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For the third time this season, Jamie found himself crumpled on the pitch, hand desperately grasping at a shoulder determined to betray him. Sam had dropped to his knees at Jamie’s side, motioning hurriedly for the physios.
“It’s okay, Jamie, they’re coming,” he whispered, his tone soothing despite the shooting pain radiating from Jamie’s shoulder, down his arm and across his chest.
After the dislocation in the autumn when Sam had first taken care of him, and they built a more solid basis to their friendship through caretaking, washing and bedtime stories, Jamie’s shoulder had given him trouble off and on the rest of the season. After the third time his shoulder was unceremoniously evicted from it’s socket, Ted declared that there would be no more prick signals. He hadn’t had the prick signal this time, but opponents had started targeting Jamie, knowing his shoulder issues. It wasn’t always bad.
This time, it was.
Sometimes, he was back for the next match; his shoulder stapped tightly beneath his kit, but it was manageable. However, today, Jamie knew that his season was finished as soon as he hit the grass. Sam found him in a treatment room post-match, ice strapped to his damaged shoulder, waiting for painkillers to take effect. His face was dark as the team doctor had suggested surgery to stabilise the joint and prevent further dislocations. Jamie reluctantly agreed, it being his only real choice and knowing he would want to spend as much time on the pitch as possible with the team, potentially back in the Premier League next season.
A week into the off-season, Jamie had gone under the knife, and in the three days since the successful day surgery, Georgie, Simon and Sam hadn’t let a recovering Jamie out of their sight.
Introducing Georgie and Sam was both the biggest mistake and greatest joy of Jamie Tartt’s life.
“He really wore it every day for a year? A whole year?”
“Every day!” Georgie laughed as Jamie silently shook his head back and forth. “I had to spray it with Febreeze after he fell asleep each night because he wouldn’t let it out of his sight enough for me to wash it more than once a week!”
“It weren't a whole year,” Jamie objected half-heartedly.
“Jaim, you wore it from Christmas morning 2004, when you opened it, to Christmas break of 2005,” Georgie explained. Since mummy and Jamie’s stepfather arrived, there had been nonstop baby Jamie stories, each more embarrassing than the one before, and most with accompanying videos. There were photos, too, but those were less embarrassing owing to what a sexy little baby Jamie was. Sam ate up all the stories and pictures Georgie offered as if it was the best meal he had ever tasted.
“Oh, the Kent kit story, again?” Simon asked joyfully, a grin spreading rapidly across his face as he returned to the couch with a tray and handed his wife, Sam and Jamie cups of tea.
“Thanks, Simon,” Jamie said, accepting the warm cup gratefully. “Hey, can you do me a favour, please? Give these two something else to talk about other than me?”
“I think we both know that would be a fool’s errand, Jamie,” Simon apologised.
Jamie grumbled slightly to himself, knowing his stepfather was correct, as he placed the tea on his coffee table, Sam and Georgie’s grinning faces enough to ease the pain of embarrassment.
The pain in his shoulder, however, was a different story.
The nerve block had worn off entirely overnight, and Jamie adjusted himself on the couch, hissing slightly as he attempted to be careful of the complicated sling with its built-in pillow and additional strap around his waist.
He felt like he was in a straight jacket, unable to move his arm other than his hand slightly. Jamie wasn’t looking forward to the likely sixteen weeks it would take him to be match-ready again, but at least the sling only had to be worn three to four of those weeks, and Sam, Georgie and Simon were turning out to be excellent nurses in the meantime.
“Do you need help, baby?” Georgie asked.
Georgie and Sam seemed to have a sixth sense for Jamie’s uncomfortability, appearing anytime he felt even a simple twinge or tried to find a more comfortable position with the awkward shoulder immobiliser.
“I’m good, mummy, thank you.”
Georgie smiled and sipped her tea, leaning into Simon.
“Sam, how many spaces are you looking at tomorrow, again?” Jamie asked, forgetting Sam's answer yesterday but also wanting to move the subject away from himself.
“The estate agent sent over, I think, five. I’m very excited,” Sam smiled. “Simon, I know you are a great cook, but would it be okay if I cooked tomorrow night? I would love you all to try some recipes I want to feature at the restaurant.”
“As long as you promise to teach me some of the recipes, then I am happy to give up my solemn duties for the night,” Simon offered. “And offer my assistance as a sous chef.”
“That sounds like a fair trade. But only if you teach me how to make the shallot, onion and chive tart we had earlier.”
“Of course! Have to keep my favourite Tartt in tarts, don’t I?” Simon added.
Jamie couldn’t help the smile that split open his face. There was a time when he trusted neither Simon nor Sam; now, they were two of the most important people in his life, and they were not only both here but also teaming up.
“We get to eat all the food, though, right?” Jamie asked, motioning with his good hand between him and Georgie.
“Of course,” Sam beamed. “I have a few recipes I want you to try that I haven’t made for you yet.”
“Mint.”
“Alright, lads, game time?” Georgie asked.
Sam’s phone rang as he was about to answer, and his face broke into a grin as he read the name on the caller-id. He held the phone up with a little shake as an explanation to show everyone Daddy and Ola’s face filling the screen.
“I will be right back. Please start the first round without me,” Sam said, standing, but Jamie grabbed his wrist gently before he could leave the room.
“Let us say hi first.”
“Yes, Sam!” Georgie echoed.
“Oh, he will love that,” Sam said after pressing the little green phone icon and sitting back next to Jamie on the couch. “Hi Daddy.”
“Hello Samuel, hello Jamie!” Sam’s father greeted once he spotted the Mancunian sitting beside his son. “How’re you feeling? I hope Samuel is taking good care of you.”
“He is!” Georgie interjected, popping into the screen from behind the couch. “You raised a wonderful young man here. I’m Georgie, Jamie’s mum. And this is my husband, Simon.”
Georgie pulled Simon into the frame as well, who waved and said, " Very nice to meet you, Mr Obisanya.”
“Please, my friends call me Ola, and any friend of Samuel’s is a friend of mine.”
“Ola, it is,” Georgie said, taking the phone from Samuel’s hand and walking towards the kitchen. “He’s going to cook for us tomorrow. Very thoughtful, that. I haven’t had Nigerian food before but my Jamie promised I would like it.”
“There she goes,” Simon laughed, slapping his knees before standing and following to the kitchen, cleaning up the leftovers from tea.
“That might’ve been a mistake,” Jamie said as he inclined his head towards the kitchen where Georgie was still talking animatedly with Ola.
“I’m not getting my phone back anytime soon, am I?”
“Nope.”
Sam laughed, the sound music to Jamie’s ears, a painkiller in itself, and he watched as his friend walked to the kitchen, carefully stepping around and still chatting with Georgie to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer. Sam returned, wordlessly adjusting the pack to Jamie’s shoulder. Other than his arm being immobilised to his body and useless, he could almost forget about the injury, surgery and recovery with his friend, mum and stepdad around.
“Thanks,” Jamie offered his friend as he sat back down next to him.
“Jamie?” Georgie called from the kitchen.
“Yes, mummy?”
“You don’t have any plans for your international break in September, yeah?”
“No,” Jamie answered slowly.
“Mint. We’re going to Nigeria!”