands had been a turning point in their relationship. They bared themselves open to the other that night, and their friendship had been stronger for it since.

Last night Roy dreamt about stewing in his hotel room alone that night, googling Jack Danvers instead of learning to ride a bike with Jamie. Was that what happened? Roy might’ve gone with Ted and Beard, but after seeing Beard in that costume, he somehow thinks he wouldn’t have accompanied his friend on whatever that adventure was. Feeling sorry for himself and excessively googling something was, unfortunately, the most likely scenario; he had done it just last night, after all.

“I think you know,” Beard said finally and walked away.

Fuck.

Desperation beginning to claw at him, Roy cornered Keeley in the car park before boarding the bus. From what he could gather, the former couple were on an even worse footing than they were right after the breakup. They definitely didn’t sleep together recently as they had in real life. Not in this universe? Roy doesn’t know how the fuck he’s supposed to describe the fucking hellscape he finds himself in. Nightmare? Reason he needed to be in a padded cell? Didn’t really matter. He was fucked, no matter what it’s called.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Keeley, hands up in surrender, knowing he wouldn’t get anywhere without that.

Keeley sighed but softened. “How’s he doing?”

Neither of them ever deserved her.

They watched as Jamie walked his forehead into a fan’s awaiting hand rather than give him the high five he was anticipating. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

“I’ll talk to him,” Keeley agreed but then turned even more serious. “Not that I don’t appreciate you looking out for him, which I do, but what’s going on, Roy? Why the change of heart?”

“I, uh,” Roy struggled to find a reason that would pass muster for Keeley. She always saw right through him, and this would be no different.

It has to be me. Can’t be anyone else.

Fuck.

“Because he needs someone to.”

“Good on you, Royo,” Keeley said and followed Rebecca onto the bus.

Roy spent the beginning of the four-hour bus ride on Google, continuing to research everything he could find about the team, and specifically Jamie, from the last six months, searching for anything he missed the night before. He couldn’t find anything about Jamie and Isaac fighting or a concrete explanation for why he would have been missing. As a last-ditch effort, he searched his email. He winced when he found an email from Meredith Bailey in HR.

Mr. Kent,

Pursuant to our earlier meeting, please find the information for the required Anger Management course and the other agreed-upon requirements.

Failure to meet any of the attached requirements could be grounds for immediate termination of your contract.

Please have your solicitor contact me with any pertinent questions.

Sincerely,

Meredith Bailey

It was dated just a few days after his fight with Jamie. There were a number of people CC-ed on the e-mail, including Higgins, Rebecca, Ted, one of Richmond’s legal representatives and his solicitor. Was this all from the fight? Had Jamie had to undergo something similar? Or just Roy? Google was of no help. He searched for Jamie’s name in his email but found nothing after the email from Meredith. That was strange; they all received the same reports from the physios for all players.

Jamie had been working through a hamstring issue off and on all season. Nothing that kept him off the pitch, just something he needed extra time with Gail for occasionally and had to make sure his body was properly warmed up. Roy would have him work extra stretching it out during their morning workouts and making sure he used a heating pad and foam roller when they were at one of their houses watching television or going over match tape. Roy felt guilt creep up his spine. Was the issue because Roy overtrained him? Roy searched his emails again.

There. He found a smattering of emails related to Jamie’s hamstring issue dated before the email from HR, before the fight. Then, they abruptly stopped. A low growl escaped Roy’s lips. Trent shifted in the seat next to him but continued sleeping. He prayed the journalist didn’t wake. The last thing he needed now was someone writing a book about his fucking mental breakdown.

Fuck.

Trent was writing a book about the season.

Trent was writing a book about the season.

Trent’s bag lay between his feet, his notebook sticking temptingly from a corner pocket. Roy looked around; everyone seemed to be occupied by themselves, either sleeping or with headphones in. Trent had his eyes closed, but Roy wasn’t convinced he was sleeping.

“Trent?” Roy whispered, not loud enough to wake the man but loud enough that if he were awake, he would hear.

There's no movement from the journalist.

“Trent, your hair’s stupid.”

Still, no movement, which Roy took as a sign the man was asleep. Roy slowly reached over to try to pull the notebook from Trent’s bag. His hand wrapped around it, and he was about to pull it from the bag when the bus jolted. The notebook skittered to Roy’s feet as Trent jerked awake.

“Sorry! Pothole!” Kenneth yelled back to the bus with an apologetic wave.

“This fell out of your bag,” Roy said, handing the notebook back to Trent hastily.

“Oh, thank you. Don’t want to lose that or want anyone reading it that shouldn’t.”

Sure wouldn’t.

“So, Trent,” Roy started, aiming for nonchalance and subtlety. “What’re you writing in your little book about Jamie and me?”

Okay, then. Fuck subtlety.

“I haven’t decided what exactly will make the final version yet,” Trent said, and Roy could feel the nerves radiating off the man, similar to their conversation in the Chelsea locker room all those months ago. “I can’t finalise the first draft until the season’s over.”

“I just want to know about Jamie and me. I don’t give a shit about the rest of it.”

“Well, Roy, I am going to write what happened. I won’t sensationalise it or go by what the rumour mill is saying if that’s what you mean.”

What the fuck was the rumour mill saying?

“Could - Could I read what you’ve written? Just about, you know, the incident.”

“The incident? Oh. Oh!” Trent says. “I can show you the draft once I’m finished. If you have objections, I won’t change anything, but I’ll be happy to tell you why you’re wrong.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Trent.”

Trent nodded and closed his eyes again.

Roy returned to spiralling until his phone vibrated.

Ruth: Phoebe said she’ll allow you to take her to breakfast on Sunday. Pick her up at 10:30.

Ruth: Do not fuck this up, Roy.

One less thing to worry about, at least for now, one less straw designed to break his back. Once he saw Phoebe, he would grovel. Roy knew she couldn’t stay mad at him for long in any universe. This was the kid who happily accompanied him to pick up his fucking dry cleaning. He would spend the rest of his life making it up to his niece if necessary.

Roy quickly replied to the text before a realisation dawned on him. He had something else to help him figure out what the fuck was going on. His fucking text messages. Yesterday, he was so concerned that they stopped on May 12th; he hadn’t thought they would be different. Roy made the mistake of reading the last text from Ruth. She completely eviscerated him after he yelled at Phoebe, and Ruth must’ve kicked him out. That was one memory Roy was thankful not to possess.

Jamie hating him and being on uneven footing with Keeley was something Roy struggled with, but it wasn’t a completely new situation. Ruth hating him was a different story altogether, and his situation with Phoebe and Ruth was the hardest thing to comprehend in this hellscape. Ruth, who delighted in anything that ruffled his feathers, loved him more than anything in this world, at least until she had Phoebe. Roy never knew the love he was capable of until Phoebe was born. If he made her doubt that for even one minute, he couldn’t live with that.

He pushed thoughts of Phoebe and Ruth from his brain. He couldn’t change anything until Sunday. On Sunday he would make up for his low moment and everything else he fucked up the last six months. He would buy Phoebe a fucking pony if she wanted it. He would still have Ruth to deal with, but Roy would rather deal with his sister’s wrath over his overspending versus his temper.

He opened the photos app, briefly letting pictures of Phoebe help calm him before returning to the text messages to look for more clues. There was nothing from Keeley, at least nothing of note. Plenty in regard to work, but nothing of actual importance. Nothing from Jamie. Literally nothing. Roy must’ve deleted them. Not for the first time recently, Roy cursed himself. There seemed to be no personal messages at all other than ones from Ruth or Phoebe.

How had one decision spiralled through and shattered so much of Roy’s life? Was everything really balanced so precariously that one decision changed everything? What was it about training Jamie that had seemingly altered his life? What was it about Jamie that had kept him from apparently pushing everyone in his life away? Jamie meant a lot to him; he might even be his best friend, but had the little prick actually been his fucking life support?

The Greyhounds arrived at the hotel before Roy could think further, and the team dispersed to their rooms or somewhere throughout the hotel. They would have a team dinner in a conference room followed by a screening of You’ve Got Mail. Roy didn’t lay eyes on Jamie until he arrived in the conference room for the movie, slumped into a chair in the front row, and was quickly bookended by Isaac and Bumbercatch.

Keeley, who promised to talk to Jamie, was nowhere to be found until after the movie began. Roy turned to the door every time he heard someone and finally breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted the blonde and handed her popcorn he saved her when she snuck in and sat beside him.

“How’d it go with Jamie?” he asked apprehensively.

Roy tried to coach Keeley earlier about what to maybe avoid, like discussing the walnut mist of it all, but Keeley blew him off. Roy couldn't blame her. She knew better than anyone how shit Roy was with feelings and how little he supposedly knew of Jamie in this universe. Keeley just didn't know Roy already lived this before. She just didn't know he somehow got stuck in the fucking upside-down.

“Yeah, I fucked it. Made it worse,” she said, taking a bite of popcorn.

“Shit.”

Roy shouldn’t be surprised, but he thought things might go differently in this universe; maybe Keeley would be able to get Jamie to open up a bit more. As he was with a plethora of things the past two days, Roy was wrong.

Dani turned around and smiled at them because, of course, he did. “Hello, Roy and Keeley. Good to see you both next to each other like before.”

“No,” Keeley said, and if it wasn’t an adamant no before, it definitely was now. “We’re just sitting together as friends.”

“Just friends,” Roy mumbled. He couldn’t bring himself to say how nice Keeley looked, though she did. He didn't think she would be as benevolent about it this time.

Looking back at it now, Roy should have known they weren’t going to get back together. He should have known after they slept together. And he definitely should have known after Manchester. A part of him had to have known, or he wouldn’t have told Jamie to back off at Bones & Honey. But now, there were no rose-coloured glasses. Keeley would never be his again.

Maybe that was the problem, ever thinking about Keeley as something to have instead of someone to share life with. He hadn’t felt that way when they were together, but telling Jamie to back off, getting into a physical altercation and then showing up at Keeley’s, well, that speaks to someone who thinks of someone under ownership terms rather than partnership terms.

“Nora Ephron,” Beard scolded them, and Dani quickly turned back around.

“I’m saying my apology,” Roy replied.

“Who?” Keeley asked.

“Carl Bernstein’s ex.”

Keeley nodded in understanding, turning her attention to the movie.

“How’d he seem? Was he angry?” Roy whispered, after a few minutes, careful of Beard’s wrath.

“No. Maybe a little. But not at me,” Keeley added quickly, probably fearful of how Roy would react.

The main thing Roy couldn’t get used to with this new version of Jamie was the simmering levels of anger. When they were teammates, Jamie had a quick temper, but so did Roy and looking back, Jamie’s was only in response to Roy. This Jamie was one second away from boiling. It was such a stark contrast to the Jamie he remembered from just two days ago, FaceTiming him and telling him all about the Nike shoot. Even the night they fought over Keeley, Jamie hadn’t been angry. Determined, stubborn, and obstinate, and now Roy realised, hurt, but not angry. This Jamie reminded Roy of himself.

“I’m afraid of what it’s going to do to you if you just keep it all for yourself.”

Nate’s words from the Everton dressing room came unwillingly to his mind. Roy feared the same for Jamie, now he realised. But Roy had always been quick to anger, and it was his superpower on the pitch. Removed from his father’s influence, the real Jamie was funny and kind, smart-mouthed but not mean. How had Jamie turned into this in such a short time? Roy needed to do something before Jamie devolved even more before Jamie passed a point of no return.

Beard shushed them again before more could be said. Keeley fell asleep on his shoulder, and the weight of her head felt like a weight on his soul. Roy wondered what Jamie was thinking. What was the expression on his face? Because that lad’s face was always doing something. Was he angry or hurt? Was he crying like Roy and the rest of the team were?

Roy had barely paid attention to the movie this time around, but the tears still came unbidden. And if Roy told himself his tears were still because of Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, well, who was there to tell him differently? Who would dare tell Roy he was crying over losing his best friend? And who in this world would believe that? Ice filled Roy’s heart, knowing that no one would.

Roy hastily wiped at his face, concentrating on the back of Jamie’s head. Did his hair look dry? Something Roy now knew was something conditioner helped prevent. Was Jamie still planning to sneak out to see his Mum? Should Roy follow him? Would that make it worse? Roy knew where he going this time, and while he didn’t worry about the destination, Jamie was still in a highly emotional state, wandering through a city where he was enemy number one. What if he came across some older city fans rather than those adorable little lads?

When the movie finished and Keeley woke, they watched Jamie exit the same way as before. Roy’s heart swelled with gratitude when Keeley rose to follow, nodding at Roy. One of his greatest regrets in every timeline would be breaking Keeley’s heart, hurting one of the most wonderful people he had ever met. In every universe, in every life, she was willing to drop anything for those she loved. Roy had never deserved her, but more than that, she never deserved what he did to her.

Whatever hell Roy was in right now only proved that further. He made a stupid fucking wish in a low moment of jealousy. He had no one to blame for this purgatory but himself. Himself and whoever the fuck he was in this multi-verse. In every fucking universe, Roy Kent was good at one thing and one thing only. Kicking a fucking ball. And when he could no longer do that? Well, there was a reason racehorses were put down. But he wasn’t even strong enough for that.

Roy relaxed slightly as they trailed through Manchester after Jamie. Keeley again hid behind cars and lamp posts as if she could hide herself in the five-inch heels and puffy pink coat. At least this time, Roy knew where they were going, and Jamie would find comfort there. Thank God for Georgie and Simon. Would Simon bring them to see the posters without his relationship being the same with Jamie as it was before? Would he be welcomed as warmly as Keeley would be by Simon and Georgie after his punch-up with Jamie weeks earlier?

“Where’d he go?” Keeley asked, pulling him from his thoughts as they neared the tunnel.

“He went down the tunnel,” Roy said, much more sure of himself this time around.

“You lost him.”

“I didn’t lose Jamie Tartt. He’s going to be at the end of the tunnel. Watch.”

“I don’t believe it! you lost Jamie Tartt.”

“I didn’t lose him. He's right here–” Roy turns to where Jamie was waiting for them last time, but Jamie doesn’t surprise them once they’re through the tunnel. “Fuck, he’s up here then.”

Roy leads the rest of the way, and he and Keeley catch up as they make it through the second tunnel, and those same kids stop Jamie. Roy smiled to himself despite the situation.

“Are you Jamie Tartt?” one asked as they approached.

Jamie looked up as he spotted Keeley and Roy emerging from the tunnel, his face unreadable, then back to the kids as he took down his hood.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“More like Jamie Fart!” the littlest one said, and the others broke into laughter.

“Screw you, dickhead! Prick!”

“Yeah, who are ya?”

“City’s gonna fuck you up tomorrow,” the middle one added.

“Yeah, you spaz. You little twat!”

Roy glanced over at Keeley, who was watching Jamie concerned, but Jamie's lips curled into a smile as he looked back at the lads. The first smile Roy had seen from Jamie since he entered this fucked up bizzaro world, and it was when he was being roasted by a group of primary schoolers. The smile was a sign his Jamie was still in there under all the hurt and pain he had put on as armour. Roy held onto that smile like a lifeline, though he was unsure if he or Jamie was the one it was holding above water. Maybe both of them.

“Yeah, it’s not for you, pussy!” the smallest one yelled again.

“Yeah, go on!’

Jamie finally turned as Keeley scurried to catch up with him.

“Walk. Bye!”

“Bye!”

Roy started to follow, then turned back.

“I can smell your bum from here,” one yelled one last insult.

The lads stilled under Roy Kent’s steely gaze.

Roy nodded at the trio. “Good lads,” he told them before turning towards where Jamie and Keeley had done down the street.

“Jamie, wait!” Keeley called after him.

“Go back to the hotel,” Jamie said, stopping in front of his Mum’s doorstep as Keeley and then Roy caught up.

“We’re not doing that, Jamie,” Roy added.

“Why are you following me? What the fuck do you want, Grandad?” Jamie asked, stepping closer.

Roy could see the three scoundrels eyeing them from the corner of his eye.

“We just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Fuck off, neither of you give a shit about me. I’ll be at the match tomorrow, don't worry. I know that’s all that fucking matters.”

“Jamie, please!” Keeley tried.

Jamie turned, and Roy took a chance.

“How did I know you were going to your Mum’s house then?” Roy asked. “I fucking care, Jamie.”

“My Mum’s house? I’m not going there,” Jamie scoffed and kept walking further away from his Mum’s place. “Go back to the hotel, Grandad. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Jamie, wait, please, what’s going on?” Keeley pleaded as she caught up with him around the corner and grabbed his arm. “Are you buying drugs?”

Did Jamie not want them to meet Simon and his Mum? Was he embarrassed about the posters? Who gave a shit about the posters? Roy just wanted to make sure Jamie was okay. He needed to see his Mum. It helped him the last time; it would help him now. Maybe they should tell Jamie they’re going back to the hotel and circle back to Georgie’s and wait for him to be done?

Jamie stopped walking and turned to both of them.

“Go back to the hotel. I’m not fucking playing,” Jamie said, voice cold and determined, but his face betrayed the nerves Roy could see running through him. “You need to go back. Now.”

“Jamie. Fuck! Just let us help you!”

“I don’t need your fucking help, mate. How many different ways can I tell you to fuck off?”

Jamie seemed on the verge of tears. He threw his arms up in exasperation. A door opened, and Jamie stiffened as all the colour drained from his face.

“Well, look who it isn’t.”

Roy dragged his eyes away from Jamie and towards the voice. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as his eyes confirmed what he desperately hoped his ears had gotten wrong.

A man stood in front of an open door, teeth bared like a wolf, looking at three defenceless lambs he could slaughter. The realisation hit Roy like a truck. Jamie didn’t walk past his Mum’s house because he didn’t want them to meet her. That was never Jamie’s destination. This was.

Jamie was going to see his Dad.

“What the fuck are we doing here?” Roy asked, looking at Jamie.

“We aren’t doing anything. You and Keeley are going back to the hotel.”

“Come on, son, don’t you want to invite your ickle friends in? Are you embarrassed by your old man or sommet? Big man Roy Kent probably got his Dad in a penthouse somewhere, not slumming it in Manchester, yeah?” James Tartt said, walking down the steps and passing Jamie, but not without knocking into his shoulder. Jamie’s head and shoulders drop. The cocky footballer was gone, replaced with a child in the presence of his father. The child of an abusive father. “And if it isn’t the lovely Miss Jones. I’d recognise those tits from me son’s bedroom wall anywhere.”

James looked Keeley up and down and licked his lips. Roy stepped between them. They had to get out of here.

“Jamie, let’s go, you have a fucking curfew.” If he had to pull the coach card, then he would.

“Come on, you all just got here. Let’s go get a drink,” James said to Roy, then turned to his son. “Come on, Jamie. Let’s go.”

“Jamie, come back with us, please,” Keeley begged.

“Go back to the hotel, Roy,” Jamie said, ignoring Keeley.

She grabbed Roy’s arm, her nails digging into his forearm, even through his jacket.

“Roy. Please,” Jamie’s eyes pleaded with him.

“Keeley, we have to go.”

Keeley’s grip tightened more on his arm. One look at James Tartt made the decision for him. He put an arm around Keeley and turned to walk back towards the hotel. And for the second straight day or maybe the hundreth straight day in this universe, Roy failed Jamie.

“We can’t just fucking leave him, Roy,” Keeley argued as Roy practically dragged her away.

Roy ignored her. He hated leaving Jamie, but he needed to get Keeley away from Jamie’s Dad. Roy could do that. It’s the least Roy could do for Jamie. The trek back to the hotel felt as if it took forever and Roy spent the walk sending text messages and ignoring Keeley’s protests for most of the walk.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Roy finally said. “You saw his Dad. He looked at you like you were a fucking free meal. Jamie needed you away from him. It was the only fucking thing I could do.”

Roy’s voice cracked. He needed to stay strong. He needed to get back for Jamie. And he needed fucking reinforcements.

The hotel came into sight as they rounded a corner, and Roy watched gratefully as Beard exited the front enterance.

“I’m going back with Beard,” Roy told her. “We’ll bring Jamie back, I fucking promise.”

“You better, Roy, you fucking better, or I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you.”

Roy would never forgive himself.

Roy gave a cab driver the address he wrote down on his phone, grateful even with everything, he took the time to note where he was. The ride was endlessly long as Roy filled in Beard on what he could without giving the cab driver information he could take to the press.

Roy handed the driver a hundred-pound note and showed the cab driver three more.

“You wait here, and you can have these three, too. Got it?”

The man nodded quickly. Beard was out of the cab before Roy was, thanks to his traitorous fucking knee. The American stalked to the front door without hesitation, grabbed the doorknob and turned; the relief Roy felt was immediate.

But the relief didn’t last long.

“Jamie!” Beard yelled.

The flat was the same set-up as Jamie’s Mum’s, from what Roy could tell: stairs right when you walk in the door, a hall with two doors leading to the kitchen and the sitting room. The whole block was probably the same or mirrored versions of it. Muffled voices rose from the back of the flat. Roy nodded his head towards where the kitchen should be, walked down the hall and pushed the door open, Beard half a step behind.

Jamie sat at a chair, head down, not making eye contact with either coach even as they entered the kitchen. James Tartt leaned against a counter, grinning dangerously, beer in his hand.

“Remember me?” Beard asked.

James had the decency to look slightly shocked.

“The fuck you doing here?”

Beard wiped the smirk off his face with a punch. Jamie’s head shot up from where he was sitting, and Roy saw redness and a small cut on his cheek. His glassy eyes widened in fear.

James Tartt didn’t waste any time retaliating and took a swing at Beard, who dodged it easily.

“Jamie, go outside,” Beard said, arms up in a boxer’s stance and Roy would be concerned at how calm the man’s voice was if he wasn’t so worried about Jamie.

The younger Tartt didn’t move, seemingly glued to his chair. James wiped the blood that began to drip from his mouth with the back of his hand as he walked behind Jamie.

“You gotta leave, Coach,” Jamie pleaded.

“Shut up, Jamie,” James sneered, smacking Jamie in the back of the head like he was a misbehaving dog.

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” Roy snapped.

“Jamie, let’s go,” Beard said, voice steely.

“Didn’t you learn your lesson, you Yankee prick? Thought you would’ve learned not to get between me and my son when we’re having a family conversation,” James added, one hand squeezing Jamie’s shoulder entirely too tightly. “You get me?”

Alarm bells sounded in Roy’s head. James was too calm for being outnumbered, even if just by Roy and Beard, and Jamie was too nervous. Beard and Roy were there, Jamie should be ready to leave with them, not begging them to go. James stood behind Jamie, ready to use his son as a shield, but neither Beard nor Roy would fight through Jamie to get to his father; he should feel safe, but the look on Jamie’s face was not the look of someone relieved.

“Thought you would’ve learned,” Beard replied.

What was Beard talking about?

“Aye, I did,” James said and whistled. “Oi, lads, there’s someone who wants to see you.”

Two men entered the kitchen then from the sitting room, and Roy could only assume they were who he thought they were. Denbo Cullens and the one Jamie called Bug.

Fuck.

Jamie jumped to his feet, shaking off his Dad’s hand and moving between Denbo, Bug, and his coaches.

“Miss us, Coach?” the smaller one snickered.

“Definitely, not,” Beard replied.

What the fuck was going on?

“You gotta leave. Now.”

Jamie’s resolve returned quickly. His voice was strong, but his eyes were pleading.

“Not without you. Come on, Jamie, we have a match tomorrow,” Beard said, pulling the Coach’s card.

“City’s gonna fucking murder you no matter how much beauty sleep the pretty boy gets,” the taller of the two sneered.

Roy didn’t know which was which, but he decided the smaller one looked more like a fucking Bug.

“Jamie, please, let’s fucking go’” Roy begged.

The devil himself would have to drag Roy out of this kitchen before he would leave without Jamie. One look at Beard said he felt the same way. They were at a standstill, and Beard had something going on with Jamie’s Dad and his friends that Roy really didn’t want to know about. Not content with waiting longer, Beard took a step towards James Tartt.

“Let the pussy fucking go. Jamie needs his Coaches to come and save him from his big, scary Dad,” James mocked. “I got what I fucking needed from him anyway. I’ll see you soon, son.”

The way James Tartt said son sent chills down Roy’s spine. It wasn’t a term of affection. It was a threat.

“See you tomorrow,” Bug sneered and gave Jamie a shove in the back towards Roy.

Jamie stumbled roughly into a counter. Roy reached an arm out to steady him, but Jamie threw his arm off.

“Get the fuck off me.” Jamie walked quickly out the door, Roy following behind, hoping Beard did the same.

The cab was still there. Finally, one fucking thing went right in this hell dimension.

“Get in the cab,” Roy told Jamie, who seemed to shrink once they were outside in the cool Manchester air.

Beard appeared behind them and climbed into the front seat as Jamie scrambled into the back, and Roy followed him in. Jamie’s body was so still Roy wasn’t completely sure the lad was even breathing. Roy didn’t exhale until they pulled away from the curb, not trusting James Tartt and his friends wouldn’t change their minds and follow.

“Jamie–”

Jamie cut Roy off with a look that could’ve sliced him open.

“You can fuck right off. You’re not even supposed to be coaching me, and you're following me around fucking Manchester.”

“All I do is fucking coach you,” Roy couldn’t hold it all in anymore. He couldn’t.

“Roy.” Beard’s voice was firm, and something in it settled him. “Let’s discuss this back at the hotel.”

The cab driver eyed him in the rearview mirror. Fair enough, Willis, fair enough.

The rest of the ride passed in pregnant silence. It felt like a tomb to Roy; he couldn’t wait to get to the hotel and breathe in fresh air. Jamie slumped down in his seat like a despondent teenager told he couldn’t go out with his friends. Beard sat rigid in the front seat, eyes looking through the front windshield. Belatedly, Roy remembered to text Keeley. He was so caught up in getting Jamie, Roy almost forgot to update his concerned ex. Jamie fled from the cab as soon as it came to a full stop, Beard following close behind. Roy lagged while he handed the driver the agreed-upon money.

“Here’s an extra hundred.” The cab driver held out his hand, but Roy held the money just out of reach. “You never fucking saw us.”

The man nodded, and Roy handed over the bills before pushing through his cramped knee to follow the Mancunian and American. Jamie feverishly pushed on the elevator button as if he could escape the two coaches. In the light of the hotel, Jamie’s cheek was bright red, and the vivid cut even brighter. He would need ice. Roy needed to call Higgins to ensure James Tartt was banned from Etihad tomorrow. He would have to tell Ted what happened. They should call Jamie’s Mum. Maybe she could come to the hotel. Roy could send an Uber for her or pay for the cab when she got here–

The elevator dinged, pulling Roy from his mental list. Jamie shuffled in, head down. Beard pressed six for their floor. When the doors opened, Jamie turned right towards his room. Beard reached a hand to grab Jamie’s shoulder to redirect him. Jamie flinched and wrenched himself from Beard’s light grip.

“Sorry,” Beard offered, and Jamie’s shoulders moved slightly away from his ears.

Keeley ran down the hallway then, barefoot but in the same clothes from earlier. She threw her arms around Jamie, and Roy didn’t miss the wince that crossed Jamie’s face when Keeley's petite frame collided with him. Jamie closed his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her, and Roy’s stomach clenched.

The only reason he was in this situation, the only reason Jamie was seeing his father and was probably hurt right now was because of Roy’s jealousy. He’d fucked it worst than he thought.

Beard cleared his throat, anxious to get out of the hallway. “Let’s go to Roy's room.”

Roy had almost forgotten Beard was there.

“Go back to your room, Keels, it’s late. I’m good.” Jamie broke their embrace, and Keeley hastily wiped at her eyes. “I gotta talk to the coaches. I’m sound, yeah? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Keeley looked back and forth between Roy and Jamie, unsure. Roy nodded.

“It’s okay, I got him.”

Roy meant it. He didn’t plan to let Jamie out of his sight until the prick turned 30, and maybe not even then.

Step 1 - Get Jamie away from his father.

Step 2 - Fix Jamie.

Admittedly, step two would take a lot more than a chat and a cuppa, but at least it’s a start.

Roy swiped his key card and held the door open. Jamie trudged through as if he was walking to his execution. Beard followed. Keeley threw herself at Roy with the same vigour she’d thrown herself at Jamie. Roy caught her with one arm, then the other, as the door to his room slowly closed.

“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear.

She left him stunned and alone in the hotel hallway, much like he left her two years before in a different hotel in a different Northern city under very different circumstances. It didn’t matter how many multiverses Roy travelled to; Keeley fucking Jones would always remain.

Roy took a deep breath and entered his hotel room. Jamie sat on the settee, wash cloth held to his cheek, presumably with ice provided by Beard inside.

“Where else are you hurt?” Roy asked, eyeing Jamie up and down as if he could X-ray the younger man himself.

“I’m not hurt,” Jamie scoffed.

Both men eyed Jamie warily; neither was a stranger to hiding injuries.

“This isn’t hurt; this is just a little cut,” Jamie rolled his eyes. “It weren’t even a punch, just clipped me with his ring, is all.”

Roy wanted to shake Jamie for his nonchalance, like any injury to him wouldn’t be an affront to all of Roy’s principles. But then, Jamie wouldn’t know that. To Jamie, Roy was just another angry man in his life. To Jamie, Roy was just another man that wanted to hurt him. To Jamie, Roy was just another man that had hurt him.

“Jamie, that still counts,” Roy said, lowering his voice to the register he saved for Phoebe.

It’s the same tone he realised he used after Wembley, the first time he laid witness to the destruction James Tartt left in his wake. The first time Roy saw the wounds James Tartt left on his son’s body and soul. Roy would have given anything for that to have been the last time.

“Look. I’m sorry I broke curfew, but I didn’t want him trying to get to the changing room like last time,” Jamie said, making charged eye contact with Beard.

Beard was the only one who stepped in to save Jamie from his father then. Roy had been the one to offer comfort, but he had been too frozen to offer safety.

Jamie looked away, down at his feet, then back to Beard. “Just tell me, am I playing tomorrow, or are you going to tell Ted?”

“You’re not playing,” Roy said.

One way to make sure Jamie didn’t fuck his ankle during the match tomorrow was to keep him on the sidelines. Roy had considered it since he woke in this hellscape but after tonight, he especially thought it was a good idea.

“That’s not your fucking decision,” Jamie snapped.

“The fuck it isn’t.”

“Actually, it isn’t,” Beard said, and Jamie perked up at having been proven right. Little prick. “Roy, can we talk in the hall?”

Reluctantly, Roy followed the American from the room, moving the latch so the door didn’t close fully as they stepped into the quiet hallway.

“You know any decisions regarding Jamie were removed from your coaching responsibilities.”

Fuck. Things were beginning to make sense.

“Can’t you see how fucked up he is?”

Not being involved with Jamie was something the alternative-universe version of him agreed to. This Roy sure as hell didn’t and wouldn’t. He’d fight tooth and nail to do whatever he thought would keep Jamie safe.

“I can. And keeping him on the bench isn’t going to help him. You know that better than anyone.”

“But—“

“Roy, what’s going on? Two days ago you were happily ignoring Jamie, now you’re following him blindly through Manchester, with Keeley, I might add, and now you don’t want him to play because you’re what? Worried about him? You understand why the maths ain’t mathin’ here, right?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“You can try me,” Beard said, crossing his arms.

“I…I…I just fucked it up with Jamie, and I want to fix it. I know I can fix it.”

If he told the truth, Beard would either believe him or have him committed. Roy couldn’t take the chance it would be the latter. Jamie needed him. And he couldn’t fix things with Jamie or Phoebe from a padded room.

“I’m worried not playing will fuck with him more,” Beard said. “The kid needs this. I’ll make sure he’s cleared by the physios before the match.”

Roy can’t think of another objection, but he does have another question.

“What was that about back there?”

Beard sighed heavily.

“I ran into Jamie’s Dad and his friends after the Wembley match. Let’s just say he wasn’t happy I removed him from the changing room. Thankfully, a friend of mine showed up in time. Saved my life.

“I knew you didn’t fall off the fucking bed.”

“I did not.”

“Did you report it to the police?” Roy asked.

“No. I didn’t think Jamie needed that circus of his father being arrested and I was afraid it would come out about Jamie punching him,” Beard explained.

Roy scrubbed a hand across his face.

“Jamie looks exhausted. He’s probably already asleep in there. You should get some sleep yourself. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

Beard patted Roy on the shoulder, and then Roy watched apprehensively as he walked towards his room. Roy waited until he disappeared before returning to his own room and Jamie. Roy would be alone with Jamie, something he had wanted desperately since he woke up in this nightmare, yet suddenly, he couldn’t make his feet move back towards his room, to his responsibility.

How could Roy do this? How could he show Jamie that he wasn’t the man he thought he was? How could he show Jamie they had become best friends through morning after morning of Jamie pushing his body to the limit and Roy guiding him? How could he show Jamie they had become best friends through hours and hours of watching old matches and movies and fighting over everything from the best Bond to the best Nando’s sauce. How could he show Jamie that he loved him and wanted to help him?

How could he show Jamie that he was sorry for everything in this universe and everything in his own?

Just as Beard suspected, Jamie was asleep on the couch. Anger at James Tartt bubbled as Roy took the hand towel from Jamie’s outstretched hand. He prayed Jamie was telling the truth about his cheek being the only injury as he eased Jamie’s trainers off. The younger man didn’t stir at the movement, nor did he when Roy slid a pillow under his head. The only sound in the room was Jamie’s soft snores and Roy’s too-loud beating heart. Roy found a blanket in a closet and tucked it around Jamie, brushing the hair off his forehead. God, the kid looked so young. Twenty-five and carrying more on his shoulders than anyone should in one lifetime.

Roy’s phone pinged, and he grabbed it quickly and silenced it, afraid it would wake Jamie. Roy wanted to talk to him, needed to talk to him, but that could wait; Jamie needed his sleep where he could get it. Guilt clawed at Roy at the relief that flooded him at Jamie being asleep as well. He knew what he wanted Jamie to believe; he just didn’t know the words to do it. As Roy was putting his phone down he realised the ping was because he received an email from Trent. The subject simply read: I hope you find what you’re looking for.

There was nothing in the body of the email, only an attachment to a PDF, which Roy clicked on quickly.

Relations between Assistant Coach Roy Kent and star player Jamie Tartt reached a boiling point in early April during a match against Liverpool. Kent and Tartt, former teammates, had an infamous on-field dust-up during Tartt’s last match as a Greyhound during his loan. They would share the pitch only once after that for the last tackle of Kent’s career. He chased down a speeding Tartt while Richmond fought for their lives to avoid relegation. Kent’s tackle was successful but, at the cost of his career, the final nail in an injury-riddled coffin.

Roy skimmed through the next sections covering Jamie’s role in Richmond’s relegation and Roy and Jamie’s returns to Richmond.

Any fences mended between the pair exploded as they exchanged words on the sideline. Kent, known throughout the Premier League for his temper, had done well to keep it in check during his two seasons as an assistant coach, but Tartt, known on the pitch for riling up opponents and drawing the most penalties and free kicks in the league, knew exactly which buttons to push on his former teammate. The pair exchanged punches before being pulled apart by Richmond players and staff members.

Kent was publicly apologetic after the match before attending a week-long team-mandated anger management program. Tartt was similarly remorseful in a statement posted on Twitter and Instagram. His discipline has not been made public by AFC Richmond.

After witnessing Tartt’s stunning free-kick goal the season before during the FA Cup quarterfinal, which was directly related to a play developed with Coach Kent, one wonders what magic these two could have produced if only tempers and egos didn’t flare whenever they were within sniffing distance of each other.

There was a footnote at the bottom intended only for Roy.

^The club asked me not to include Jamie’s required counselling sessions.

^^Out of respect for Keeley, I didn’t include the words exchanged between you and Jamie.

Jamie’s counselling sessions? Respect for Keeley? Were they fighting over her again? Fuck.

That video of her that got leaked, she made that for me.

Roy realised he had to do what he had been putting off. He had to watch the video of his fight with Jamie with sound. Sneaking to the bathroom, Roy turned the shower on to help drown out noise as he pulled the video up on his phone.

Jamie muttered something to himself as he walked to the bench.

“What did you say?” Roy said as he grabbed Jamie’s arm.

“I said this is fucking bullshit. How’re you going to score without me? You need me.”

Jamie roughly shook off Roy’s arm.

“Not the way you’re playing right now we don’t. Are you sick or some shit? You’re moving fucking slow. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

“Fuck off, Grandad.”

“Go see the physio.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“Oh like you weren’t asking me earlier?”

Jamie started to walk past Roy, towards the changing room, bumping his shoulder.

“Jamie. Go. See. The. Fucking. Physio.”

Jamie stopped only a few feet away. He turned around and took a step towards Roy so they were within arms reach.

“She made it for me.”

The fucking video. Roy must’ve asked Jamie if he knew who it was for. Fuck. Roy regretted asking Keeley about it. Had he doubled down on his assholeness and asked not only Keeley but Jamie about it here? Of course, Roy suspected it was made for Jamie. Roy hadn’t actually watched it or even meant to ask Keeley. His stupid brain just short-circuited to his default caveman level and the words were out of his mouth before he realised it.

Roy watched the video as he punched Jamie, who punched him back before they’re pulled apart. Jamie’s punch grazed his cheek while Roy’s connected solidly with Jamie’s nose. But why was Jamie holding his ribs? Roy hadn’t hit him in the ribs. Roy rewatched the video again.

Are you sick or some shit? You’re moving fucking slow. You look like you’re going to pass out.

Jamie’s father had to be connected to all of this. But as far as Roy knew, Jamie’s father hadn’t tried to contact him since Wembley, well, at least as far as the Man City match, as far as he is in the current timeline. Had Jamie seen his father for whatever fucking reason? Or had something or someone else befallen Jamie? Just one more in a long list of questions Roy had at the moment.

As Roy looked at Jamie’s face, somehow not calm even in his sleep, all he could see were his own failures. He saw not only his incompetencies in this fucked reality but all of his failures before that. He was a shit captain. His apathy led to Jamie’s reign of terror as the Prince Prick of All Pricks. And then, when Roy returned to Richmond, broken but praying coaching could piece back his shattered soul, he ignored Jamie for weeks rather than say something against what Ted had been instilling in his former rival.

Coaching Jamie and the rest of the Greyhounds was his responsibility. He should’ve given Ted his true opinion regarding Jamie from the beginning. Part of him didn’t want to disrupt the status quo, but part of him also enjoyed watching Jamie eat humble pie and learn to pass. He let his personal feelings interfere with his job, with his duty. For Roy, it was so much more than just a job. Playing football and being a coach would always be Roy’s fate, his higher calling. They paid him, of course, paid him more money than he would ever know what to do with, but he did it because the game was as integral to keeping Roy alive as his heart and lungs.

There was no Roy Kent without football, and for thirty years, there had been no football in England without Roy Kent. To refuse to coach anyone, to keep something football-related from someone like Jamie Tartt, was one of the biggest sins Roy could have committed. And Roy did it because of uncertainty but also selfish jealousy. Jamie was twenty-four, and Roy didn’t give in until Jamie followed him around like a puppy, agreeing with whatever he said. And even then, Roy took perverse satisfaction in both calling out Lasso as well as the chance to call Jamie average.

And while Roy was somewhat right, he wasn’t completely right. Jamie had overcorrected, likely due to his precarious place in Richmond. Roy hadn’t told Jamie he wouldn’t be sent away if he didn’t pass. Roy hadn’t told Jamie he was proud of him for becoming a team player. Jamie's passing was what had turned total football into what it was for Richmond.

Roy always thought Jamie had God-given talent, and he did, but he also worked his arse off, and his football IQ was off the charts. He could see what was happening three or four passes ahead; somehow, he was always in the right place at the right time. Roy should’ve seen that two years before, but he couldn’t see through his own shit. Roy’s career was ending; he didn’t want to be witness to the rise of someone else’s. And Jamie suffered for it.

Every wrong turn, Jamie’s suffered for it. Roy would do anything in that moment to end Jamie’s strife. He wanted to headbutt Jamie’s demons away personally. And if this were his life now, he’d spend it doing just that, one day at a time. He didn’t know how, but Roy knew one way or another he was going to get Jamie through the next 24 hours. And after that? Well, he’d figure it out when he got there.

All Roy had to do was keep Jamie’s abusive father away from him, get him through a match where he would be harassed by the same group of fans he was raised a part of, who once cheered his name with admiration, not vitriol, and hope Jamie didn’t fuck his ankle again, all while helping him navigate a mental health crisis. Roy pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and took a deep breath in and an exaggerated breath out. Yeah, this was going to be a piece of fucking cake.

Chapter Text

The room was empty when Roy’s alarm sounded, and even though he immediately recognised the Manchester hotel room, his heart still latched onto a sliver of hope as he glanced at the date on his phone through one squinted eye.

14 May 2022

Fuck.

The blanket that covered Jamie the night before was neatly folded on the couch, the pillow placed on top as if no one but the cleaning staff had been there. Roy checked his watch; they needed to leave for Etihad soon, so he had no time to waste. He walked the short distance down the hall to Jamie’s room and knocked loudly. Declan answered, brushing his teeth.

“Where’s Tartt?”

“Breakfast,” Cockburn mumbled through a mouthful of toothpaste, electric toothbrush buzzing as he moved it around.

“Send him to my room when he gets back.”

Declan didn’t object with any form of I thought you two weren’t allowed in the same room, so Jamie must’ve at the very least told his roommate where he spent the night. No one raised an alarm for a missing Jamie last night, at least to the coaching staff, so no doubt Isaac was aware the Mancunian was not where he was supposed to be, though. In many ways, Isaac was a better captain than Roy. ever was, at least with Richmond. When he was still with Chelsea, he liked to think he led his team the way Isaac does, by example, but this foray into sliding doors territory had Roy questioning his past behaviours beyond the last six months.

It had Roy questioning the decisions he’s made his entire life. If one decision, not training Jamie, had changed so much in just six months, how different would his life be if he made other ones? Surprisingly, most major regrets, he actually wouldn’t change. He regretted not trying to keep Ruth from her ex, but if he had succeeded, then Phoebe wouldn’t exist, and Roy would never want to live in a world without Phoebe Kent O’Sullivan. And there was likely nothing that would have prevented his stubborn little sister from doing what she wanted anyway, especially if someone tried to stop her.

Roy regretted leaving Chelsea when he did, running away to AFC Richmond with his tail tucked between his legs, but he wouldn’t change it. If this nightmare had shown him anything, it was how much everyone at Richmond meant to him. Without the Greyhounds he would have never met Jamie. Current hellscape aside, Roy wouldn’t change that for anything. But for right now, Roy was simply grateful Jamie was at breakfast.

I can’t sleep, and I can’t eat.

Jamie had slept for at least some of last night, and if he was at breakfast, then that’s two checked off the ever-growing is Jamie okay list. Roy would worry about hair maintenance when they returned to Richmond. At least Roy hoped Jamie was eating and not doing that thing Phoebe did when she was full and just moved the food around on her plate, hoping it looked like she ate more than she did. Another stab of guilt hit him at the thought of Phoebe. He would see her tomorrow and make things right. He had to concentrate on Jamie currently.

Declan nodded, and for the first time, Roy wondered about his relationship with the rest of the team. Even if Jamie had been on shaky ground with the team, Roy had still acted inappropriately with one of their own. Roy was so concerned about the Jamie Tartt of it all that he had forgotten there were twenty other players he was meant to look out for. And if he was honest with himself, he sometimes gave Jamie more attention than the others. Not just the four am training, which the rest of the team had made clear they wanted no fucking part of, but during regular training and matches, too.

Just as Jamie had overcorrected when he returned to Richmond, passing all the time instead of simply when it was appropriate, Roy had done the same, gone from refusing to coach Jamie to coaching Jamie at the expense of others. If Roy was still around next season, which seemed even less likely in this world than in his, he would ensure everyone was on the same level. He would earn the totality of his paycheck. He wouldn’t let his love for Jamie blind him to the other lads under his guidance.

Roy slowly walked back to his room, looking over his shoulder as he went and watched for Jamie. He left the door to his hotel room propped as he showered. Probably not the best security decision, but he didn’t want Jamie to turn around if there was no answer at the hotel room door. By the time Roy dressed, Jamie hadn’t appeared. Everyone was due downstairs in five minutes to catch the bus to the stadium. Roy tossed the last of his belongings into his bag when there was an urgent knock at his door. Fucking, finally, Jamie.

But it wasn’t Jamie on the other side of the door; it was Declan.

“Jamie locked himself in the bathroom. I think he’s having a panic attack.”

“Jamie? It’s Roy. Can you unlock the door?”

No answer.

Roy’s bag sat by the door, and Jamie’s opened suitcase had items strewn across the bed. Roy could hear Jamie’s erratic breathing through the door. Silence would be worse, as much as the wounded noise was terrifying to hear. This at least meant Jamie was breathing.

He sent Declan to the bus with instructions to talk to Beard and tell him they would meet the team at the stadium. Ted would likely protest, but Beard would understand. The last thing Jamie needed right now was the added stress of the team waiting for him. And after the night before, Beard would trust Roy to have Jamie’s best interest. At least Roy hoped he would.

“Jamie? It’s just us,” Roy said, sliding to the floor, his back against the bathroom door. “I told the bus we’d meet them there.”

More heavy breathing.

“You’re okay, Jamie. You’re safe.”

Roy’s heart rate spiked as he heard a strangled cry from the other side of the door, “Roy?”

“I’m here, Jamie,” Roy said, painfully turning so he was facing the closed door.

“I think I’m dying. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t breathe,” Jamie gasped.

“Jamie, can you unlock the door? Can you let me in? It’s just me. You’re safe,” he repeated.

There was an eternity of silence, followed eventually by the click of the door lock. As far as Roy was concerned, it was the best sound Roy had ever heard.

“I’m going to open the door, okay?”

Roy slowly turned the knob and pushed the door open, careful not to startle Jamie with any sudden movements, as if he was a scared, cornered animal, which in this case, he was.

Jamie sat on the floor, shoved in the space between the toilet and the tub. His knees were pulled up to his chest, and his hands were in his hair. The bruise on his cheek wasn’t as vivid as Roy thought it might be, but one look at the sink told him why. Makeup. Different colours. Sticks and liquids. Things Roy had seen with Keeley but never paid attention to, never needed to pay attention to because his own father was a void, someone known for his absence but Jamie’s father was a storm, known for his damage.

Had Jamie brought this with him? Had he known he was seeing his father and realised James might leave his mark on his son’s skin in a way he’d need to cover up? Had Jamie spent his whole life covering himself up in one way or another so no one saw the bruise, the cut, the ugly imperfections on both the inside and the outside?

Roy lowered himself to the edge of the tub, sitting as far away from Jamie as possible so as not to crowd him, stretching his bad knee out in front of him and massaging his fingers into the offending joint. Jamie’s eyes didn’t leave his own knees. He hadn’t acknowledged Roy’s presence at all since he entered the bathroom.

“You’re safe, Jamie. It's just us.” Jamie's eyes finally snapped to his face and Roy felt the need to reassure Jamie even further. “I won't hurt you.”

He shouldn’t have to add that. But in this case, he did have to. Roy knows he has to. He was someone who Jamie believed could hurt him. Roy was someone who had hurt him. Roy pictured Jamie in his Richmond kit, bloody nose and cringed. Roy had only watched the video with sound once. Once was more than enough.

Then Roy pictured Jamie in a light blue hoodie and bloody nose, and that wasn’t a video of someone he didn’t recognise in a world that didn’t make sense; that was a real memory, a real regret. Roy hit Jamie with enough force, with enough anger to make him bleed only six weeks ago. It was almost enough to make Roy sink to his knees and beg Jamie for forgiveness. In every universe, he was a person who could hurt Jamie Tartt. In every universe, he had hurt Jamie Tartt.

If this was hell, he deserved to be here.

But wherever he was, hell or limbo or somewhere else, Roy needed to get his shit together, or they would both be having panic attacks. He needed to help Jamie.

It has to be me. It can’t be anyone else.

“Can you take slow, deep breaths for me?” Roy mimicked the breathing he wanted Jamie to do.

Jamie finally looked up at him. His eyes were glassy and filled with pain and fear, and his breath was still fast and erratic but he was trying to match Roy’s breath.

“Good lad. Can you tell me five things you see?” Roy asked. “It’ll help, I promise.”

“Um, toilet,” Jamie said, doing as asked. Even here, when he had a million reasons to hate Roy, he was still doing as he was asked. “Shower. Door. Sink. You.”

The last word carried the weight of far more than three letters. It carried the weight of their relationship, what was, what is, what could have been, what should have been.

“Good lad. Now, can you touch four things?”

“Okay. Toilet. Toilet paper. Towel. Hair?”

Jamie patted his own head, and Roy nodded in what he hoped was an encouraging way but also reminded himself to make sure Jamie was using fucking conditioner once they were home.

“Okay, now three things you can hear.”

The only sound in the room was Jamie’s ragged breathing. Roy flipped on the water in the sink. “Okay, bad example. How about one thing?”

Jamie managed to give him a lopsided half smile, and Roy realised his breathing had slowed considerably, though still erratic. The smile was enough to lower Roy’s own heart rate by at least ten beats per minute.

“Water.”

“Good, Jamie, good. Now, two things you can smell? Or one at least.”

“Leather and cookies. And whatever old man stuff you use.”

It wasn’t old-man stuff, but that’s a fight for another time.

“Smart arse,” Roy tried to smile to show he didn’t take offence. To reinforce Jamie was safe. “Last one. Something you can taste.”

“Uh, mouthwash. That’s what started it, uh, I brushed me teeth, and went to use it, and I dunno what happened, it just reminded me of,” Jamie shook his head out as if he could remove the memory. “I’m sorry.”

Roy choked on the words left unsaid: alcohol, mouthwash, Dad.

“Jamie, don’t apologise. Panic attacks are normal.”

“Is that,” Jamie said, swallowing deeply, still breathing exaggeratedly. “Is that how you knew what to do? Have you had them before?”

“No. Um, Phoebe. My niece. She had them for a bit when my sister left her Dad a few years ago.”

“Oh. That young? That’s terrible.”

“Yeah, she’s doing better now. Went to a child’s psychologist for a bit,” Roy said. He didn’t like talking about Phoebe like this but knew she would be happy to share if it helped Jamie. Caring little idiot. “You, um, you ever see Doctor Sharon when she was with the club?”

Keeley had mentioned dropping Jamie off that first day, but she never knew if he went to her after that, and Roy wasn’t about to admit he knew in the first place.

“Yeah,” Jamie said, voice hoarse. “And then another woman for a bit fter she left, but I stopped.”

“How come?” Roy asked.

Jamie didn’t make eye contact, and Roy hoped he hadn’t pushed too far. It was hard for Roy not to talk to people, not to talk to Jamie, specifically, in the same way he was used to, especially when he didn’t know where he stood with them here. Or, in the case of Jamie, he knew exactly where he stood; he just would give anything to be standing somewhere else.

Jamie shrugged. “I dunno. Weren’t helping anymore, I guess. Everything with Zava, they couldn’t help…”

They couldn’t fix the Zava situation, Roy finished in his head. Jamie withdrew even more without Roy training him, without believing anyone at Richmond cared for him. No wonder the kid relapsed into prickdom. Without Jamie, giving Roy an outlet, without Jamie letting him take out his bad moods on him, Roy couldn’t see past his own issues to function as a normal human being. They were battling demons alone when together, they could’ve helped destroy each others.

“Do you remember the soft opening at Ola’s?”

Jamie looked up at him with the same mix of awe and admiration he had that night at Sam’s restaurant.

“Yeah,” Roy said, though not the way Jamie did. “Kinda.”

“Do you remember what you said to me?”

“I don’t,” Roy said, truthfully.

Jamie winced, and Roy felt immediate regret, but Roy didn’t know what he did or didn’t say in this universe. All he knows is what he should have said.

“You said,” Jamie swallowed hard again. “You said I used to be the best.”

“I–”

Jamie scrubbed a hand across his face. “Before Zava.”

“You were, you-”

“You said I could be again if I weren’t such a fucking pre-Madonna, which is the most ridiculous fucking thing I’ve ever heard. Do you really not remember that?”

“I, yeah, I do now.”

Roy had googled prima donna as soon as he got home, unwilling to have been corrected on vocabulary by Jamie Tartt. He only found solace in the fact that Jamie had done the same thing to Beard of all people, weeks before. It hurt now to think how all of them gave Jamie such little credit for anything off the pitch.

“You said all I had to do was keep up with him. I tried Roy, I fucking tried. I just, I just fucked it all up along the way.”

“I know you tried, Jamie,” Roy said.

“I was just fucking invisible with him there, I was so fucking lonely. You don’t know what it’s like living in his shadow. How fucking cold it is. It was almost worse than when I came back when everyone fucking hated me because now I knew what it were like to really be a part of the team, and then suddenly,” Jamie snapped his fingers. “I weren’t anymore.”

“It’s not too late with the team.”

It couldn’t be too late for Jamie because then it would be too late for Roy and that wasn’t something he was willing to accept currently.

“Was that all I said? At Ola’s.”

Jamie looked confused. “Yeah, what else would you have said?”

“I dunno,” Roy shrugged.

How could he tell Jamie everything he wanted to? Everything he felt? How could he make up for six months of failures he couldn’t remember?

“I should’ve said something about Zava, though, and the team. You were struggling, and I fucking ignored it.”

“Not just you,” Jamie said so quietly Roy almost missed it. Jamie sighed heavily, looking away. “Why didn’t you then? Say something?”

Wasn’t that the million fucking pound question. Why didn’t Roy say something? Why didn’t he offer to train Jamie? Why was he always his own worst fucking enemy?

“I don’t know. I was in a shit place. After Keeley.”

“Yeah, 'cause you’re a fucking idiot,” Jamie added.

“That’s true,” Roy said and Jamie’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. The shocked look on Jamie’s face almost made him laugh.

“I should have, Jamie. You got the shit end of the stick with the Zava situation. I should’ve seen that at the time, and I should’ve done something about it. I’m sorry. I wish I could go back in fucking time and change things. But I’m trying now, yeah? I care about you–”

Jamie scoffed exaggeratedly and looked away.

“I know it’s hard for you to understand that, and I don’t blame you for not believing me, but it’s true, and I’m going to do my best to show you it’s true.”

Jamie still didn’t look toward him, but even from his side profile, Roy could see Jamie was dubious of the statement, his jaw still tight with tension.

“Why now? They teach you to have a fucking soul at those anger management classes?”

“Maybe,” Roy said and continued honestly. “I wish I could tell you, but I can’t fucking figure it out myself or provide a better explanation. You think you’re ready to try to stand up?”

Roy held his hand out, and Jamie finally looked back at him. He stared at Roy’s hand for a beat too long, probably wondering if this was some trick. Roy couldn’t blame him. Eventually, Jamie took it and allowed Roy to haul him to his feet. Electricity shot through Roy at the touch. Jamie swayed a bit, then let go of Roy’s hand quickly as he found his balance. Jamie grabbed his phone off the sink and checked the time.

“We should get to the stadium,” Jamie said finally.

Roy ordered an Uber, as Jamie shoved the rest of his belongings quickly into his suitcase with trembling hands. They were in the lift when Roy finally told Jamie what he was thinking.

“I don’t think you should play today.”

“The fuck? Because of last night?”

“Yes. No. Because of a lot of things. I saw you wince when Keeley hugged you last night, I’m not convinced your Dad didn’t do more damage than just to your face.”

Jamie’s hand went absentmindedly to his bruised cheek and Roy wondered what the bruise really looked like under the makeup Jamie had carefully applied earlier.

“He didn’t, swear down. Keeley just took me by surprise,” Jamie said. “I need to play, Roy. I’m not letting me Dad scare me off the fucking pitch. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Jamie, you never have to speak to him again if you don’t want to.”

“Don’t you think I’ve thought of that before? Don’t you think I’ve tried that? It ain’t that easy, mate.”

The truth of Jamie’s words threatened to crush Roy’s heart as his mind wandered to his sister, hiding bruises from Phoebe when they finally left Phoebe’s Dad, crying at his table once her daughter was asleep about all the reasons she hadn’t left her husband earlier.

“Look, we can talk about all that later, but for now, I’m just worried about the match; you’re distracted, and I’m worried you could get hurt.”

“The pitch is the only place I’m not distracted. The pitch is the only place anything makes fucking sense. You can’t take that from me, Coach. Please don’t take that from me.”

Jamie’s pleading made Roy wonder if Beard was right. But Roy couldn’t shake the vision of Jamie lying in pain on the pitch and the feeling that Jamie could be injured worse this time. What if it was more than a sprained ankle? What if he fucked his ankle worse or tore his ACL? What if it was a concussion that Jamie was never right again from?

“Let’s just get to the stadium, okay? I need to talk to Ted and Beard.”

Jamie opened his mouth to object when the Uber arrived and he thought better of it. The Mancunian clambered in without another look at Roy and concentrated on his phone the entire ride until they arrived at the player’s entrance. Roy struggled to keep up with Jamie as his purposeful strides took them through the hollows of Etihad to the visitor's changing room. It was Jamie’s first time in the away dressing room, it had to feel unsettling for him.

Jamie didn’t waste any time changing into his warm-up kit, while purposely avoiding eye contact with Roy.

“Hey. You’re seeing the physios first,” Roy told Jamie when the younger man started to walk towards the pitch.

“But–”

“No fucking butts, Tartt. I’m going to talk to Ted, but after last night you need the physios clearance first.”

“Fuck!” Jamie yelled as he stalked from the room but did as he was told.

Roy found Ted chatting with Beard on the pitch. Jamie trotted on soon after him, joining the rest of the team to warm up.

“All clear, Coach,” Jamie shouted with a smirk and a thumbs up.

Fuck. Roy had one last option. He turned to Ted, who was looking around the stadium with a look Roy couldn’t decipher.

“I don’t think Jamie should play.”

“Okay,” Ted said slowly, turning towards Roy. “You got a reason for that, Coach?”

“If Jamie plays, he’s gonna get hurt.”

“Okay,” Ted said, nodding in that understanding way Roy found so fucking infuriating sometimes. “Well, Roy, I think you know better than anyone that’s a risk all them fellas take when they step onto that field. I wish I could protect them, but if we go by that logic, then we wouldn’t be able to field a team at all today.”

Fuck. How does Roy explain this? Outside of, hey, I actually already lived this fucking match, so I know if Jamie plays, we’ll win, but Jamie’s gonna fuck his ankle, and he’s already drowning on dry fucking land, maybe even more so than last time and it's my fault that everything’s gone to shit, but like I said I’m from the fucking future so just fucking trust me.

Somehow, Roy doesn’t think that would work.

He looked over to Jamie, and the Mancunian did actually seem better and more relaxed. Roy understood that in a way only other footballers could. The pitch was sacred. On the pitch, he’s safe from his father. On the pitch, he’s free.

And it’s suddenly clear. Roy couldn’t stop Jamie from playing. Roy couldn’t take that decision from him. Roy had two modes: push something away before it could leave you or hold something so tight to you, it broke. The first time he left home, his Grandad died. He let Ruth out of his sight for University, and she met her piece of shit ex-husband. But he couldn’t have saved his grandfather’s life any more than he could have kept Ruth from her ex.

“Okay. Fuck! Forget it,” Roy said.

Whatever was going to happen would happen. Roy could only deal with the fallout.

“What the fuck Roy?”

Jamie stormed over to where he was talking with the coaches outside the changing room.

“Higgins said you had him ban me Dad from Etihad, at least for Richmond matches. Roy, they can’t do that.”

“Jamie–”

“Look, I know you mean well. Everyone always fucking means well but it'll just make things worse.” Roy gave him a look. “Seriously, you don’t know him.”

“I know enough.”

“No. No, you don’t. It’ll keep him away today, but eventually, he’ll find me and it'll be worse, okay? I know you want to help. And I appreciate it, I really fucking do.” Jamie’s voice cracked, and Roy worried he was going to have a panic attack again. “But it’s making things worse, right? Because he can’t hurt me from the stands. He can’t say anything he hasn’t already said before. But, but, it’ll just be worse. Trust me. Can you just fucking trust me for once?”

Jamie had no fucking clue how much Roy trusted him.

I don’t know how to ride a bike.

I think Keeley’s got a girlfriend.

We had to invite Uncle Roy’s best friend.

Six months of opening his heart to Jamie centimetre by bloody fucking centimetre, and it’s all gone, wiped out by one stupid fucking wish he didn’t even mean. The Jamie that stood before him couldn’t even fathom how much Roy trusted him with everything important to him: his niece, his heart, his life. Roy’s spent the past two days thinking not training Jamie had fucked Jamie’s life, and that fucked Roy’s life; now he’s realising it’s the opposite. He needed Jamie maybe more than Jamie ever needed him.

“Okay,” Roy said, hoping his simple words could convey the weight he knew they couldn’t. “I trust you.”

Roy found Higgins and let him know to inform Etihad security not to ban James Tartt from the stadium. From the changing room though, he was abso-fucking-lutely banned. Roy would protect Jamie until they were back in London, and then they’d go from there. Maybe he could convince Jamie to get a protective order, move, or something. Anything. Whatever he needed to do to keep Jamie safe, he would do it.

Maybe Jamie won’t get hurt. It was a different fucking universe after all. Who's to say the game wouldn’t go any differently?

The game did not go any differently.

City was all over Jamie from the initial kick-off. Their strategy was much the same and Roy inwardly winced every time Jamie was roughed up or sent sprawling to the pitch by an opposing player. Jamie played on, ignoring the knocks and the crowd, assisting on a similar goal by Colin in the first half.

During the halftime break, Roy kept his eyes on Jamie, but the Mancunian seemed the same as last time: tired, beat up, but determined.

“You doing okay?” Roy asked as they headed back to the pitch.

“Sound, mate. Let’s fucking win this.”

It’s not exactly the same setup of a header from a corner kick, but Jamie ended up sprawled inside his own goal in pain nonetheless. Fuck.

Roy claps but doesn’t feel the same cautious optimism he felt last time he watched Jamie Tartt limp up the pitch at Etihad. This was why Roy was never fucking optimistic. His fists clench unbidden when Jamie hit the pitch again, and even though Roy knew it was coming, it still felt like a stab in the gut. Jamie’s pain manifested in Roy’s guilty conscience as he watched. Roy called for Roberts to go in, and just like before, Ted briefly talked to Jamie, and they decided to wait and see.

“Look, Coach. I don’t want Jamie to play hurt, but we’ve got to make a decision here,” Beard said after a few minutes, pointing to his watch.

The physios were still working on Jamie when Roy looked over.

“Personally, I’m fine with–” Roy started and stopped himself.

Was he fine with it? Roy could walk stairs, thank you very much. Just not well, and not all the time. Sometimes he just didn’t want to, and that was his right as a fucking adult. Roy spent all day trying to protect Jamie from being hurt, but Roy also remembered what happened last time when Jamie went back in; he found his fucking wings.

It was spectacular. The goal. The ovation from the crowd who booed Jamie the whole match. The look on Jamie’s face after he scored. Euphoria. Pain. Joy. Discomfort. Peace. Could he take that away from Jamie? Or would he help Jamie exorcise his demons one last time?

“What were you gonna say, Roy?” Ted asked.

It has to be me. It can’t be anyone else.

“Let me talk to him.”

“Okay,” Ted nodded.

By the time Roy made it over, Jamie was tying his boot and looking around at the crowd.

“How’s it feel?” Roy asked.

“Yeah, I’m good. I can go back in,” Jamie said while still looking in the stands.

Roy slowly took a knee. He’d pay for it later, but he couldn’t do this standing over Jamie.

“You looking for your Dad?”

Jamie made brief eye contact before nodding, “I can’t find him, it’s freaking me out. Did you–”

“Yeah, Higgins fixed it. He shouldn’t have had a problem coming in.”

“Okay. Okay,” Jamie repeated to himself, nodding while his head still swiveled around.

“I thought you hadn’t spoken to him since Wembley?”

“How the fuck would you know? We haven’t talked about me Dad since then,” Jamie scoffed.

Not the best start. And Roy couldn’t fully deny the statement. It was partly true in both worlds. They hadn’t talked much about Jamie’s father, something Roy was ashamed of now. After Wembley, Roy hadn’t wanted to upset Jamie by bringing it up, and he figured Jamie would talk about it if he wanted to. The first time Roy brought up James Tartt after Wembley was before the Man City match at home earlier in the season.

At that point, they had been training together for a month, and Roy had begun to see just how hard working Jamie truly was but also how east and free. They talked about him in Amsterdam and after, but there was no running through Amsterdam, learning how to ride a bike and finding a windmill. There were no confessions in the dark of things Jamie never told anyone before. But Roy wasn’t a safe place to confess your deepest traumas in this world. In this world Roy wasn’t safe for anything in Jamie’s eyes. Still, even without the pair training together, Roy couldn’t believe he wouldn’t have bothered to ask his friend about his father at all. But he hadn’t. Roy hadn’t done a lot of things here.

“I should have asked.”

Jamie blinked at him, then returned his gaze to the crowd, no longer making eye contact with Roy.

“I mean, I hadn’t. Not until a couple of months ago when he finally called me looking for money. Said he’d go to The Sun and tell all about how I hit him and then said Beard roughed him up, put he and his mates in hospital after the match. And well, he hadn’t asked for money in a year, so I owed him.”

“You don’t owe him shit, Jamie.”

“I thought I was finally rid of him until then, you know. I always did what I did because fuck him.”

“Jamie, you’re who you are despite him. Not because of him. I mean, look at you now. You’re the best player on the fucking team.”

“You think I’m the best?” Jamie said that hopeful look on his face that made him look eight years old.

“Yeah. You fucking are. And you can be even better. You work so fucking hard. I might not have always seen it, but I do see it now.”

“Why now, Roy? What the fuck’s changed? You took a swing at me a fucking month ago.”

“I wish I had an excuse for that. I really fucking wish I did, but all I can say is I was wrong. I was wrong before and it might’ve taken me a while to see it, but I see it now. I’ve been wrong about you the whole time. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you before, but I see you now.”

Jamie fixed him a look filled with longing, hope and heavy with the weight of what could have been before he nodded and stuck his hand out, “Help me up?”

Roy’s unsure if he pulled Jamie up or Jamie pulled him up, but somehow they make it to their feet, Jamie still keeping most of his weight on his uninjured left leg. Tentatively, Jamie tested out his ankle. Roy didn’t miss his hands clench as he no doubt fought through the pain.

“How’s it feel?” Roy asked again.

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel good, Coach. Yeah.”

“See, I’m fucking helping already.”

“Mostly the painkillers and the adrenaline, I think. But, but yeah, whatever you think, Coach,” Jamie smiled at him and for the first time, Roy thought maybe everything would be okay.

Eventually.

“Get your arse out there and show them who Jamie Fucking Tartt really is.”

“Okay. Okay,” Jamie walked down the sideline, and Roy watched as Jamie patted the Richmond crest at his heart before taunting the crowd. “Come on, come on!”

The crowd booed, but Jamie was different. Jamie was back to Jamie Fucking Tartt, Prince Prick of all Pricks. Roy could not be prouder. Jamie might have grown up bleeding sky blue, but he was a Greyhound now. Now and forever.

The goal was just as spectacular as the first time. Only this time, Roy enjoyed every second of it, knowing what was going to happen. He should have realised that the first time. It had always been inevitable. Jamie Tartt had always been inevitable.

And when Jamie was finally subbed for Roberts moments later, Roy waited as Jamie slowly walked from the pitch. Jamie looked exhausted. Exhausted but happy. He clapped at the crowd, much like Roy did during his final match when he limped from the pitch. That was the last thing Roy would do as a Premier League player; this was just the beginning of Jamie’s rise to stardom.

Jamie looked as if he could hardly believe the cheering was for him. The first time Roy could almost not believe it either. Now he took it all in, this would be a moment Jamie would never forget. It would be a moment Roy would never forget. The same look flashed over Jamie’s face as he made his way towards Roy and the sideline. Euphoria. Pain. Joy. Discomfort. Peace.

“Jamie,” Roy said when Jamie came closer. Roy gripped him tight and whispered in his ear, “That was fucking beautiful. I love to watch you play.”

When the team spilt into the changing room, euphoric, Roy watched the Greyhounds take turns helping Jamie. Sam untied his boots, Dani helped him undress, Isaac offered an arm for support on the walk to the shower.

“They got him,” Beard assured Roy with a clap on his shoulder.

Roy might not fully trust Jamie with Ted, but he trusted him with his fellow Greyhounds.

The team celebrated their first-ever win at Etihad on the bus home. Roy kept half an eye on Jamie but let him have his time with the team while he celebrated in the back with Ted, Beard, Higgins, Rebecca and Keeley. They have the good champagne back there, after all.

Half an hour away from Richmond, as the team were making plans to continue the celebration into the wee hours somewhere in London, Keeley whispered to him in the dark, and Roy smiled.

Keeley and Roy found Jamie the same way in the treatment room, and when he popped the champagne, it felt like even more of a celebration than before. It felt like a fresh start.

“Oh, shit! Rebecca needs me,” Keeley said, holding up her phone. “I don’t know what’s going on, but she said it’s an emergency. Something to do with Rupert.”

The trio was most of the way through the second bottle of champagne and Jamie was acting almost like the Jamie that Roy knew before. He was preening at the praise and attention shown to him by Roy and Keeley, positioned in front of him like the posters on his wall come to life.

The fucking posters. Keeley didn’t get a chance to witness them in all their glory in this world. Roy would have to orchestrate a trip to Manchester for all three so she could see them. If Roy was Jamie’s hero once upon a time, he was sure as fuck going to live up to it now. And he would just have to hope Georgie would accept his apologies as her son did.

Roy finally accepted this wasn’t a nightmare or a dream that he would wake up from. Whatever it was, he was locked in, and he was going to fix everything, one repeated day at a fucking time. But first, he needed to make sure Jamie got home safely.

Keeley pulled Jamie into a hug, kissed him on the cheek, then squeezed his hand, “I’m so proud of you, Jamie.”

When she pulled away from Jamie, Keeley threw her arms around Roy’s neck and whispered in his ear, “Take care of our boy, yeah?”

Roy nodded, the weight of her trust still heavy, but something he found now he had the strength to carry.

“Love you both,” Keeley said, blowing kisses to them with both her hands.

They watched as Keeley left the treatment room, the silence heavy as the energy in the room shifted.

“You did really well today,” Roy said, finally.

The eager look on Jamie’s face nearly shattered Roy’s heart right there. The lad was blushing under the praise. The same praise and encouragement Roy had withheld from him the last six months. He would spend the next six months making it up to Jamie. He would spend the rest of his life making it up to his friend. If Roy were stuck in this fucking alternative reality, he would change it all.

He would apologise to Phoebe in the morning. Maybe Jamie would even go to breakfast with them. That should help smooth things over with her, too, if she knew he was getting along with Jamie. Jamie, who Roy now realised was quickly fading.

“Let’s get you home, Jamie.”

“Don’t want to,” Jamie slurred slightly.

Roy grabbed a towel and dried Jamie’s ankle and foot gingerly, careful not to manhandle it too roughly. Leaving Jamie briefly, Roy grabbed Danielle, the only remaining physio, from her office. She wrapped Jamie’s ankle while Roy pulled his Mercedes as close to the door as possible.

Jamie was slowly making his way towards the car park with Danielle when Roy re-entered the building. She carried the crutches and most of Jamie’s weight as the footballer swayed and limped along. Maybe the champagne had been a bad idea, but Roy couldn’t deny Jamie a hard earned celebration. Jamie was definitely more out of it than he was last time, though and that worried Roy for both Jamie’s coordination tonight and hangover tomorrow. Roy grabbed Jamie on the other side, sliding an arm around his waist and together, they got the injured footballer to Roy’s car, Roy helped Jamie into the SUV while Danielle deposited the crutches into the backseat.

With final instructions from Danielle and handing her another expensive bottle of champagne he squirrelled away as a thank you for staying late, Roy walked around the car and pulled himself into the driver’s seat.

Jamie was already asleep, slumped against the passenger side window. Roy drove in silence, afraid even the radio on low would wake his precious cargo.

“Jamie?” Roy whispered as he parked in front of his house.

The younger man was still sleeping, and Roy was wary of even a gentle touch, afraid it would startle him.

“I’m sorry, Jamie,” Roy spoke to the quiet car, Jamie’s soft snoring the only noise. “I needed you as much as you needed me these past months. Maybe fucking more. You’re my best friend and I failed you, but it’s not going to happen again.”

Jamie yawned himself awake then, “Where are we?”

“At mine. Is that okay? I have a guest bedroom on the first floor so you don’t have to do stairs,” Roy said and Jamie’s eyebrows knitted together. “With your ankle.”

“Fuck. Forgot about that for a second.”

“Let’s get you inside.”

Roy slid out of the SUV and pulled Jamie’s crutches from the back seat before handing them to Jamie.

“You okay using these? If you fall and fuck your other ankle Ted will kill me. And Georgie will too.”

“How do you know me Mum’s name?” Jamie asked, head snapping up.

Fuck.

“You must’ve told me some time,” Roy tried.

Jamie looked dubious but accepted the crutches and made his way slowly to Roy’s front door.

“Mummy wants to kill you anyway.”

“What? Why?”

“The dementia setting in old man? You punched me like a month ago,” Jamie scoffed, turning to look at Roy who was hovering behind in case he lost his balance.

“You punched me back.”

Jamie stopped again and looked over his shoulder and stuck out his tongue, “Yeah I did.”

Roy rolled his eyes as warmth spread through him. Things almost felt normal at this moment. Eventually, he had Jamie settled on the couch, ankle propped on a pillow, fresh ice pack to help with swelling. There was pizza on the bus, but Jamie still burned off a lot of calories during the match, so Roy threw together a simple stirfry, just rice, broccoli and chicken but used the sauce he knew Jamie liked.

“This is actually really good,” Jamie said through a mouthful of food.

I know, Roy wanted to say, I make it for you at least three times a week, but he held his tongue.

“Do you believe in second chances?” Roy asked instead.

“I’m at Richmond ain’t I?”

Roy exhaled loudly.

“Can we, can you and I start over? I’ve been a prick to you when I should’ve been coaching you.”

Jamie bit his lip and Roy could tell he was trying to read his face, see if this was a joke or not at his expense. Something struck Roy then that almost sent him running from the room, running from the house. Jamie would forgive him, and Jamie would welcome his friendship with open arms because Jamie never gave up hope it would happen; he never gave up the idea that the person in the poster would live up to his dreams. The same way Jamie never gave up hope, even deep down, even buried beneath, bruises and broken bones, he never gave up hope his father would somehow become the man Jamie needed him to be.

Roy saw it with Ruth when her ex first started showing his true colours. He still saw it with Phoebe when her Dad didn’t show up to a play or a match like he promised. And he saw it in Jamie when he told Roy it was too complicated to cut his father out of his life. Roy wasn’t going to be Jamie’s Dad or Ruth’s ex; Roy was going to be the man Jamie always wanted him to be.

It has to be me. It can’t be anyone else.

And along the road, maybe he could get Jamie to see he was fucking spectacular despite his father and not simply because of his God-kissed right foot. He would do everything in his power to protect Jamie from now on. He would never be able to fill that hole in Jamie like he could never fully fill it for Phoebe. But Roy could be Jamie’s friend, and maybe that would be enough to make the hole just a little bit smaller.

“I’d like that,” Jamie finally said. “To start over.”

“Good.”

“There’s something I have to confess then.”

This couldn’t be good. What fresh hell was this world going to spring on him now.

“When we got in that fight,” Jamie started. “I egged you on. I knew what buttons to press, like with Keeley.”

“Still, Jamie. It shouldn’t be that easy to goad me into punching you. I’m sorry.”

“But I did it on purpose,” Jamie said again. “I did it because the night before the match, I saw me Dad for the first time.”

“Oh,” is all Roy could manage.

Are you sick or some shit? You’re moving fucking slow. You look like you’re going to pass out.

Go see the physio.

It hit him like a truck.

“What the fuck did he do to you?”

Jamie winced before looking away, “Nothing he hasn’t done before. Just some bruised ribs. Well I thought they were bruised until the match, one might’ve been cracked.”

“Jamie–”

“I know, I know, I fucking know. I just, I couldn’t-”

“You couldn’t let the physios see so you created a distraction.”

Jamie sighed loudly, “Yeah, and I used you for it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Roy said and Jamie looked at him with raised eyebrows. “You shouldn’t be hiding injuries, that could’ve been really fucking dangerous, Jamie. But, I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t be so willing to take my anger out on you.”

“I’m used to it. You did go on national television and say you hoped I died.”

“You saw that, huh?”

“Yeah, and it were all over Twitter, I got tagged in it for months.”

“I didn’t mean it. Not really.”

“You said, and I quote, I hope Jamie Tartt dies of the incurable disease of being a little bitch. Like, what, mate? That doesn’t even make sense. That’s not even something you can die from.”

“You can if it’s incurable,” Roy defended.

“Are you mad?” Jamie asked sitting up a bit more bit wincing when he jostled his ankle. “You can’t just make up incurable diseases, and being a little bitch isn’t even a disease and if it were I couldn’t get it.”

“Okay, I admit I didn’t make any fucking sense. But I also called you a muppet, and I fucking love the muppets.”

Jamie smiled at that at least, “At least I knew where I stood with you, then. That’s uh, what’s been hard. And I know I’m to blame for that too. At Wembley, in the changing room, after, you know, after me Dad, I thought we were good. But then I fucked that after the funeral, but then I thought we were good again.”

“We were.”

“We were right?” Jamie asked and the hopefulness of his voice made Roy ache for what Jamie hadn’t experienced in this world in regards to their friendship. “And even after you broke up with Keeley we were still good, but then there was Zava and it was like, not just with you, but with Ted, the team, I didn’t know where I stood anymore. And it just got worse and worse and then I did know where I stood but it weren’t where I wanted to be, but I didn’t know how to fix it.”

“I’m sorry. Sometimes when I think of the last six months it feels like someone else lived my life,” at least that wasn’t a lie from Roy. “All I can do is change the way I act from here on out and I want to coach you, I want to be your friend. If you’ll let me.”

Jamie didn’t say anything for what felt like an eternity.

“Yeah. I’d like that,” Jamie said quietly.

Roy nodded and turned so he was sitting next to Jamie, but not looking at him.

“I had a dream last night,” Roy started.

Jamie yawned next to him as he placed the empty bowl on Roy’s coffee table and took a sip of water. Roy didn’t look over but could tell the younger man was watching him intently.

“I had a dream that you and I were doing extra training together, just you and I. 4 am almost every morning.”

“Just you and I? At 4 am? That sounds mad, mate. We would’ve killed each other,” Jamie huffed a laugh. “Why would we do that?”

“So you could be better than Zava.”

“And was I?”

“You are better than Zava,” Roy said, finally turning back to Jamie.

“You don’t. You don’t have to say that.,” Jamie replied, looking down at his lap. “I don’t need your pity because I’m hurt. You just. You don’t have to say it just because.”

“I’m not, Jamie,” Roy said, gently placing a finger under the younger man’s jaw so he would meet his gaze. “I’ve been a shit coach and a shit friend, but I’m going to fix it. And I’m not lying or exaggerating.”

Jamie smiled and then yawned loudly.

“Okay, being a good coach and a good friend starts right fucking now, which means getting you to bed.”

Roy guided Jamie to the guest room, turned down the bed and helped him undress.

“You need help with your pants? I know you get cold upstairs and hot downstairs.”

“How the fuck do you know that, mate?” Jamie smirked.

“You told me.”

“I did?” Jamie asked but was tired enough that he didn’t push it.

Jamie was more pliable than Play-Doh as Roy gently helped the younger man to bed, bad ankle propped on a pillow. Roy gently unwrapped Jamie’s ankle, promising to rewrap it for him in the morning. Roy was almost at the door when he heard the voice, quiet and unsure.

“Can you stay?”

There was nothing Roy would rather do.

Roy stripped down to his boxer briefs, refilled both their waters and climbed under the covers. He brushed Jamie’s hair out of his face before whispering, “I’m proud of you,” again to his friend. Jamie's eyes were already closed, and he let out a quiet sigh, like a dog does when they’re particularly comfortable.

Roy fell asleep to the sound of Jaamie’s soft snores, music to Roy’s ears after the last three days.

When Roy woke the next morning, it took him a moment to recognise his guest room, and then he remembered falling asleep down here with Jamie.

Jamie.

For the second straight morning, Jamie Tartt was missing. He must’ve gone home at some point. Roy hoped he was following the instructions from the physios, elevating his ankle and using the crutches Roy knew he hated. They all hated them, and Jamie had been no different last night, pouting at them in Manchester, carrying them and leaning on Jan Maas from the bus to the changing room. The crutches, the wrap and everything of Jamie’s was nowhere to be found.

Roy would call him in a little while, see if he needed anything, see if he wanted to join him and Phoebe for breakfast or if he wanted Roy to drop anything off. Roy hoped last night was the first step in repairing their relationship. He had a lot to make up for and he didn’t plan to waste time with any of it. Richmond had a long way to go with total football and Jamie was the key. Jamie had always been the key.

They couldn’t win the league, but they could still end the season on a high note with a win over West Ham next week, still fuck Ruper one last time. Jamie would need a lot of physiotherapy to be fit for the match, but Roy knew he could handle it. He had handled it already after all, though Roy worried his ankle was worse than last time. Roy briefly thought he should fight to keep Jamie out of the match but he knew nothing would keep Jamie off that pitch. Anyone who thought Jamie wouldn’t play didn’t know football and didn’t know Jamie Tartt.

Roy stretched lazily, he felt rested for the first time since he woke up in bizarro land. Rested and hopeful. If this was his new normal, he would fix it all, he’d make it better than before now that he knew what it was like to have his world turned upside down.

The doorbell ringing finally pulled Roy from the guest bed.

“Fuck, I’m coming,” he yelled to the door, throwing on his discarded shirt and stopping briefly and massaging his knee as the offending joint protested his quick movement.

A quick look at the clock told him it was still early and he told Ruth he’d pick up Phoebe, so there was no way his niece would be ringing his doorbell yet. Unless Ruth had gotten called in to work and was dropping Phoebe off on her way. Ruth was the only person who would be ringing his doorbell in this constant pattern if she was rushing to the A&E. Well, Ruth or Jamie.

Maybe he forgot his phone when he left?

Roy whipped the door open to Jamie standing on his front steps, a large suitcase behind him, sunglasses on, looking every bit the Nike model he was. There was something different but Roy couldn’t figure out what. Roy belatedly realised the little prick wasn’t using his crutches.

“About fucking time,” Jamie said, pushing his hair back. “Thought you forgot about me, mate.”

Jamie pushed by Roy, dragging his suitcase inside with him. Why the fuck did he have a suitcase? He didn’t seem to be limping, but still, he should still be elevating his injured ankle if he wanted any shot of playing West Ham next weekend.

“What the fuck are you doing on your feet?” Roy finally managed to ask. “You should be resting your ankle. Why aren’t you using your fucking crutches?”

Jamie looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

“Roy, mate, are you having a stroke?”

Jamie tilted his head, like a puppy trying to figure out if the letters you just spelled combined to make walk.

“Me ankle’s fine.” Jamie rolled his ankle out for emphasis. “You said we were taking Phoebe to the zoo. My flight were delayed, so we only just got back. Got nervous you left without me. Do we have time for breakfast? I’m fucking starving. I slept through the morning meal, and Keeley ate mine.”

Jamie opened Roy’s refrigerator, peering inside for something that might interest him.

Roy glanced at his phone.

June 28th.

The day it was supposed to be.

The smiling faces of Phoebe and Jamie from Uncle’s Day greeted him from the phone background.

“Fuck!” Roy yelled, as his brain short-circuited.

Jamie jumped.

“What the fuck, man?” Jamie asked, turning to spin towards Roy with a hand on his chest. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”

Jamie recovered quickly, running back to the bag he left at the front door. Roy stood dumbfounded. Was it really all a dream? It felt so fucking real.

“Oh, I forgot! Got you a present,” Jamie called over his shoulder and then reappeared holding a plastic bag. “I mean I got you a proper present too, but that's in me suitcase, and I saw this in the airport and didn’t think you had this one yet.”

Jamie thrust the bag at Roy before throwing himself onto Roy’s couch. Roy opened the bag to remove Doomsday, the latest Dan Brown novel, which Roy, in fact, did not have yet as he was rereading the other parts of the Robert Langdon series first.

“No, I don’t have it. Thanks, that was really fucking thoughtful,” Roy said and Jamie nodded and smiled to himself from the couch and Roy felt as if he was struck by a train. “Fuck it, what do you want for breakfast? Pancakes? Waffles? French Toast?”

“Coach, you feel okay? Offering me french toast and all that?”

Roy set out to make french toast, it was Jamie’s favourite and he had some of that protein bread anyway, so it wouldn’t be too horrible on his macros.

“Yeah you’re not in training and your shoot’s over,” Roy shrugged. “And–And I missed you okay?”

Jamie grinned so brightly he could’ve charged several of the electric vehicles his posh neighbourhood seemed to be full of lately.

“You missed me?” Jamie asked.

“Yeah, I fucking missed you, you muppet.”

Roy was interrupted from saying more by the front door opening.

“Uncle Roy!”

Phoebe. Sweet Phoebe, who he never yelled at and never would.

“In here Phoe,” he yelled as he flipped a piece of bread. He wanted to run to her but didn’t want to risk burning the French toast.

Phoebe appeared then, followed by Ruth and the smiles they both gave him almost made even his good knee give out.

“Hi Jamie!” Phoebe greeted Jamie with a hug as Ruth and Jamie exchanged hellos.

“Get over here,” Roy said and Phoebe happily threw her arms around him as well. “I missed you.”

“You saw me two days ago, Uncle Roy,” Phoebe laughed and Roy almost cried as he held her close. “Uncle Roy, I can’t breathe.”

Phoebe laughed again when Roy released her.

“Either of you want French toast?”

“Yes please,” Phoebe answered.

“I’m alright but I will take some coffee,” Ruth said, helping herself to the fancy espresso machine she bought him mostly so she could use it herself. “Hope you don’t mind if I crash your zoo date. A coworker asked me to switch shifts so I ended up with today off.”

Roy deposited plates in front of Jamie and Phoebe at the kitchen table and both dug into the food immediately.

“Mint,” Jamie smiled through a mouthful of French toast.

“I’m glad you can come,” Roy said and Ruth squinted in confusion but didn’t comment further.

“Jamie are you coming too?” Phoebe asked.

“I am Phoebs. And you know what else?” Jamie smiled, swallowing a piece of french toast. “I told Keeley and she wanted to come too, said she would meet us there.”

“Wonderful!” Phoebe said excitedly and Roy smiled to himself.

“So, Jamie, how was Brazil?” Ruth asked. “Tell us about your trip.”

Jamie did not need to be asked twice. He started spewing all the different places they went and did Roy know how tall the Christ The Redeemer Statue was and whether he saw this or that when he was in Brazil for the World Cup in 2014.

In that moment, as Roy listened to the younger man’s incessant chatter, he thanked every God he could think of for the day he offered to train Jamie Tartt. Roy’s life changed that day and he would spend the rest of his days grateful for that. He smiled to himself, watching Jamie chat, Phoebe and Ruth’s animated responses and the frame behind Jamie’s head caught his eye. It was a framed poem Ruth got him on his last Uncle’s Day as a player when she knew he was worried his career was ending and was looking at all his decisions with critical eyes.

He read it with fresh eyes and the words wrapped around him like a blanket. This was his life. Past decisions were just that, in the past. He would live this life grateful for every small decision that brought him to where he was, happy, surrounded by family. Later that day when Keeley joined them at the zoo he would think of the poem again and tomorrow when Rebecca offered him the manager’s position he’d come home and toast to his life.

“You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other life but this.”

Henry David Thoreau