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It’s days like this she wonders if setting up the Lady Greyhounds was a good idea.
And then feels immediately guilty that the thought even crossed her mind. Of course it was. Sure, Higgins might now be due a massive payrise for putting up with her shorter-than-usual temper, and Roy might have become a bit more snarly at her constant questions and started calling her Blondie with a little less affection. And then of course there’s Keeley who has been such a gift, but keeps on looking at her with that stupid look in her eye which sometimes feels like caution, and sometimes feels like pity. But the Lady Greyhounds are wonderful and they’re going to be a raging success, goddammit.
She’d just like that success to be a touch gentler on her nerves.
Hanging her coat in its place by the door and kicking off her heels, Rebecca rubs her temples lightly and sighs. There’s really nothing that she wants more than to pour a deep glass of burgundy, run herself a bath, and sink into it for, oh, the next three days. But duty calls, and she has to head to Bournemouth tomorrow for an away game against the Cherries. And boy, doesn’t she know it.
“I’m sorry, love. You know how shit their airport is, they’ve said they don’t have capacity for the jet so I can’t get back in the evening. And the boys have that Bantr shoot on the beach scheduled, so it just makes sense for me to stay down and make sure they don’t do anything stupid.”
The unimpressed “are other club owners as involved with the day-to-day as you are?” had earned an equally as unimpressed “I frankly don’t give a damn if they are or aren’t” and a frosty shoulder until well into the evening. Which was fine. It wasn’t the first time she’d been questioned about her involvement in the club and she didn’t think it would be the last, but she could admit, even if only to herself, the timing isn’t great. She hasn’t been able to see Matt for a number of weeks between their busy schedules, and now she is cutting their time together in half by spending the weekend with her boys, not her boyfriend.
But needs must.
Making her way up the stairs and into her bedroom, she sees Matt’s small suitcase is tucked neatly by his side of the bed as it always is. Never unpacked, never really put away, just ready to be whipped away again on the next wind. She looks at it for a moment and wonders if he really does like living out of his suitcase, or if he doesn’t feel welcome to take up space in her house. He has some items in her drawers; boxers and shirts in her walk-in, phone chargers tucked into a nightstand, and a book in Dutch that she’s never seen him open, but he’s never really left anything more, and she’s never asked him if he’d like to.
Her eyes fall to the dress laid out on the bed that she left there that morning whilst choosing her outfit for the office. A deep mulberry colour with a square neck, it was comfortable enough to fit into her work wardrobe while doubling as a date night dress when needed, and she was pretty sure Matt had said he’d liked her in it before. Though Matt often said he liked her in the dresses that skimmed her figure and dipped at the front, so that probably wasn’t much of an indication as to if he was a fan of the dress or not, but it would do.
Looking at it now, she sighs and drops her head back momentarily. There’s a throbbing behind her eyes that started somewhere around midday and refuses to let up, and it’s definitely not being helped by the tension in her jaw from sitting with fuckwad investors all day, raining questions down on her and looking between themselves with barely suppressed eyerolls at her answers. Painkillers hadn’t touched the sides, and she knows she won’t be on her best form for her date tonight with Matthijs, especially given the frost that he had seemed determined to keep in place when she was getting ready this morning. So as the sun had started to dip an hour ago, she’d taken a deep breath and messaged him before she left the office suggesting they raincheck their dinner out, trying to imbue as much calm into her message as possible.
It’s been a bit of a day from hell. How does it sound if we hunker down this evening instead of going out? Bottle of wine on the sofa and some shit TV? Think it might be good to stay in and talk about last night, too? xx
She desperately wants to clear the air to clear the tension out of her house at the very least.
Now, her phone buzzes briefly and she lifts it in front of her face to read the message, hoping it will be Matthijs agreeing that yes, a takeaway and night in was a splendid idea. But no such luck. Before she can read the message, it buzzes again in her hand.
Ted:
Know you’re rushed off your feet lately, so hope you’re taking some time to yourself this evening before the game (and shoot 📸) in the next couple of days, Boss. You got this 💪
She smiles at the message. Ted had only been back for two or three weeks, and she knows he’s doing his best to slip right back into his old life from his even older life, but she can see the exhaustion taking its toll on him. He’s been relentlessly trying to catch up on all the gossip and stories from his year away, and she can see his disappointment whenever someone casually mentions a story he didn’t know about or laughs at an in-joke. She’s tried to reassure him he’ll be back in on those jokes before he knows it, but she hasn’t quite believed his small nods and his smiles which haven’t reached his eyes.
His message sits right above another.
Matt:
It’s too late to rearrange the reservation now. What else is there to say?
It’s the fucking Crown and Anchor, for christ sake. Mae doesn’t even usually take reservations, but Matt has a quirk that he absolutely insists they book a table a week or so in advance and god forbid plans change. It’s something she hadn’t really taken much notice of at the start of their relationship, but lately she has a sneaking suspicion it’s his way of locking her down, pinning her to a time and a date and a commitment.
It’s one of the many things she’s noticed lately about him that are starting to make her squirm if she thinks about them too long. It had started as helpful little things around the house; a different way of organising her fridge which made it ‘more logical’ or a lighter coffee blend because it was ‘supporting her local coffee shop’. She was perfectly happy with her messy fridge and big-brand coffee, thank you very much. They sit right alongside the increased number of texts asking about her plans, enquiring if she’s seeing Keeley or Roy or Sassy or a pointed someone else. The almost inaudible huffs of laughter when taking calls to finalise Henry’s starting date at his new school, as if her dedication to a child that wasn’t hers was a charming but exhausting hobby he was humouring. The special bite to the word ‘gaffer’ which at first she thought she’d imagined, but is now unequivocal.
It’s not the control she knows from her past life as Mrs Mannion. He’s not stopping her from heading out with her friends or slowly creeping restrictions into her days. This is an entirely different beast, but she hates the way it leaves her skin crawling in a way that feels suspiciously like the ghost of Rupert breathing down her neck.
The two texts sit side by side in her inbox and she looks between them for a moment trying not to read into the stark contrast too deeply, but knowing she’s failing. With a growl of frustration, she spins slightly and throws herself back onto the bed next to her pre-planned dress.
God, what the fuck is she doing?
Matt was a welcome distraction. A really lovely distraction in the two years between her head coach had moved away and throwing herself into setting up the Lady Greys,making sure they had everything they needed to make those young women a success. She enjoyed having him around, looked forward to having him step through her door and sweep her up in his arms, liked sitting beside him for double dates and dinner parties and birthday celebrations.
But his presence was starting to feel stifling, like his arrival meant she needed to drop her plans and focus entirely on him, and she’s not sure if that has come from him or from herself. If she was reading more into his messages and looks, or if they really had become more pointed and exasperated.
Sitting up, she sighs and throws her phone to the side before taking a deep breath and heading downstairs to the kitchen. She’s decided she’ll have the wine she’s been thinking about all day whilst she’s getting ready and she tells herself it’s because it’ll take the edge off her day, not the upcoming date with her boyfriend.
***
He’s already there when she walks in. He’s tapping away on his phone and doesn’t look up right away when she gets to his side through the smaller-than-usual crowd, instead choosing to finish his message before greeting her. She tries not to let that irk her. She fails.
When he does stand to greet her, his eyes sweep over her dress momentarily, but he says nothing but a ‘hello’ as he presses a brief kiss to her cheek, his hand landing momentarily to her hip as he partially guides her to the seat opposite him.
She shakes her hair out of her face as she settles, and lets out a big sigh followed by a smile at him. He quirks one back but says nothing. There’s a pause and she feels the smile slip from her lips as she clasps her hands in front of her.
We’re still on the icy front then. Wonderful.
“Well,” she says, clapping her hands together slightly, widening her eyes and pinching her mouth. Matt looks at her and mirrors her clasped hands on the table in front of him.
“Well,” he repeats.
“How was your day?” she asks for want of anything better to say. He pauses before he answers, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly before he shrugs it off and answers.
“Not bad. I found the dry cleaner you mentioned.”
She nods. He’d thrown a coffee down himself on the way from the airport and it had been the first thing he’d mentioned when he’d walked through her door yesterday afternoon before he’d kissed her cheek.
“That’s good,” she says, playing with a slight hang nail on her left hand.
“Have you had a wine already?” he asks, and she’s a little startled by the sudden change of topic and the abruptness of the question. She pauses before answering.
“I had one while I was getting ready,” Rebecca confirms. He nods very slightly but doesn’t respond, and she can feel her hackles rising but he simply stays looking at her placidly, not commenting.
“I told you I had a long, horrific day. The investors were on my dick again, and Ted’s still trying to arrange these bonding trips with the -” she stops herself as she sees more than hears him huffing a small laugh.
Her eyes narrow.
“Do we have a problem here?” she asks, her voice dropping to a pitch that she knows had left weaker men cowering.
“I don’t know, Rebecca. Do we?” She sits back in her seat, crossing her arms over her torso.
“Do you really want to do this here?” Matt sits back in his seat mirroring her body language by crossing his own arms. He’s entirely calm which she finds pisses her off even more. It had been something she had found so attractive about him at first, his stoic way of not being too forceful, gently letting her take the lead, nudging her in the direction of what he wanted without being too controlling or overwhelming. But more and more, it's getting under her skin, his calmness feeling less like a trait she loves and more like a weapon. She knows he’s waiting for her to get irate. It’s one of the ways she’s found he argues; not confronting a problem head on, but poking and alluding to a problem until she has to be the one to name it or sit with his cold shoulder until the next time he comes back to London.
He pauses before responding.
“Do what?” he asks cooly, and Rebecca’s temper flares. She leans forward into him, arms crossed on the table as she tries to keep her voice level to not attract the attention of the patrons around her.
“Matt, cut it out. If you have something to say, be a grown man and say it.” He quirks his head slightly.
“I don’t know what you mean”. Her hand comes out and slaps the table lightly.
“Cut the shit. You’re pissed off I won’t be around tomorrow and I’m sorry about that. I know it’s not ideal but I tried to make it work and I can’t. I need to be there -”
“Do you?” he cuts in, and she takes a calming breath.
“Yes, Matthijs. I do.” She rarely calls him by his full name, and she sees him notice. “I said that we need to talk, and you insisted we come here and that you didn’t know what I could possibly want to talk about. I’ve had a long as fuck day, and now you want to hash this out here? Really?” she says with contempt, and pulls back from him as she notices Mae coming towards them from across the bar.
Mae takes one look at Rebecca’s clenched jaw and her smile gets bigger.
“Everything okay here, love?” she asks, entirely misreading the level of annoyance at the table. “Haven’t seen you this heated since Ted forgot all about my Richmond-themed pub quiz”. Rebecca gives a small breath of laughter at the memory and feels her anger momentarily ease every so slightly. Until;
“Surprised you didn’t go and get him. Drag him back to where you wanted him.” Matt’s looking at her pointedly across the table, and Rebecca feels her annoyance flare red hot.
“Oh, don’t you worry. She absolutely did,” Mae laughs. “Practically pulled him from his flat by his ear.”
Rebecca gives her a small smile. She can feel Matt’s eyes boring into the side of her face which she pointedly ignores.
“I’m sure it was quite the quiz,” Matt deadpans, and Mae’s smile drops slightly at his flat tone. Rebecca feels her hand clench.
“Just a glass of the Malbec please, Mae,” she locks eyes pointedly with Matt across from her. “Large.”
Mae nods and looks to Matt who shakes his head and aves her away with the back of his hand.
As soon as Mae is out of earshot, Rebecca begins again.
“There is absolutely no need to be rude to Mae just because you’re mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you,” Matt says simply. Rebecca raises a cynical eyebrow.
“Oh, really?” she says dryly and then scoffs. “Is this what this is all about? Again? Seriously?”
Matt looks at her flatly.
“For the love of god, Matt. It was four days. We needed him back here, for Christ’s sake. You know that” She throws her hands in the air with exasperation, but Matt stays frustratingly stoic.
“It was four days over our anniversary”.
“You said you wouldn’t be able to make it to London for it!”
“I made sure I could be though, didn’t I”. They’d already had this conversation-slash-spat and yes, she felt awful about it, but how the hell was she supposed to know that he would rearrange his shifts so he could come and surprise her, only to be met with an empty house. And yes maybe she had ignored a number of his calls when her phone had started blowing up because she was elbow deep in barbeque and soaking up every second of the easy warmth that had been missing from her life for far too long. But she’d answered eventually, and her stomach had truly dropped when she’d realised what the hell had happened, and she’d apologised profusely. Many many times. But Jesus, this was getting old and she wasn’t sure how many more times she could go over this fucking topic.
“Yes, Matt. You did. And I wasn’t there, and I’m sorry, and it was shit and awkward and frustrating. And it was months ago. And you’ve not let it go.”
He shrugs, and Rebecca is hit with a crashing realisation.
She can’t do this. She can’t fucking do this. She’d had the clarity that she needs to be brave enough to let someone wonderful love her, but she absolutely could not force this to be that love. She can’t sit and have this conversation again where she is supposed to be remorseful and apologetic by doing what was best for her team and for herself. Getting Ted back had been a split second decision, but she’d felt alive when she’d grabbed Keeley and Higgins and bundled them onto the jet without any clothes, toothbrushes, or second thoughts. They’d sat and sipped champagne flying over the Atlantic ocean and they’d all burst into hysterical and slightly manic laughter when the adrenaline had started to wear off and Keeley had asked “are we insane for doing this?” and Rebecca had said “I think we are” and Higgins had made one of his horrific gagging noises. She can’t apologise for the stomach-flipping thrill of seeing Ted arriving at the airport, and the sweat on her palms as he told her he couldn’t come with her right now, but he’d be following her shortly. She can’t explain the tears that had sprung up in her eyes as he’d pressed a small pink box into her hands and how they had tasted more like home than should have been possible standing 4,000 miles away from Richmond in a bejewelled blazer made of imitation denim.
She can’t, and she refuses to.
Rebecca takes a slow sip of her wine before placing the glass back down on the table and nudging it slightly so the stem lines up perfectly with the grain of the wooden table surface. She takes a moment to play with the glass, twisting it in place, and then looks up at Matt and smiles gently. The anger seems to have dissipated from her body, and she’s left with nothing but gratitude for the time they’ve had together, and a vague sense of disappointment for opportunities lost. Matt looks back at her impassively, waiting for her to speak.
She shakes her head gently, a sad smile playing on her lips.
“I won’t have this conversation again, Matthijs,” she says, gentle but firm. It’s not what Matt seems to expect, and his brow furrows slightly. Rebecca shakes her head again, firmer this time. “I won’t apologise any more for getting Ted back. If you don’t understand that I needed to do it - why I needed to do it…” she trails off and gives a shrug.
“I’m not asking for you to apologise again,” Matt starts, and Rebecca cuts him off by holding her hand up.
“You are. You don’t want me to apologise for going to get him, you want me to apologise for choosing him.” It’s clearer to her now that it ever has been before. She chose Ted. And she’s struck by the realisation that she’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Matt looks dumbstruck, and she thinks he may have had the same realisation she has.
Rebecca takes another sip of her almost-full wine, and then stands, adjusting her dress over her hips and dropping her bag into the crook of her arm. She places a hand on Matt’s cheek as she stands beside him, and smiles down at him, all trace of annoyance or anger gone.
“I’ve spent too many years apologising for things I wasn’t sorry for. I won’t do it again,” she says gently, her thumb stroking over his cheekbone. She sees him swallow.
“Rebecca…” but he doesn’t seem able to find the words and she moves her hand from his cheek to his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.
“I am sorry about this, though. You’re a very special man.” She hopes he knows she means it. He’s just not the man for her.
Matt nods and gives her a small smile. Turning his head, he plants a small kiss to the back of her hand where it rests on his shoulder. With one more squeeze, she pulls away, hitches her bag onto her shoulder, and makes her way out of the pub and onto the familiar street. The sun’s setting and she can hear her bath calling for her. But first, she pulls out her phone and sees the unanswered message from Ted. She smiles as she rereads the message. It’s so like him to check in and make sure she was doing okay, especially after meetings with the investors he knows never fail to give her a headache which tends to linger for a day or two.
They’re definitely not entirely fine; their interactions are still a little stilted, and she sometimes feels him holding back on the easy jokes or comments that he used to offer so easily. It’s something she hasn’t allowed herself to examine too closely, and she’s still a little heart hurt about how things had panned out over the last couple of years, but the sheer relief she’d felt in front of that jet in the Kansas heat when he’d promised her he’d be coming back and she wouldn’t need to embark on a delayed Eat Drink Fuck tour by far outweighed the pain she’d endured those couple of years.
Maybe it was time she did start looking at the inconvenient stomach flips and the skipped heart beats that seemed to be intrinsically linked to him. And she will, she decides. She’ll be brave and unapologetic. She can do that.
Thanks, Ted. Hasn’t been the easiest of evenings, but I’m heading home to take my makeup off and soak it away 🛁🍷
Rebecca smiles at her own use of emojis and briefly marvels at the combined impact of Keeley and Ted on her texting habits. She takes a breath.
And, hey. If you’re free after the game tomorrow, maybe we could grab a drink? Think we maybe need to talk? Xx
She hits send before she can overthink, and lets out a deliberately slow, cleansing breath. She can do this. She can.
As she starts to make her way across the green, she smiles softly to herself. If nothing else, no matter what happens, she’s proud of taking the reins of her own life back again instead of allowing control to slip through her fingers. She’s proud of being open to something that could be wonderful.
As her house is coming into view and she’s nearly across the green, her phone pings and her heart jumps.
Ted:
Proud of you, Boss. Whatever you need after today is the way to go! Maxin, relaxin like the Fresh Prince ✌️
Quickly followed by
Good thing talking to you is one of my favorite things to do. I’ll be there. Want me to make a reservation somewhere?
She rereads both of his messages and feels her stomach flutter pleasantly before replying.
Reservations are overrated. Let’s play it by ear. Looking forward to it x
The ‘read’ comes up immediately, then those infuriating little bubbles stopping and starting once or twice, and then;
Ted:
You got it. Sounds perfect. Me too, Rebecca xx
She finds herself suppressing a smile and feeling like a bloody teenager. She looks at the two little kisses he’s put at the end, a true British-ism he’s picked up but uses sparingly and only ever - as far as she remembers - a lone kiss. Locking her screen, she continues her way back home, excited for her bath and wine, but even more excited for tomorrow.