Chapter Text
He should never have gone back to his house. It was a rookie error and Jamie knew better than that. He had fucked up, royally. Even if Sam was a whiny little baby and Roy Kent was a grouchy bastard, fighting with your teammate on the pitch was a back look. Getting yanked for it was a worse look and to run salt in the wound it was that fucking yank that did the yanking. All in all it was a real low point and Jamie needed out. The air in the changing room was oppressive and hostile even before the lads came back in and Jamie felt like he was heading down a one way street to getting himself fired and shipped back north for disciplinary issues. That would require Lasso to actually know what a fucking loan was but Jamie was sure Roy would be happy to tell him after today's display. Jamie needed to not be there. And so he went home. Being in London had him out of practice. Teenage Jamie knew the one rule after a loss or a personal embarrassment, never go somewhere you could easily be found. He became very close with the staff at the library in his teenage years and spent more time at Paddy's house than he did at his own in his EDS years. London though, why did he need to worry? Richmond was playing Watford, Man City were playing Southampton on Monday night. He had no reason to worry about being found so Jamie went home. He recognised the car on the drive. Jamie paid the bills for that car that sat on his drive yet his stomach flipped as he pulled his Aston alongside the rusting Mercedes. All the anger evaporated from inside him in an instant, Jamie's grip on the steering wheel remained white knuckled as everything within him stiffened at once. He had fucked up. There was no turning back now. Jamie knew that he would hear his dad's opinions on the clusterfuck at some point but he had hoped the feedback would come into his voicemails as had become the norm not in person. In person feedback from his dad was his least favourite part of a game day. London was supposed to be a safe haven away from that. Jamie was supposed to be safe from that.
The door of the rusty Mercedes thumped open causing Jamie to jump. His seat belt dug into his neck, the dash of pain a taste of what was to come. His dad stumbled out nearly tasting the gravel that lined Jamie's drive. His shoulders were up to his chin and hands rubbing together as he kicked the creaking door shut with the flat of his foot. Jamie needed to move. He was in a confined space in an area that could be viewed from the street, two bad things, yet he couldn't get up. "Junior get out here. Keeping me waiting yeah," James barked, tutting his displeasure as he scuffed the toes of his shoes into the ground. Jamie moved on autopilot. He couldn't feel himself thinking to tell his body to listen, it just did. His door was pushed open and feet settled onto the gravel with only the slightest tremour. He hadn't done a cool down. It was so minor now but that would be why his legs were shaking. He hadn't cooled down properly in his haste to leave Nelson Road behind. Jamie hauled himself upright in the time it took his dad to round the car.
"Sorry dad. Didn't know you were coming," Jamie muttered, head raised and staring at a point just past James' left ear.
"Shouldn't need to give my only son warning when I want to see him. I should have a key for this place I should," James huffed, turning to look up at the front door of Jamie's rental. Another stone joined the pyramid that was being formed in Jamie's gut.
"Yeah, yeah sure. I'll get one cut for ya. Don't have any spares lying around," Jamie replied. He didn't know when his keys had made it into his hand. He didn't know when he started moving towards the front door.
"See that you do," James hummed, "you better have some good booze in there. Paying for all this fancy decorative shit."
Jamie stopped, his aborted movement sending up a little plume of dust from the gravel. Another problem with being surprised by his dad's spontaneous drive south, Jamie didn't have a drop of alcohol in the house. Personally he didn't have any need for it. Keeley always brought over anything she wanted or he went out to party. Sitting and drinking alone at home was not what professional athletes did. Manchester Jamie knew better that. Manchester Jamie had a crate of beers and a bottle of good whiskey in his pantry for when his dad came over. London Jamie was off his game in more ways then one. Jamie awkwardly adjusted his collar, still able to feel phantom hands of Roy's grabbing at him promising repercussions. He most likely wasn't going to get beaten up by Roy Kent tonight but that didn't mean he was getting off scot free. There would be repercussions, Jamie just had to try and mitigate the damage.
"I've not got anything in," Jamie muttered, eyes dropping down to his feet.
"What you mean you've got nothing in?" James closed the distance with his voice immediately harsh and unrelenting.
"Drinking ain't on my nutritionists plan and I ain't been hosting. Wouldn't want these idiots around anymore than I have to," the words tasted sour in Jamie's mouth as he formed them. James' jaw twitched and his eyes narrowed. Jamie's eyes had migrated back upwards and still circled the area just to the left of his dad's head. That moments pause hung in the air at the tipping point for an age with Jamie holding his breath in anticipation. The bark of laughter echoed around Jamie's head and his strings were cut in relief. Jamie's shoulders slumped and he could finally breathe.
"Well guess we'll have to go out then. There better be at least one good pub in this damn city. Man just wants a pint and the penny pinchers come and rob him blind," James ranted. As he spoke his arms twitched and then waved and Jamie tried his hardest not to flinch with every swing but his body hadn't got the memo. "Oh get over it. I ain't gonna hit you," James laughed stepping forward. His hand reached up and Jamie tracked it with his eyes, focusing everything into not moving away. The hand cupped his chin almost gently as James' thumb stroked his cheek. Jamie was statuesque, petrified that one wrong move would be the thing to push this already perilous situation over the edge into actively dangerous. Lasso would be expecting him had review on Monday and likely for a disciplinary meeting and Jamie hated having to cover up black eyes. It was labourious and very hard to do well and have it stand up to close inspection. "I ain't your teammate am I?" James laughed, blasting the stench of cigarettes and stake alcohol straight into Jamie's face. "They're the ones that hate you so much they want to hit you," he cackled. Another brick made it's way to settle in the pit of dread that was growing in Jamie's stomach.
He knew exactly what he should say, "bunch of wankers, wish I could have bashed Kent's fucking head in." Yet the words caught on a filter Jamie didn't even knew he had in his throat and died before they could be spoken. London really had made him soft.
Thankfully his dad didn't seem to be expecting a response from Jamie and carried on. His fingers tightened around Jamie's jaw with each word. "And that so called coach of yours. He just ain't right in the head. Pulling you for a fucking little scrap. Weren't even any blood or nothing. Fucking fairy," he ranted. Jamie nodded as much as he could with his face pinned in James' talons. "Fucking disgrace for Pep to send you here of all places. What are you supposed to do on a team like that. You're the best thing that Lasso's ever seen on a pitch let alone coached. You need to be back home," he rambled. Thankfully the pressure on Jamie's jaw eased and Jamie was able to slip free. He wanted to look at it, he wanted to check that the throbbing wasn't going to turn into finger shaped bruises. But he didn't. There was nothing about Jamie that James hated more than when he checked if he was injured. If you could walk then that wasn't an injury.
"So we going or what then?" James snapped as Jamie drifted, thinking about whether he had the required colour of waterproof makeup to cover bruises on his jaw and neck.
"Going?" Jamie whispered.
"God lad, is there anything in that head of yours," James grumbled, tapping his knuckles against Jamie's temple. "You ain't got booze here. I want a drink so we're going out. Get a taxi and not to any namby pamby fucking bar. There better be a real damn pub in this town." There was nothing Jamie wanted to do less than go out to a pub right now. God if the press caught him out drinking just after being subbed at half time as a disciplinary measure then he would be in for a right bollocking. Even Clueless Ted Lasso would be able to see how big of a fuck up that was. However, Jamie's opinion didn't matter did it? He had been told what was going to happen. At least James wouldn't go to far if they were at a pub, not with witnesses.
"Sure dad. I'll call a cab."
Jamie quickly searched for a CAMRA pub that had questionable reviews in an area of London that no one associated with Richmond would ever be seen dead in and he had a destination in mind. The cab journey itself was a blur. Jamie drifted in and out of the rambled rantings of the mad man that he shared blood with. He should have seen his dad's car and just turned around. He'd slept in his car before. The Aston wasn't the most comfortable thing to lay in and the last time he laid down in it staying in there for a long time wasn't on the agenda but he would survive a night. It was too late to think about that now, there was no escaping. His hat was pulled down, casting a shadow over his eyes and Jamie blankly stared out of the windscreen. His dad was rambling about something or other with vaguely irritated hand gestures but the words washed over Jamie like a haze of white noise. He made eye contact with the driver in the front mirror. The driver's lips were pursed and his brow furrowed in a mix of displeasure and concern. Jamie just continued to stare blankly ahead. He couldn't get his dad to stop even if he did want to, and he didn't.
Not a moment too soon, they pulled up outside the pub and Jamie stumbled in his haste to get out of the car before the driver reported them both for hate speech regarding any of the different incredibly offensive things his dad came out with on the twenty minute drive. A hefty tip smoothed some of the friction. Inside it was dark and smelt musky and damp. It was exactly the sort of place that no ally of Ted Lasso would ever be found, perfect. In the time it took Jamie to take in the pub, James was already leaning his elbows on the bar and clicking his fingers to get the attention of the server. "Two pints of bitter for me and my boy," he called out as soon as the displeased lad came over.
"Need a card for a tab," he called back. James didn't even have to ask, Jamie immediately tossed his card down on the bar to a rumbled noise of approval from his dad. Jamie settled down in a booth and took a moment to groan and roll his shoulders. As he stormed into the changing room he didn't think the day could get any worse and here he was face first in worse. He had to get out of here and get his dad a hotel somewhere. His future at Richmond was at threat and even though he hated everything about that club, it was game time and it wasn't in Manchester. Those two things were worth fighting for.
"Right drink up lad," James slammed the pints down on a table and pushed one closer to where Jamie was slumped.
"I shouldn't," Jamie muttered.
James froze, the smile dripping off his face. "What's that fucking mean?" he hissed.
"I gotta meet with Lasso tomorrow about today and about ditching the rest of the match. Can't be drunk for that," Jamie explained quietly.
"That's fucking bullshit!" James yelled causing Jamie's heart rate to spike even though this time he managed to stay still. The thumping in his chest bounced around his body settling as pounding in his ears. "A fucking disciplinary meeting for not being all sorry for wanting to play the game instead of pandering to weak ass idiots," he rambled, glugging at his pint between each insult.
"Yeah, yeah but I gotta be there or he'll bench me for longer," Jamie added, a vain attempt at appeasement. A failed attempt at appeasement. Jamie's hand jabbed out to grab onto Jamie's shoulder and pull him closer. Jamie's back twinged at the twisted and hunched shape he was contorted into.
"We," he gestured between the two of them, prodding hard into Jamie's chest, "are here to drink so you can fucking prove to me that you haven't been turned into a whining little bitch for that foreign asshole while you haven't been under my roof. Because junior, I ain't been impressed with what I have been seeing," his voice dropped to a whisper and his grip tightened. Jamie was trapped. It was one of those situations that the shrinks on the TV called flight, fight or freeze. Jamie froze. He never had been able to fight or run. The pint was pressed into his hand and not even the condensation on the glass could raise him from his stupor. His hand moved of it's own accord and Jamie sipped, nose crinkling in displeasure. "Fucks sake lad you're not a girl," James snarled, up ending the glass to pour and pour it into Jamie's mouth. It felt like he was choking. Everything smelt and tasted like beer as he coughed and spluttered. It burnt down his throat and tricked out of the side of his mouth, staining his hoodie and embedding the scent.
James' laugh thundered around his skull as Jamie swallowed to try and free up his airways to breathe. Eventually the cup ran dry and Jamie could force it back down onto the table. Hacking coughs tore out of him and beer infused spittle flew across the table. He wheezed, eyes red with strain and tears pooling in the corner. "Stop fussing," James laughed, whacking Jamie on the back as he coughed and shook. The air was pounded out of him just as his lungs were desperately clinging onto what had managed to trickle through. But at least the potential bruises on his back meant that the manipulating hand on his shoulder had moved.
The alcohol went to Jamie's head fast. He hadn't properly drunk in months, no more than a couple of vodka lemonades on nights out, definitely no beer. He also hadn't eaten since lunch either. His head swum, James' voice drifting in and out.
"Yeah we'll take another."
"Fucking hell kid it's just a pint. What can't hold your liquor any more?"
"Wuss. It's your mother I know it is. Fit piece of ass but knew she would raise a little bitch. That's why I had to come back. Had to fix you up."
Jamie could feel his mouth moving and feel himself swallowing more and more of the foul liquid but it was like he was watching himself through frosted glass. His ears were plugged with cotton wool and his brain was rattling around his skull. He was absolutely plastered.
"That fucking Lasso pulling you off the pitch but you should have fought. I don't watch you on the the TV to see you backing out from a fight. Tartt's don't back down."
"We should go teach that Kent a lesson yeah you and me. Show him what it's really like to get his dome rocked."
Jamie was teetering side to side and could barely keep his eyes open and James was starting to slur his words. His stomach churned, the oily texture and taste of stale cheap beer coating the inside of his mouth and with each deep breath it was threatening to make a reappearance.
"What the fuck you mean cut off? Don't you know who he is?"
"Nah nah nah, you're taking our money. Our money is good here so you don't get to see when we're done!"
"Fucking prick!"
The fresh air on Jamie's sweat glistening skin starts to bring him back to himself. He doesn't know how he got outside but the coolness elicits a soft moan of relief through Jamie's parched lips. How many pints had he drunk? He couldn't remember any after the second one but this was more than two pints worth of drunk even for his currently reduced tolerance. Pressure tightened on the back of his neck and Jamie was shoved forwards, his feet scrambling to keep his legs underneath him and to make sure his face didn't meet the pavement.
"God damn useless huh Jamie. Are you even fucking listening?" the hand from the back of his neck moved to smack him on the back of the head sending his vision pixelated and his stomach churning even further. "Lightweight," James spat like it was a slur. Jamie gagged as he was pushed round a corner. He clattered into the wall, hands flying up to protect his face and coming away scraped raw.
"If you throw up on me I will make you regret being born you hear me Jamie!" James yelled, pushing Jamie further down the alley, scrapping his side against the wall as he slid along further from any hope of salvation. He tried to scramble for purchase against the wall to stop their progress but his dad's momentum was greater than Jamie's panic. He tried to yell for help but the movement of air just heightened the lingering taste and smell of beer and Jamie had to clamp his mouth shut yet again.
When Jamie stumbled and fell against a bin, James seemed to decide that it was far enough. Jamie's head was swimming, his eyes flickering unable to focus on anything. It was dark, so dark and he was so sore and tired. He didn't want to be here. He was scared and tired and just wanted to go home. "I've given you so many chances, so many fucking chances to prove yourself a real man. A man worthy of my name and still we end up here. Why do you never learn?" the heat from James' voice had faded and as he spoke he just sounded tired, and disappointed. Jamie dropped his eyes down to the floor and slumped against the wall. "You embarrassed me on TV today. You are an embarrassment and so I gave you an opportunity to redeem yourself and you failed. Left me to fight your battles. Got so drunk you can't even stand up," James snarled. He reached up and spread his hand over Jamie's collar bones, a light reminder to stand up straight and not to fucking move.
"M sorry," Jamie slurred. He didn't know how he had got so drunk, he was such a lightweight now. London Jamie was not up to scratch. London Jamie was weak. But Manchester Jamie was locked away out of sight thanks to the efforts of Keeley Jones and fucking Ted Lasso.
“Never be fucking sorry, be better,” James snarled. The pressure over his collarbones tightened into a grip on his shirt. Jamie nodded rapidly, which was a mistake. The movement rattled his marinating brain and before he even had the time to think about how bad this was going to end up, vomit trickled out of his mouth splashing onto his dad’s arm and shoes. Jamie coughed, chest heaving as the beer burnt even more on the way back up. “You fucking asshole,” James whispered. The pressure around Jamie’s neck released and just for a second, relief began to build. Then the floor came up to meet him.
“Useless!” James yelled, his foot slamming down onto Jamie’s back sending him sprawling and wheezed whines dragged out of him into the cool night air.
“Soft!” a shot to his hip was punctuated with a crack. Jamie had never felt pain like it, any cries and begging died on his tongue as a haze washed over him. He wasn’t in his body anymore, he was floating somewhere else waiting for the pain to let him board back on the train to consciousness.
“Weak!” Each kick jostled his hip with what he was hoping was an imaginary grating sound of the joint and another blossom of pain joined the plethora coating his body.
“Told you, you’d regret it didn’t I,” James snarled. Jamie blinked slowy and turned over. The sharp wave of pain dragged his soul back into his body with his back arching and a shrill cry torn out of him. “Should never have tried. Should have just left you and your shit mother and tried again somewhere else. You’re no fucking son of mine.”
“Please, dad,” Jamie whimpered, tears blurring his vision as he writhed in place.
“Get yourself home, I’ll get myself a hotel. I’ve got your card not that you care,” James hissed, spitting down on Jamie’s trembling form.
“Dad please,” Jamie cried, the tears rubbing his eyes raw leaving salty trails down his cheeks. He reached out with his less sore arm but it still trembled, scraping across the cold concrete for his dad or anyone to please help him. But through the haze of tears he could see his father’s beat up addidas walking away, a door closing leaving Jamie literally and metaphorically out in the cold. He was alone, he was going to die out here. The last thing people would know of Jamie Tartt would be fighting with his teammate then going out of get wasted and getting a taste of his own medicine. That would be his legacy. He was useless, soft, weak, an asshole. His dad was right and he was now going to die of the consequences of that. No one knew where he was going, who would care anyway? Tears dripped from his eyes, watering down the pool of vomit that was matting into his hair. All energy followed those tears in leaching out of his body. What was the point?
“I think there’s someone down here?”
Jamie had tried to move, he had tried to claw himself forward but as soon as his chest even looked even slightly like moving his vision blacked out and he was back to square one. His head throbbed and whenever his mouth opened it was just for more spittle and vomit to drip out of his mouth.
“Oh god, is he alive?”
The walls of the alley way and the overturned bin he had knocked into in his assault were out of focus. Six feet clustered near his head in the puddles of liquid he was trying not to think about. Help had arrived yet Jamie couldn’t move. All he had the energy to do was lie there and breathe. With each breath, a rattled whimper squeezed out between his teeth.
“Call an ambulance!”
“Mate, mate can you hear me?”
“Christ he’s been worked over. Daren’t touch him.”
“Stay still, help is coming.”
Jamie doesn’t really remember anything after the flashing red and blue lights refracting from the entrance of the alleyway. There were a lot of voices. A lot of shouting. A lot of distant pain as hands felt every inch of his body. A lot of stabbing pain as he was manipulated into place. A lot of sirens as the ambulance twisted through the streets. He only really came to when he was being moved into a private room out of the ICU. It turns out being a famous immediately recognisable footballer gets you the best treatment and out of the throng of injuries. Not an easily obtainable cheat code but appreciated anyway. His private room was devoid of life but at least it was quiet. It meant he could pass out in peace.
The doctor kindly waited until Jamie was coherent and dosed up with pain meds before he started listening the fucking state that he had got his body into. His stomach had been pumped while he was unconscious to stave off the risk of alcohol poisoning, his liver was bruised and was at risk of tearing if he received any more abdominal trauma, three broken ribs, hairline fractures of his knee cap. But all of that paled in comparison to the injury that had shattered his heart as soon as he had felt it. His hip was dislocated and would need surgery to ensure that it didn’t keep dislocating with every impact. They were organising an ambulance transport to The Alexandra Hospital for his surgery and hospital stay so that Man City could ensure he was getting the best targeted treatment. The doctor explained it all in detail and showed Jamie all the scans but his head was throbbing and he didn’t care. The doctors would do whatever they needed to do to get him back on the pitch. Man City wasn’t going to just let their investment languish. He didn’t need to know what was going to happen, he couldn’t think about it right now. Jamie was in agony but the pain in his heart was much worse. He couldn’t move, the doctors had said he wouldn’t be able to move without support for weeks. Weeks, before he could even move with crutches.
Out for the season.
No one had officially said it yet but he knew. It was four months until the end of the season round a bout and he wouldn’t be off crutches for three. He was done. Richmond had Dani back now, they wouldn’t be hanging about for Jamie to recover and Man City didn’t need an unfit, unready and overweight Jamie Tartt. They barely needed a peak fitness Jamie Tartt. Doctors and nurses kept coming in and out, adjusting various things and Jamie just let it happen. What did it matter what pain meds he was on when no one would be drugs testing him until next season? What did it matter what type of support they put on his hip when he would be off his feet for at least three matches worth of time? What did it matter what nutrients they needed him to eat when his target weight wouldn’t be enforced until preseason? Nothing mattered until he heard from the specialists and the team doctor. He just needed to get out of here. Jamie hated waiting.
The interview with the police was pointless. No cameras in the area had caught the incident, Jamie never thought his dad would be smart enough to avoid cameras like that, he had clearly either stepped up his game of lucked out. Jamie didn’t know which was worse but it made it easier for him. The lies rolled off his tongue without any real thought needed.
“I don’t know what happened.”
“I wish I could help you officers.”
“I was just out for a drink and then this.”
“I’ve got a lot of enemies in London, lots of people watch football and sometimes they ain’t the most rational.”
“No I wasn’t with anyone.”
“I think finding evidence is your job lads not mine. I’ve told you everything I know.”
Jamie could tell that they didn’t really believe him but had no leg to stand on with the lack of evidence, lack of information coming their way from Jamie and the lawyers that Jamie had on retainer that a single call out cost more than their month’s wages. He could see the irony, it wasn’t lost on him. He thought he was past “I just fell down the stairs” and “clumsy lad that Jamie Tartt” but it seems he would never be free from those shackles. The same excuses that followed him from teacher to social worker to football coach to well meaning neighbour had pursued him down the M40 to twist into a new style of safety net. Just as ten year old Jamie could have walked into a police station and told them that he was scared of his father when he was drunk, twenty three year old Jamie could call out to the cops as they turned to leave the room and tell them the name and credit card that would lead them to the perpetrator. But where did that leave Jamie? In the cold, and alone and Jamie couldn’t do that. He couldn’t be alone. His dad cared about him, most of the time loved him and he couldn’t throw the one person he could rely on under the bus. Jamie Tartt wasn’t built to be alone, despite all his actions that made him that way. His dad was coming back and then it would be ok. His dad would see what he had done and he would apologise and then they would go back to Manchester and things would be normal again. That wouldn’t happen if he did as the police asked.
“If you remember anything Mr Tartt you know where to find us,” one of the officers sighed with his hand ghosting over the door handle.
“I do,” Jamie huffed and then they were gone. Jamie was left to the haze of his drugged mind and desperately avoiding the nightmares that sleep would bring. Only a couple more hours then his dad would be here and then they could get back to Manchester and the club physios would work out a treatment plan with the doctors. A plan would help, he would sleep better if there was a plan for how to get him on turf as soon as possible.
Jamie ate and then drifted in and out of sleep once the police had left until there was a hesitant knock on his door. “Come in,” he grumbled, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. The door creaked open and Ted’s head poked through the gap.
“Can we?” Ted asked, his voice meek and nasally.
Jamie sighed, “just said you could didn’t I.”
“Well yes, I guess you did,” Ted cleared his throat and stepped through the opening, Higgins following along behind like the loyal sidekick he was.
“How’d you find me?” Jamie broke the silence, hands bunching up in the blanket that was draped over his good leg.
“You’re one of our players,” Ted frowned, coming to a stop at the end of the bed. His hands slowly and tentatively came to rest on the plastic hand holds like they would burn him if he gripped too hard and settled there when Jamie didn’t react.
“Not for long,” Jamie muttered under his breath.
“Yes, well that is why we are here,” Higgins spoke up for the first time, drawing attention to the paperwork in his hands.
“Wow, want rid of me that fast?” Jamie scoffed, enjoying the embarrassed flush that flashed across Higgins’ face.
“That’s not what we intended. Just that it felt better to do this face to face,” Higgins explained. Jamie didn’t want to do this face to face. This felt like the sort of thing Skype had been invented for. It was awkward enough having to have a disciplinary meeting, because there was no way Ted wasn’t going to get his disciplinary meeting after that shit show, and a loan termination let alone doing it while Jamie was on what he was pretty sure was horse tranquilisers and couldn’t run away. But Jamie didn’t say any of that, instead he glowered in their direction.
“We were surprised to not see you in the locker room at half time.” And there it was, the Lasso holier than thou lecture was beginning. You know on Skype Jamie could have just turned his camera off and had a nap through this bit. Or even better if Ted could have just sent it all by email it would have saved them both a lot of time as he could have just binned it without reading. “It would have been good for the team if we could have cleared the air after an altercation like that,” Jamie’s silence did not slow Ted’s roll.
“I was pissed, no clearing of the air would have gone on. If I had stayed I would have knocked Roy’s teeth out. So I removed myself from the situation to get pissed a different way,” Jamie shrugged. Yes he hadn’t intended to get pissed but Ted didn’t need to know that.
“I guess your understanding of your own anger is admirable,” Ted smiled but the sentiment didn’t reach higher than his mustache, “but I guess I am just confused as I thought we were getting somewhere.”
Jamie scoffed, eyebrows shooting to his hairline, “where did you think we were getting? Relegated? I wanted to win us the match. Roy clearly doesn’t give a fuck. Obisanya doesn’t know shit and you,” Jamie pointed at Ted, “only want us to sit a circle and hold hands. That team is getting nowhere fast.”
“I guess we weren’t,” Ted muttered, under his breath. If they weren’t in a quiet private room Jamie doubted that he would have even heard it. But he did and it felt like a stab to his already sensitive liver. Jamie had sort of deep down always assumed that Ted had given up on him like everyone else had already. He didn’t really want to see Ted give up on him in real time. “Then if there’s nothing else to say we should allow you to get back to Manchester,” Ted added, turning to Higgins.
Jamie nodded, his voice leaving him at the disappointed cadence of Ted’s dismissal. He had never cared about what Ted thought of him. It didn’t matter that Ted was disappointed in him. Ted didn’t matter.
“I hope to see you back on a football field one day Jamie, even if it is on the opposite side to us,” Ted sighed and turned to leave when all the paperwork and legalities of it were completed. Jamie was a Man City player once again. He expected to feel lighter somehow but Jamie felt the same as he had done half an hour ago before Ted and Higgins had walked into his room. Ted paused in the doorway and took a breath like he was about to say something else. This was Jamie’s chance, all it would take was one yell. All it would take was two words, save me. But Jamie opened his mouth and nothing came out. Ted sighed, and then walked into the bustling corridor and was lost in the crowd.
“Good riddance,” Jamie muttered under his breath. Not the two words that Jamie had first aimed for but more accurate ones. The Ted Lasso period of his life was over and he thought he would feel happier. He didn’t feel happy, that emotion had vanished into the yawning pit of darkness inside his chest when hope had been sucked in the night before.
“I’m sorry it had to end this way Jamie. We hoped you could do great things at Richmond,” Higgins smiled softly. Jamie turned away from him to look out of the window. There was nothing that Miss Welton’s glorified lap dog could do for him now. He was going home. Yeah, Manchester was home wasn’t it. When he got home things would go back to normal, he couldn’t play but he would rehab and be back as his true self at Man City by preseason. It was going to be ok.
The door had been left slightly open and Jamie could hear the hustle and bustle of the outside world trickle in through the gap. He should have asked Higgins to shut it as he left. Ted and Higgins didn’t get very far down the corridor though before Jamie heard Ted’s distinctive accent again.
“Mr Tartt! Glad you could get here so quickly.” Oh, was it really that time already? His dad wasn’t stupid enough to say that he was in Manchester and then get here early. The doctors had said that he could go as soon as someone was here to sign him out and travel in the patient transport with him. He was already sick of this paper gown and starchy bed.
"Of course, he's my fucking son where else would I be. Why are you vultures here? Here to rub it in? Hasn't he suffered enough with you?" James snarled, each word laced with a careful measured amount of venom before they were spat in the face of Ted Lasso. Jamie’s chest instinctively tightened at the familiar cadence of his dad’s anger. James didn’t sound drunk. It had been hours since the last beer at the pub but that didn’t really mean anything. But he didn’t sound drunk and so there was no reason for the moths to be battering Jamie’s insides. He was here because Jamie had called and asked him to be here. His dad was here to take him home, via a Manchester private hospital but that was better than London right now.
"That was never our intention sir. We just wanted to, well, just to wish Jamie the best heading home,” Higgins stammered and Jamie felt the first smile since he had been benched creep onto his face. Fucking cowards, yeah they could bench him and threaten his job in the press but when faced up with an actual real football fan, a real Jamie Tartt fan they weren’t so tough now were they?
The door swung open fully and James Tartt loomed in the doorway. Jamie could feel himself shrink as he pulled his arms up onto his chest, automatically trying to make the only parts of him that still worked smaller. But James looked fine, he looked sober. He had changed and the clothes were high quality, new, they didn’t smell of smoke or alcohol. In his hand was a bag that Jamie recognised as his own overnight bag. Thank god he could finally get out of this gown!
"Let's get you home then shall we junior. Back where you belong,” James sighed. Jamie’s smile grew just an inch but became a thousand times more genuine. There was no going back now even if he did want to. The only way was forward back to Manchester, back to Man City and back into his father’s arms.