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Roy Kent stood outside the apartment door, his fists clenched tight. The thumping bass from the nightclub still echoed in his chest, but the real pounding was the frustration boiling over in his head. And the cause of it all? Of course, it was none other than Jamie fucking Tartt who had left before he could get a word in. But Roy wasn’t about to let that little prick get away with his antics this week.
He raised his fist and knocked hard. The door rattling behind his fist. Nothing. Again, his impatience rapped against the wood until he heard feet shuffling behind the door.
After a moment, the door swung open to reveal Jamie, shirtless, confused—and delighted. As if he knew Roy would be the one on the other side. His blue eyes gleamed with that infuriating cockiness that Roy had come to both loathe and, begrudgingly, respect when on the pitch.
“Didn’t know you were this eager to see me, old man,” Jamie drawled, leaning against the doorframe with that lazy confidence that made Roy want to wipe the smirk off his face. "What's the matter—let me guess, got lost on your way home? Dementia came early for ya?"
Before Jamie could get another word out, Roy shoved past him, forcing his way inside the apartment. Jamie stumbled back, a scowl replacing his smirk as he followed Roy into the living room. “Oi, what the fuck, Roy?”
But Roy was already too far gone to care. He scanned the room, and there, lounging on the sofa with a glass of wine in hand, was Keeley Jones. She looked up from her phone, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, well, well,” she teased, her lips curving into a cheeky grin. “If it isn’t my favorite grumpy footballer. Here to join our little after-party?”
Roy ignored her, snapping his gaze back on Jamie.
“You,” he growled, jabbing a finger in Jamie’s direction. “You need to lay off the piss on Nate. I’m sick of watching you rile up the boys, acting like you’re some sort of fucking king just because you think that your right foot was kissed by God.”
Jamie’s smirk returned, relishing in Roy’s frustration, which only managed to stoked Roy’s anger further. “It’s just banter, Roy. No need to get your knickers in a twist.”
“Banter?” Roy barked, his voice rising. “It’s more than that, and you fucking know it. You keep pushing people around, acting like the little prick you are, thinking it makes you all big and bad, but all it does is—”
Roy paused, his gaze snapping to Keeley. “You’re still here?” he growled.
Keeley nervously chuckled, seeing the fire in Roy’s eyes. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave you boys to hash out your little playground fight,” she teased, rolling her eyes as she got up, grabbing her jacket, and slipping on her heels as her eyes flickered between them.
Jamie opened his mouth to protest, but Roy cut him off, pointing a finger at him. “You, shut up.”
As Keeley headed for the door, she threw Jamie a wink before turning back.
“Play nice, boys,” she said, the door closing behind her with a click.
Jamie's jaw tightened, visibly upset, as he locked eyes with Roy. “Oi, you’ve got some fucking nerve sending my girlfriend away,” Jamie said, irritated. “What, you think you’re the big man just because—”
“—shut up, I’m not done,” Roy snapped, his glare never leaving Jamie’s. “You’re either incredibly thick or just willfully ignorant. But if you keep acting like a little prick—and I know you can’t help it—just remember this, as long as you’re on my team, you’re not going to get away with it. That, I can promise you. So either you fucking sort yourself out, or I’ll fucking do it for you.”
For a moment, Jamie said nothing, his smirk faltering as he took in Roy’s words. Then, with a small, almost defiant tilt of his chin, he shot back, “Well, what if I don’t fucking wanna?”
Roy’s voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone as he spoke through clenched teeth. "Then you’ll never be anything more than a pathetic little bully with a waste of fucking talent, yeah?"
Without warning, Jamie marched up to Roy and shoved him with all he had, as if he could ram the truth of Roy's words back at him. “Of course, you know all about wasted talent,” Jamie mocked. Getting louder, getting angrier. “Maybe you should look in the mirror yourself, the big shot you are.”
Roy’s face darkened as his barely contained anger finally tipped over. His eyes twitched as if they had a life of their own. Roy wondered if Jamie had finally done it and given him a brain aneurysm.
And if Roy was being completely honest, he was fed up, tired, and over it all. At this point in his career, he was definitely too old to be playing the minder of fucking Jamie Tartt.
With a sharp shove, Roy pushed Jamie back, sending him stumbling, and then stormed over, ready to put the little prick in his place. Jamie, who was ready to bounce back with vengeance, noticed the intensity in Roy’s eyes and instinctively took a step back, a quick flash of fear flickering across his face.
Roy smirked, finding a twisted satisfaction in seeing the little prick’s usual bravado slipping.
Roy knew he needed to do something—anything—to break through Jamie’s thick skull. It was infuriating to him how Jamie acted like a petulant child, throwing a tantrum whenever he wanted, taking the piss out of everyone and everything, as if he alone was the only thing that mattered. As if his talent somehow exempted him from respect or responsibility. Roy wasn’t about to let Jamie’s arrogance go unchecked any longer. If Jamie was going to act like a spoiled child, he was going to get the kind of tough love Roy himself had received from his father—tough love that cut through the crap.
Without another word, he grabbed Jamie’s arm and marched him over to the sofa. Jamie’s smirk faded as he suddenly found his world turned upside down, his face mere inches from his rug. He tried to scramble to his feet only for Roy to swiftly lock Jamie’s legs underneath his own, pinning him down.
“Oi! What the fuck—” Jamie began to protest, but Roy cut him off just as quickly. “Shut up, just shut up. You think you’re clever, but I’m done playing games. You want to act like a spoiled little shit, then you get to deal with the consequences like the spoiled little shit you are.”
“Alright, alright, Roy. I get it,” Jamie tried to get up to no avail. “You know, if you want a closer look at my arse, you need to get in line like the rest of them...” Roy didn’t respond to Jamie’s poor attempt at humor. Instead, he wrapped his arm around Jamie’s waist, real tight.
Realizing that Roy was ignoring him, Jamie's cheekiness drained from his voice as he tried to regain his composure. “C’mon Roy, it was all in jest, lads being lads.” Quickly, he added, “But you’re right, Nate’s a good lad. Maybe I’ve been a bit of a tosser, yeah? But seriously, this is—”
“—not the time for excuses,” Roy interjected. “You think this is just about you and Nate? It’s about everyone you’ve been taking the piss out of. You need to start acting like you’re part of the team, not the fucking center of it.”
Jamie’s face was flushed against the rug. “Fine, sure. Whatever you say. No center for me, but seriously, couldn’t we have a chat about this over a pint?” he whined, desperate now. “Instead of… well, whatever you’re thinking of doing to me like—like I’m a child.”
“Oh? And what’s that? Do tell, Jamie.”
Jamie shook his head. “No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“You’re a stubborn idiot, aren’t ya?”
“Wait, Roy—”
Roy’s hand came crashing down on Jamie’s backside, quickly cutting off his needless protest. Jamie let out a yelp, his words swallowed by the sting. Before he could even process the first smack, Roy’s hand struck again, delivering a second one right below the first, leaving Jamie squirming, gasping in shock.
“Fuck you, you old twat!” Jamie yelled.
Roy grunted in response and continued, his movements methodical, relentless, determined .
“You think you’re the fucking king of the world, don’t you?” Each smack came with an equal amount of frustration. “Strutting around like everyone owes you something. Well, here’s a wake-up call. You’re not above anyone here. If you can’t respect your teammates, then maybe you need a reminder of what it means to be part of this team. Get it together, or get out.”
Roy’s hand came down over and over again, until Jamie’s protests grew faint, leaving only the sound of ragged breaths and the occasional whimper.
Then suddenly, his hand stopped in mid-air when he felt Jamie’s body stiffen, his breath coming in uneven, ragged gasps. From above, Roy could tell Jamie was crying, the sound barely audible over his shallow breaths. The sight of Jamie hit Roy unexpectedly. He wondered if he’d gone too far, but quickly dismissed the thought, convincing himself he hadn’t even really gotten started. He knew Jamie had sustained more than his fair share of injuries on the pitch. A couple smacks here and there shouldn’t have pushed him to this state.
And yet, it has.
Roy’s hand remained hovering in the air for a moment before he slowly pulled it back. His expression softened as he took in Jamie’s trembling form. He placed a hand gently on Jamie’s back, trying to offer some comfort.
“Oi, Jamie,” Roy said, his voice softer now. “It’s alright. Just breathe. You’re alright.”
Jamie’s sobs continued as he tried to muffle his cries with his fist, but Roy could tell that it was a losing battle from the start. Jamie was wrestling with a whirlpool of emotions—guilt, anger, and an overwhelming sense of unworthiness. Jamie’s father's harsh criticisms had taught him to bury his vulnerability for so long, and now, with him reduced to a tearful mess? Knowing Jamie, Roy could guess that Jamie couldn’t help but feel like he was betraying everything he’d been forced to live up to. Because only the thought of Jamie’s father could get him to resort to this state. Roy has seen it before.
“Why’d you stop? Just do it, finish what you started. Beat me,” Jamie choked out, his voice raw and strained.
Roy frowned as he gently turned Jamie’s face to look up at him. The hardness in his eyes softened as he met Jamie’s gaze. Roy sighed and said, “You think that’s what I’m doing? Beating you? You’re not a fucking punching bag. I’m not here to hurt you for the sake of it. I’m treating you like a child who needs a well-deserved spanking to understand that there are consequences for being a dickhead.”
Jamie’s eyes searched Roy’s face, confusion and vulnerability warring with his pride.
“Listen, Jamie. I’m not doing this to make you feel like shit. If I didn’t care, I’d have left you to wallow in your own mess. You’re an arsehole, Jamie. No doubt about it. You act like a spoiled brat and push everyone away, but that’s also not all you are. Well, most of the time—yes. But at other times, less so. Just by a smidge. And if you can see that and want to change, then there’s still hope for you. But if you just want to keep being a little prick, then that’s on you.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Jamie finally choked out as Roy’s words struck a chord in him, making him feel both exposed and oddly comforted.
“I’ve seen it before,” Roy continued, frustration creeping back in his voice. “Kids who think they have to be tough because someone made them believe that’s all they are. But I know you, you think you are God’s gift to humanity because that’s all you allow yourself to believe, but listen, I’m only going to say this once, you’re just like everyone else—you’re a person with your own feelings, fears, and insecurities. So I know that you’ve got more in you than this fucking tough-guy act.”
Roy gathered Jamie into his arms, unapologetically, pulling him close with a softness that took Jamie by surprise.
“You’ve got the potential to be more than the arrogant prick you’re playing at. But that means letting go of the fucking persona and facing the fact that you’re not fucking invincible. If you can take a hard look at yourself and be honest about who you are, then maybe you’ll find a way to actually be the player, and the person, you’re fucking capable of being. But if you want to keep up the facade, don’t expect anyone to stick around and clean up the fucking mess you leave behind. It’s your choice, Jamie. So make it fucking count.”
Jamie felt the tears flow freely now. For the first time, Jamie didn’t have a smart ass remark.
He braced for more anger, more criticism, more disappointment, but the unexpected tenderness in Roy’s voice and his firm but comforting embrace made everything feel even more confusing. As Jamie’s sobs began to quiet, Roy’s grip remained steady, grounding Jamie from the storm of his emotions.
“I’m sorry,” Jamie finally managed to whisper through his tears. “I didn’t realize…”
“Don’t apologize to me,” Roy said. “Apologize to the people you’ve pushed away. They’re the ones who deserve it. Start by showing them— and yourself—that you can be better. That you can give a damn.”
Jamie nodded slowly, wiping at his tear-streaked face. He took a deep, shuddering breath. For a moment, Roy held him close, letting Jamie process everything until reality came knocking and Jamie felt a rush of embarrassment as he realized the position he was in—sitting on Roy’s lap.
His cheeks burned with embarrassment as he scrambled to his feet, stumbling slightly as he shot up from Roy’s lap.
Just then, the door creaked open, and Keeley peeked her head into the room. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the scene. She gave a small, knowing smile. “Well, this looks like quite the heart-to-heart,” she said, stepping fully into the room. “Am I interrupting something?”
Jamie glanced at Roy, who was already heading for the door, his demeanor returning to its usual gruffness. The smirk slowly returned to Jamie’s lips, but this time, it was softer, more genuine.
“Fine, you old twat,” he said, trying to match Roy’s tone. “I’ll think about it. But don’t expect me to stop giving you shit on the pitch.”
Roy snorted. “You can try, but remember—I’m Roy Kent. You think giving me shit’s gonna be easy? Good luck with that, you little prick."
With that, Roy turned on his heel and headed for the door. As it shut behind him, Jamie let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Keeley glanced at Jamie with a glint in her eyes. “Seems like you’ve got someone who cares, Jamie.”
Jamie shrugged, reaching for his shirt with a casual air. “Maybe,” he muttered as he slipped the fabric over his head, wondering if he really could, like Roy believed he could, actually change. The doubt gnawed at him, but so did the small, stubborn flicker of hope that maybe—just maybe—he could be more than the person he pretended to be.