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Having a manager shouting in a player’s face wasn’t new, especially at this shitty club. Roy wasn’t above yelling at his lads either, but he’d never been fully comfortable with the way Cartrick and others like him coached. But at least with coaches like them, you knew what you were fucking getting.
Lasso, though? He’d come in all fucking happy-go-lucky, not knowing a fucking thing about the sport, and tried to pep talk them into getting on better. All mind games and smiles and promises of fucking teamwork, and then he’d blown up out of fucking nowhere.
So Tartt was being a little prick. So fucking what? He always was, and sitting out of training wasn’t a fucking crime, especially if he was actually hurt. Sure, could be a strop over being benched, but athletes got injured all the fucking time, and Roy’s knee could attest that you didn’t argue with them when they actually admitted they needed the rest. He’d rarely ever done that.
But no, apparently Lasso wasn’t in the mood for Tartt today, and he’d made it the whole changing room’s problem. Roy didn’t have a problem with the other lads getting their own back, telling Tartt off when he tried to get Colin to set up the cones, but the whole thing had been unsettling.
And he could’ve stepped in, but he’d never bothered with Cartrick, and he hadn’t thought he’d ever need to with Lasso. He’d keep an eye, though, because a gaffer who’d turn on you that quick could be a lot more dangerous than a grumpy git like Cartrick.
The lads had mostly headed out to the pitch by the time Roy got to his feet, with Lasso and Beard somewhere in the middle of the pack. The only one still sitting on the bench was Tartt, who hadn’t moved since Lasso walked away from him.
“C’mon, Tartt,” Roy said, the words coming out gentler than they usually did with the twat. “Cones won’t set themselves, lad.”
Tartt didn’t move, though, so Roy took a step closer, ready to haul the lad to his feet.
But before he could reach out, a little gasp made him pause and study the other player. The one hand tucked into the hem of his shirt was normal, but the other was fisted by his lips, with the lad chewing on a finger while tears streamed silently down his face.
“Fuuuuck,” Roy breathed, and Jamie’s wide eyes flicked up to his face.
“‘M sorry,” he whimpered.
Fuck. “Sorry for what, lad?”
One shoulder lifted, and Jamie’s finger slipped further into his mouth. “Bein’ hurt? Coach’s mad at me. Were I bein’ bad, bein’ hurt?”
He huddled in on himself at the question, and Roy realized with a deep sense of regret that he was dealing with more than just a player who’d been told off by his coach.
“You’re not bad,” Roy told him, sitting down next to him. Jamie’s eyes followed him, but he didn’t move any further away. “Can you tell me where you’re hurt?”
The lad blinked at him with big, wet eyes. “Not ‘sposed to tell.”
Fuuuck. “Jamie, lad, I need you to tell me how you got hurt, yeah?”
“Can’t,” Jamie whispered.
“Can you show me?”
Another finger disappeared into the lad’s mouth while his eyes cast about before finally settling on the hand in his shirt. He lifted the hand a little, then shrugged.
“Can I take off your shirt?” Roy asked, sliding a little closer on the bench.
Jamie looked at him again with those big sad eyes, then looked down and nodded.
“Alright, lad.” Roy drew in a deep breath, then gently untangled Jamie’s hand from the shirt and gripped both sides. A quick glance at the lad’s back didn’t show any signs that the shirt was sticking, so hopefully the removal at least would be relatively painless. “Arms up for me, yeah?”
Jamie didn’t say a word, just let out a little sigh as he pulled his fingers from his mouth and lifted his arms.
“Good lad,” Roy said, stripping the shirt up and off as quickly as he could. Jamie barely reacted, though he put his fingers back in his mouth the second he was free of the shirt, clutching it in his opposite hand once Roy released it. “Turn a bit for me?”
Again those big eyes focused on him for a moment before Jamie obediently turned, presenting his bare back for inspection. Roy hissed at the sight, one hand reaching instinctively to grip Jamie’s shoulder as the other traced the overlapping welts on his back without ever actually touching his skin.
It was a fucking mess. Horizontal and diagonal stripes from the lad’s shoulders to his waist, and at least one spot where whatever he’d been beaten with had clearly broken skin. Roy’s best guess was a belt, but he’d only ever seen marks like that at the club, after one of the more adventurous masochists had finished a scene he hadn’t been able to watch.
Her back had looked a bit like this the next time he saw her, a couple days later, but she’d shuddered in pleasure when he pressed on it. Not sat crying silently while the room emptied around her.
“Jamie, lad,” he said softly, giving the lad’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Can you tell me who did this?”
A mumbled response, too quiet to hear.
Roy circled back to crouch in front of him. “Who, Jamie?”
“Me dad,” Jamie told the floor, the tears pouring down his cheeks again. “Said I were bad, getting benched. Didn’t mean to be bad though, Roy. ‘m sorry.”
“No, little lad, no,” Roy soothed. Jamie’s eyes went wide at the mindless endearment, and Roy had to wonder if he’d ever heard a kind word in this state. Certainly no one who valued Littles the way they were meant to would’ve left the lad’s back in such a state. “You’ve done nothing wrong, okay?”
“Coach were mad, though.”
“He had no right to shout at you the way he did, lad. You’ve the right to sit out training when you’re injured. Have you been to medical?”
Jamie shook his head, still chewing on his fingers.
“Let me take you, yeah?”
“Sposed to set up cones,” Jamie mumbled.
“Gaffer can fucking figure out the cones without you,” Roy growled. “I want your back looked at, lad. Then I’ll go tell Lasso you’ve got medical permission to sit out, yeah?” Tell him a few more things, too, but Jamie didn’t need to worry about that.
“Okay,” the lad whispered, but his eyes welled up with tears again.
Stifling a curse, Roy reached out to wipe a few tears away. “What’s wrong, love?”
Jamie sniffled. “Nothin’. I’ll be good.”
“You’re being so good, Jamie. Can you tell me what’s wrong, though?”
“‘S nothin’,” he repeated.
“Whatever’s making you cry isn’t nothing,” Roy said, taking the lad’s hand and gently prying his fingers from the shirt. “Do you not want to go to medical?”
Jamie mumbled something around his fingers, and Roy leaned in closer to try to make it out.
“What was that, love? Can we go to medical?”
“Don’ wanna be ‘lone.”
“Oh no, lad, I’m going with you, yeah? Need to make sure you’re being looked after properly.”
“Said you were gonna go tell Coach I couldn’t play,” Jamie explained, peering up at him from under his lashes.
And fuck, how had the little prick he’d been feuding with all season been hiding a persona this fucking adorable? It was like talking to Phoebe, except Jamie didn’t even have that family pull to explain the way Roy was already melting over him.
“I’ll wait for you to be done first, okay? And then you can come watch training while I talk to Lasso.” Talk was a generous word for what he planned to do, but he didn’t want to give Jamie any more reason to hesitate.
When the lad nodded slowly, Roy stood and offered his hands, barely wincing when a few of the fingers that wrapped around his were still wet from being in Jamie’s mouth.
After all, Phoebe’d done a lot worse than slobber over him, plenty of times. And just because he’d never encountered another Little who seemed to drop so young, didn’t mean it was all that different.
Jamie kept his hands in Roy’s once he was standing, so Roy gave them both a squeeze before releasing one and leading the lad to medical still holding his other hand.
The doctor wasn’t around, but Gail gave Jamie a salve for his back and told him to sit out training until he could move without aggravating it. Jamie nodded along as she spoke, wide-eyed and clinging to Roy’s hand, but flinched away when she approached him with the salve.
“It’ll be cold, but it shouldn’t really hurt,” she said, hands up to show she wouldn’t spring it on the lad, but Jamie just shrank further away.
Roy squeezed Jamie’s hand. “Jamie, love, you need something on those marks, yeah? Can you be a good lad and let Gail put it on?”
The lad whimpered in response, eyes pleading with Roy to fix this somehow. Roy wasn’t sure what he was meant to fix, but he’d do his fucking best anyway.
“Can I put it on you?” He shot a quick glance to Gail, who nodded encouragingly, then looked back at Jamie.
“Kay.”
“Good lad.”
Gail handed Roy the salve, and he slowly stepped over to Jamie, keeping in the lad’s peripheral vision as best he could while he applied the first handful. Jamie shivered but didn’t protest, just watching him with those big eyes until Roy finally stepped fully behind him to deal with the worst of the marks.
“You know you didn’t deserve this, Jamie,” Roy said as he continued to smooth salve over the vicious welts.
“Were bad, though,” Jamie whispered, shoulders bunching up around his ears. “Got benched.”
“Getting benched doesn’t mean you needed to be punished, lad. Especially not like this.”
“You were mad at me, too,” the lad insisted. “Cause o’ Sam.”
Sighing, Roy finished treating the marks, then circled around to take Jamie’s hand again. “Yes, you were being a prick during that match, and you got benched for it. But Jamie, lad, even the prickiest behavior doesn’t deserve the kind of beating you took. Especially not when you’re telling me he did it because you got benched, not because of how you acted during the match?”
Jamie blinked at him, then shrugged. “Says I’m s’posed to dominate. Don’t want me being soft like Sam and them.” The tears started spilling over again as Jamie hunched in on himself. “Can’t be soft or he’ll punish me, Roy. Can’t be little.”
“Oi.” Roy grabbed Jamie’s other hand and gave them both a little shake. “Your dad’s not getting within a hundred fucking feet of you, not while I’m around. You’re allowed to be little, Jamie. You are little, and there’s nothing your fuckface father can do about that. Fucking against the law trying to interfere with a Little’s needs, yeah?”
“He’s me dad,” Jamie whispered miserably. “En’t he meant to decide what’s best for me?”
“Fuck no,” Roy said, clasping the lad’s hands a bit tighter when he looked away. “Anyone who treats you like that has no fucking idea what’s best for you, lad, doesn’t matter if he’s your father or the fucking King of England.”
“Don’t have a King,” Jamie muttered.
“Alright, you muppet. Point is, your dad’s a fucking cunt and he doesn’t get to treat you like that. He the reason we didn’t know you’re a Little?”
“Not allowed,” the lad repeated. His breath hitched, and he looked up at Roy mournfully. “Can’t even tell Mummy.”
“Fuck that,” Roy declared. “You can tell whoever you want, lad, and we fucking need to tell a few more people at the club, too.”
“No, Roy…” Jamie clutched at his shirt, eyes going wide again. “‘M not allowed to tell!”
“The club needs to know, Jamie.” Roy looked over at Gail, who still stood off to the side.
She nodded. “Medical needs to know about any bio Littles in the club, even if they’re not players. Management, too.”
“And fuck what your dad thinks,” Roy said firmly. “He doesn’t get a fucking say, the way he treats you.”
“He’s me dad,” Jamie repeated with a sad little shrug. Like that was all there fucking was to it.
“And he doesn’t fucking deserve to be.” When Jamie just looked more confused at that, Roy couldn’t hold back anymore and pulled the sad little lad into a hug. “You don’t fucking worry about him anymore, lad. Leave that with me.”
Jamie was frozen in his arms for a moment, and then all at once he gripped tight and buried his face in Roy’s neck, little hitching sobs dragging out of him.
“Alright, lamb,” Roy soothed, rubbing the lad’s back and glaring at Gail when she made exaggerated doe eyes at him. She lifted her hands in surrender, then left them alone in the room while Roy held the crying Little and plotted just how to make his cunt father pay for what he’d done to the lad. Could probably get it all done legally, too, which might not be quite as satisfying, but at least his sister would approve.
And Jamie probably didn’t need him in jail at this point.
Fucking logic.
Eventually Jamie quieted in his arms, and Roy gave his hip a gentle pat. “You ready to go outside, lad?”
“Ted’s mad,” Jamie whimpered, but he pulled back and swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.
“You leave Ted to me,” Roy said, barely keeping the growl out of his voice. “You didn’t do anything wrong, remember?”
Jamie blinked up at him, skepticism clear in his wet eyes, but at least he didn’t argue this time.
“Good lad.” He didn’t even think about it before he was taking Jamie’s hand in his and leading the lad out of the building and towards the pitch. Jamie let go and dropped behind him as they got closer, so Roy stepped fully between the Little and the rest of their team.
The other lads looked over as they approached, but most of them took one look at Roy’s scowl and the way he stood in front of Jamie and promptly turned away again. Nate and Beard did too, the other coach stepping in smoothly to keep training running.
Fucking Lasso never could make the sensible choice, though, so he came closer, peering around Roy with that self-righteous frown back on his face.
“Jamie! I asked you to set up the cones, didn’t I? The other boys have been waiting, let’s get to it.”
“No,” Roy growled, putting out a hand to keep Jamie behind him. “Jamie, lad, go sit down.”
“Now, Roy-”
“No, you fucking listen to me, Lasso. You wanted a captain, so here I am. Jamie, go sit.” He nudged the lad gently toward the bench, glaring at Lasso when he looked ready to interrupt again. Once Jamie had perched on the bench, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, Roy turned his full attention to the gaffer.
Of course Lasso started talking right away. Didn’t seem fucking capable of not talking when there was some stupid analogy just waiting to be pulled out of his cowboy brain. “Look, Roy, I’m happy to see you two getting along finally, but I can’t have him throwing a fit like that just because he got benched. You know what I’m-”
“The only person throwing any kind of fit in there was you,” Roy cut in, folding his arms and staring the man down.
“Now I don’t know if that’s fair,” Lasso said, and Roy cut him off again with a sharp shake of his head.
“You know what I fucking saw in there? I saw Jamie tell you he was hurt. Bit of an attitude, sure, but he’s Jamie fucking Tartt. Can’t be the only athlete you’ve ever met with an attitude. You scream at all of them in front of their teammates, too?”
“Now, that’s not what-”
“It is,” Roy said firmly. “One of your players told you he was injured and couldn’t play, and instead of sending him to medical, you shouted at him in front of the whole fucking team.”
“And that wasn’t my finest moment,” Lasso admitted, hands up in exaggerated surrender. “But you know Jamie likes to push buttons, and claiming an injury because he got benched was a heck of a button to push.”
Roy felt the way his jaw ticked as he glared harder. “Did you fucking ask him about his injury?”
“You heard him same as me, Roy. He didn’t mean for us to believe him.”
“And why do you think that is?” Roy demanded. He gave Lasso all of two seconds to think about it before shaking his head in disgust. “Not that it fucking matters. One of your players told you he was hurt. Whether you believe him or not, you send him to medical. That’s what they’re fucking there for.”
“You’re right,” Lasso conceded. “I’ll go with him, give me a chance to talk about it with him.”
“You’re not going anywhere with him.” Roy took a step closer without thinking, some angry part of him pleased at the way Lasso stepped back in response. “Not after you left him crying and dropping in the dressing room.”
For the first time in the whole fucking conversation, Lasso looked sorry, darting a worried glance over at Jamie. Roy fought the urge to move between them again, but he wanted the man to understand what he’d done.
“Dropping?” Lasso asked, voice lowered like he couldn’t even say it out loud.
“Yeah, dropping. You shouted at your injured player and dropped him into Little space. Bang-up job, that.”
Lasso couldn’t seem to decide whether to stare at Jamie or Roy, glancing back and forth as his face got cartoonishly distressed. “He’s actually injured? He’s a Little?”
“Yes, Ted, he’s actually injured. Took a hell of a beating because you benched him for doing his fucking job. Which is to score goals, by the way. Passing is fine, but in a match, you need to trust him to know when taking the shot is the better play. Winning fucking matters.”
“It matters how we win,” Lasso protested, still looking past Roy to Jamie.
Roy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you can work on their fucking teamwork during training, but during a match, you don’t punish a player for scoring goals.”
“That’s not-”
“It is. The lad’s got an ego, yeah, but the reason he’s here is to score goals. He did that, twice, and you benched him.” Roy glared when Lasso opened his mouth again. “Sam scoring was great, but we won that match because of Jamie. He shouldn’t have stormed off like he did, but I fucking guarantee you he doesn’t even understand why you benched him.”
“I keep telling him he needs to pass.”
“But he knows he needs to win matches, and that’s what he did the other day, and he got punished for it.” Roy snorted and rolled his eyes. “Of fucking course he tried to play off being injured. But I took him to medical after you fucking shouted at him, and he’s to sit out training until he’s healed up.”
“What happened?” Lasso finally demanded, eyes going back to Jamie for just a second before focusing firmly on Roy.
Roy narrowed his eyes but lowered his voice, aware that the lads were keeping a wary eye on their argument. “I told you, he took a beating because he got benched. Then he got shouted at for being injured, so of course he fucking dropped.”
“I didn’t know he was a Little,” Lasso said quietly, finally looking guilty for all the shit he’d put Jamie through.
“And you’re fucking lucky you didn’t, because I’ve got no problem reporting you right along with the arsehole who beat him,” Roy said, just as quiet but with a savagery that Lasso flinched at. “He’s a Little, and he needed medical, and you shouted and dropped him instead. Not much of a leap to interfering with a Little’s needs, yeah?”
“I didn’t know,” Lasso repeated.
“He’s not the only one on the team, either. Did you even fucking read their files?”
At that, Lasso’s eyes widened just a little before he looked over at the lads on the pitch.
“Fuck’s sake,” Roy muttered. “It’s your job to know that shit, Lasso.”
“Roy…”
“I’m not interested in whatever-”
“Roy?”
The word came from behind him this time, in a small, hesitant voice, and Roy whipped around to see Jamie standing a few feet away, chewing nervously on his thumbnail.
“What is it, lad?”
Jamie’s eyes flicked to Lasso for a second before focusing back on Roy. “Wanna go,” he muttered. “Please?”
“Yeah,” Roy agreed, stepping closer to get an arm around the lad’s shoulders. He turned back to Lasso, who was watching the two of them with a troubled look on his face. “I’m taking him home now. We’ll be back tomorrow, but he doesn’t train without medical signing off. And you need to do your fucking homework. Beard and Nate can’t do it forever.” And without waiting for a response, he led Jamie off the pitch, through the dressing room to gather their things, and out to the carpark.
“You yelled at Ted,” the lad finally said, once they were properly on the road.
“He needed to hear it,” Roy said firmly.
A small touch on his arm had him looking over to see Jamie watching him with worried eyes. “Will you get in trouble?”
It had crossed his mind briefly that shouting at the gaffer could bite him in the arse, but he wasn’t all that worried about it. Worst case, if anyone tried to make a fuss, he’d tell them what had happened with Jamie. Not that anyone had cared when he’d taken a piece out of Cartrick the time or two that wanker had crossed the wrong line.
“Don’t worry about that, little lad. Someone needed to tell him he had two Littles on his team.”
“Everyone knows about Bumbercatch,” Jamie said, puzzled.
It was true, the lad had never made a secret of it, and Jamie himself was the only person who’d ever given him shit for it. Shit which the other lads had quickly shut down, and Jamie hadn’t brought it up again. After today, Roy had a much better idea of why Jamie had acted that way, and the rest of the team wouldn’t need to know all the details to embrace his Little side the same the way they had Moe’s.
He was thinking about bringing up the idea when Jamie spoke up again. “Where we goin’, Roy?”
“I’m taking you home.” He’d barely said the words when he flipped on the indicator, then pulled into his driveway.
“I don’t live here,” Jamie said, a little frown marring his features.
“Would you like to?”
He hadn’t meant to say it like that, so fucking casual. Had planned to point out the way the lad dropped so deep and so young, how it didn’t feel safe to have him living on his own. But it was out there now, and Jamie was staring at him again, eyes big and wet and so fucking hopeful.
“You mean it?”
“Yeah, Jamie, I mean it. I don’t think you should be living alone, and I’d like it if you came and stayed with me.”
Jamie blinked a few times like he was holding back tears, then nodded rapidly. Roy didn’t press him for words, just got out of the car and hurried round to open Jamie’s door and escort him into the house.
They only got as far as the living room when Jamie paused, staring around the house before turning back to Roy.
“You want me to live here?” he asked, both hands clasped in front of his chin while he gnawed at a knuckle. “With you?”
“Yes, Jamie, I want you to live here with me.”
Jamie nodded, still watching Roy like he was waiting for the punchline. “You want to be my daddy?”
The word punched Roy in the chest even though he’d never so much as considered it with any Little he’d met in the past. “I’d fucking love that,” he said, surprised to find himself choking on the words.
Jamie’s eyes welled up like he’d never expected Roy to agree. “Daddy,” he whispered, stumbling forward for a hug.
Roy gathered him close, holding the lad for all he was worth. “It’s alright, lamb,” he murmured into Jamie’s hair. “Daddy’s got you.”