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Ted had always liked the idea of being a morning person more than the reality: he could sing the praises of the sunrise and the early bird who got the worm ’til his throat went dry, but when it came right down to it, he pried himself out of bed bright and early every morning through the same hard-headed determination that’d had him ignoring the chants of wanker when he first got to town. 

On the fine Monday of October 5th, he’d lost the battle of keep his finger off the snooze button three times; enough that by the time he’d showered and brushed his teeth and eaten his big piece of cereal — they sure were a peculiar folk, the British, but on this one point efficient as all get out — Beard had texted telling him not to wait, he’d gone in already, and the park was empty of Shannon and all her friends, which just went to show the wisdom of age did not the gift of punctuality grant. 

Still, a glance at his watch told him he was running late at the pace of a light jog rather than a full-on sprint, which was to say the type where he didn’t have time to stop and chat on his way in rather than the type where the players got in before him and he had some real awkward explaining to do about how he’d tried out the new restaurant down the street and ooh, boy, it had not agreed with him — the only cars in the parking lot were the sensible types driven by the staff, not the flashy sports cars that seemed to draw young people like flies to honey the second they had a little spare change in their pockets. 

The door to the coaches’ office was unlocked when he reached it, no surprise there, and neither was the slumped shape in Beard’s chair, at least not ’til he stepped inside to find that shape dressed in his undershirt with a whole family vacation worth of bags under his eyes and his hair flattened down on the side. 

“Hold on, you slept here last night?” Ted asked, though he had a pretty good feeling he knew. “Why?” 

Beard let out a sigh halfway between dreamy and resigned. “Jane and I got in a fight last night and she threw my keys in the river.” 

Ted figured he knew more about Beard than just about anyone in the world besides the man himself, but his relationships had always been a bit of a mystery — could never quite understand the appeal of all that tumult; the wildfire intensity, the fights where you got your keys thrown in the river but if there was one thing he’d learned in life it was that sometimes it was best to live and let live, keep his judgements to himself. 

So he pasted on a smile and said, “Hey, you two are like Frank Sinatra and Ava Gardner, you know? Or Frank Sinatra and Mia Farrow. Or Frank and— you know what? I’m starting to realize that ol’ blue eyes might’ve skewed mercurial.” And then, “What time is it?” 

“9:20.” 

Hey, not so late after all. “Right, I’ll be back!” 

Ted had realized early in his coaching career that the team wasn’t just his boys out there on the field and the coaches on the sidelines but everyone: the trainers and the nutritionists, Keeley and Rebecca and all those lovely folks doing jobs that made his head spin up in their offices, Kenneth the bus driver and the maintenance folks and even René down in his tunnel. So on his first full day at Richmond, he’d gone out on the pitch while Carl was doing his daily rounds on the mower and got to chatting, and if his regularly scheduled ride on the back of that beauty just so happened to put him out by the parking lot when Roy swung by to drop Keeley off, well, that was just a happy coincidence.

“Morning, Ted!” And speak of the Devil, if the Devil made the peculiar choice to manifest as just about the kindest person he’d ever met, and had a real unique fashion sense, too.

“Hi, Keeley!” He climbed off the mower and jogged towards her, peering through the window of Roy’s boxy black hulk of a car. The man himself scowled back. “Uh-oh, is that big bad Roy Kent in there?” 

Big bad Roy Kent scowled harder, peeled off in a scream of rubber on asphalt. A flare of worry lit in his stomach, same as it always did when he thought about Roy these days. Real tough thing, losing a career like that. 

“Sorry, he’s in a big rush,” Keeley said. 

“That’s okay. Hey, you know mime is money, right?” 

Keeley offered a tight-lipped smile; nodded at Carl carrying on his rounds on the mower. “That looked like fun.” 

He could spot a redirect when he saw it, and this one had big flashing neon lights. “Oh, yeah. No, it’s a blast, and good for my sciatica, too. The vibrations really help out my butt.” 

“Wow.” 

And then the doc rode up on her strange, tiny-wheeled bike, and his stomach swooped. He was real happy she’d helped Dani, ‘course he was, but there was something plain unnatural about hiring someone to listen to your problems when they didn’t know a dang thing about you or care besides — but no use dwelling on that now, when she’d already come and done what they’d brought her in to do. “That’s a cool bike.”

They watched as she folded it up and carried it inside. “That’s not a bike, that’s a transformer!” Keeley said. 

“Yeah, she really is more than meets the eye, ain’t she.” Ted turned towards her, raising his voice. “Hey, Doc…tor Sharon!” 

The good doctor turned towards them, hiking the strange little bike up in her arms. “Good morning.” 

Ted watched the door swing shut behind her, the tight feeling in his stomach only growing. “What’s she doing back here? Don’t we have direct deposit?” 

“I thought Higgins hired her for the season, didn’t he?” 

His body went buzzing hot, hands tingling and chest tight like he was about to dissolve into  panic attack right there in the parking lot for no good reason at all. Nothing wrong with a sports psych, even if they weren’t his cup of tea — actual tea wasn’t much his cup of tea, either, and plenty of folks loved that disgusting leaf water. 

“Huh,” he said faintly. “Well, ain’t that something. Nice seeing you, Keeley.” 

By the time he made it back to the office, he’d shoved the hot sparking kernel of… something in his chest back under the carpet where it belonged, safe and covered where it couldn’t hurt anyone; gave it an extra little stomp for good measure when he caught sight of Higgins by the office door.

“Hey, Higgins, did you hire Doctor Sharon without running it by me first?” he asked, sharp, but Higgins looked so contrite he regretted it right away. 

“Uh, yes, I thought it couldn’t hurt,” he said. “But I should’ve asked you first, Ted. You’re absolutely right.” 

“No, I’m dead wrong. I mean, heck, you’re Director of Football Operations. You know, you gotta be able to make your own decisions.” And he was mighty good at it, usually, but why that decision had to be to hire a therapist… “Still, you should’ve texted me first.” No, that was dang stupid of him. He’d said he trusted the man, and he’d meant it; wouldn’t do any of them good to go around acting like he didn’t. 

“That’s one hundred percent true,” Higgins said. 

“No, that’s one thousand percent false! I mean, you’re a busy man! Whatever path you think is best is gonna be best. Still, next time you got plans, I want you to run ‘em by me first. Okay?” 

Higgins studied him up and down. Man had a sharp mind under the unassuming exterior. Not that there was anything wrong with an unassuming exterior; Ted was the proud owner of one himself. “No, I will not.” 

“Good! Why should you? I ain’t your daddy.” He took a steadying breath. “Okay, great. We got ourselves a new member of the team. That’s fine. I ain’t got no— why’s it smell like my nana’s house in here?” 

Nate’s long and detailed explanation of why it smelled like his nana’s house in there proved an effective distraction, at least — he sure had a passion for the finer points of the job, and for all Ted might not understand exactly what was so bad about lavender, he couldn’t fault the attitude. By the time it’d reached its thrilling conclusion, Ted had come to a conclusion of his own: Dr. Sharon was a member of the Richmond family now, and he’d be damned if he let anyone join that family without a proper welcome, no matter how many of their deep dark secrets she planned to pry out of them. 

“That’s mighty interesting, Nate,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “Here I was thinking soap just had the power to make things smell nice when really there’s a whole load of science just lurking there beneath the surface.”

“Usually is, Coach,” Beard said. 

“I ain’t got the mind for all that, I can tell you — guess that’d be more of the good doctor’s lane right there. Speaking of…” 

“Yeah. Of course. Always things to do, aren’t there,” Nate said, already turning away to rifle vigorously through a stack of papers. 

Ted left him to it, bounded up the stairs two at a time and burst into Higgins’ ex-office — or rather, ex-Higgins’ office, seeing how it was still an office, just re-labeled and reoccupied — before he could talk himself out of it; found her with her back to the door, setting up her things on the desk.

“The Ted Lasso welcome wagon has arrived!” he announced, a little out of breath. Might have to take a page out of the boys’ book and start running laps, the way he got to huffing and puffing from just a bit of hurrying.

“Please don’t barge in here like that,” Dr. Sharon said sharply. “I could have been in session.” 

Not the friendliest of campers, there. “Oh, right, of course. I’m sorry,” he said. Privately he wasn’t so sure it’d be a bad thing, having him sit in, make sure she didn’t get in anyone’s head in a way they didn’t want her to be. 

“Can I help you with something?” 

He held out the box of biscuits. “Well, yeah — I brought you a little something for your first day at work.” 

“No, thank you.” Well, he’d run into that one before — heck, Rebecca’d just about tried to shove him and his biscuits out the door the first morning, and look where they were now. “Come on, now. Just try a little bite, huh?” 

Dr. Sharon opened the box slowly and took a bite, looking more dubious than an innocent little box of sugar and flour warranted, if you asked him. 

“That’s very thoughtful, Coach Lasso, but I don’t eat sugar.” 

“Really? Wow, I’ve never met someone who doesn’t eat sugar, only heard about ‘em.” He grinned. “And they all live in this godless place called Santa Monica.” 

She set the box in her lap with a cool look, offering the tiniest hint of what could maybe be considered a smile if he looked at her sideways. “Trust me, it’s in everyone’s best interest. In a past life, I would inhale a Cadbury Flake, talk nonsense for an hour until I passed out.” 

That seemed like a mighty good time, or at least an illuminating one, and also like it’d make her a whole lot more fun to be around. “I’m the same way with video games,” he said. 

“How so?” 

“Oh, you know, it’s just something in my life I really enjoy, but then I pretend that preventing myself from having ‘em is somehow making my life better. But in reality, all I’m doing is depriving myself of something that makes me happy instead of adjusting my relationship with it.” 

That’d maybe been a little more pointed than he’d meant, and now Dr. Sharon was looking at him like Jerry Richter in the public pool back in the tenth grade, all cool and placid on the outside but ready to pounce; only instead of grabbing him by the legs and dunking him underwater she’d try to therapize him, charge him and arm and a leg for it and maybe a few extra body parts, too, if Dr. Jacob was anything to go on. 

He dropped into the seat across from her. “Hey, what’s your favourite book?” 

“This is interesting.” Her eyes raked over him like she had some sort of freaky x-ray vision  that let her peer straight through his skull to all his deep, dark secrets. 

“What is? That my answer’s The Fountainhead? I know, curveball, right? But I can explain.” 

“No, what you’re doing here. This is obviously your way of connecting with new people.” She leaned forward and he stopped himself leaning back, palms sweaty where they were clasped on his knees. “Makes sense. It’s very disarming.” She pushed herself to her feet; he trailed after her as she walked to the door. “If it’s okay with you, Coach Lasso, I’d like to observe training today. See how everything’s functioning.” 

The thought of that made him feel a little sick to his stomach, truth be told, but heck, they’d already brought her on board. Might as well let her see the whole ship. “Yeah, no, of course. You got a backstage pass. Full access.” 

“Thank you.” She handed him the biscuit box, herded him out into the hall, and shut the door in his face. He blinked at the polished wood surface then down at the box in his hand. Turned and headed for Rebecca’s office, where he found Higgins balancing a box of office supplies in his arms, a philodendron poking out the top. 

“Hey, Higgins. Who’s your friend here?” He shook the philodendron’s hand. Leaf. Whatever the correct terminology was when one was anthropomorphizing a plant for the purpose of a pun. “Hi, Robert, my name’s Ted.” 

Higgins dug out a sheet of paper. “Hey, my name’s Jimmy.” 

“Jimmy Paper?” Higgins shot him a disbelieving look. “Page! Oh, I goofed that. I’m sorry, that was a great one. Dang it.” He waved goodbye to Higgins and Robert and Jimmy and slumped into his usual seat at Rebecca’s desk, holding out the biscuit box. “Hey, boss. Here you go.” 

She held up the half-eaten biscuit. “What’s this?” 

“Oh, I tried to give your biscuits to Dr. Sharon.” 

“You did what?” Rebecca asked, affronted. 

“Evidently, she doesn’t eat sugar.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “What a fucking asshole.” 

Well, harsher language than he’d use, but he wasn’t about to dispute it. “You ever been to a therapist, Rebecca?” 

She snorted. “What for? I can diagnose myself in a heartbeat. I thought being invulnerable would protect me so I pushed people away for years, leading me directly to my greatest fear: being alone. Big whoop.” Her voice came out fast and a little unsteady — not that he could judge; he was feeling a little unsteady himself. 

“Big whoop, yeah,” he said. “I don’t get it. Why pay someone to do what a friend should do for free?” 

“Exactly. I mean, that’s why you have friends, isn’t it? To burden them with your issues and anxieties?” 

“Right, yeah,” he said. “Speaking of, you got anything you wanna get off your chest?” They stared at each other, Ted with his hands still trembling faintly in his lap, Rebecca briskly wiping away the biscuit crumbs on her desk. 

After a moment, she straightened, planting her arms on the desk. “No. You?” 

“No.” They stared at each other some more. 

“See, there you have it,” Rebecca said. 

“Exactly.” Ted climbed to his feet. “See you later, boss.” 

*

Beard had the team running warm-ups when he made his way down to the field, the whole lot of ‘em dragging and grumbling and generally looking like just about the sorriest bunch of athletes he’d ever laid eyes on. 

They’d put on a real brave face through the first three ties — draws —, clapped each other on the back in the locker room and showed up to practice the next day as happy little goldfish ready to swim their hearts out, but by the fourth they started looking a little despondent, and by the fifth, a heavy cloud had taken up residence above the Nelson Road locker room, not helped much by Jan Maas’ dire predictions or by the tension radiating off Isaac like one of his eye-catching jackets, snapping at his teammates to pull it together, did they want to spend another season in the Championship League? 

Winning might not be everything, but even Ted could admit a win would do ‘em a whole heck of a lot of good, prove they were still a fantastic bunch of athletes even without Roy and Jamie; they just needed some time to find their footing. 

Practice dragged by slow. Ted stood on the sidelines with his hands planted at his hips, shouting encouragement each time the boys fumbled the ball, the back of his neck prickling — Dr. Sharon had set up behind him on the top row of the bleachers with her notepad and her pens and a head full of judgements packaged and meted out in therapy-speak. 

To his left, Beard stood with his arms crossed tight and a deep frown on his face; to his right, Nate drummed his fingers against the drinks table, splitting his attention between Will and the team like he was worried the wrong flavour of sports drink would compound whatever terrible influence the lavender detergent had apparently had on their play. 

“Man, they’re more dispirited than a house fresh from an exorcism,” he said as he and Beard watched them trail inside for lunch, hours later. 

“Think it’s just a morale problem?” Beard asked. 

“Heck yeah, I do. I mean, look at what we did last season. Nearly beat Man City, and there may be a whole lot I don’t understand about this beautiful, confusing game, but even I know that’s an accomplishment. They’re just tripping themselves up, you know?” 

“Hmm,” Beard said. 

“You don’t think so?” 

“No.” 

“No, you don’t think so, or no, you don’t not think so?” 

“I want to know you remember what we talked about last year,” Beard said. “Fixing morale’s not the goal. Winning is the goal, and fixing morale is a way of doing that.”

“Well, I think improving morale’s a worthy cause on its own, but I hear you, Beardo. Lots of folks relying on us.” 

Beard clapped him on the shoulder. “Good.” 

They tossed ideas back and forth as they ate in the office — another bonfire, a birthday party (a quick text to Higgins vetoed that one; apparently there wasn’t one ’til Dani in early November), laser tag, mushrooms… 

“I think there might be some regulatory boards getting in the way of that one, sorry bud,”  Ted said. “Unless you mean stuffed portobellos like Tammy Stevens used to make, you remember that?” 

“Spectacular.” 

“Yes, sir indeed,” Ted said. “Hey, maybe I should text her. Good food makes everyone feel better.” 

He picked up his phone, idly — he hadn’t seen Tammy since his university days and was relatively certain he didn’t have a current number — and did a double-take, blinking down at the screen in surprise like the letters would transmute themselves into a different shape. But nope, there it was plain as day: can we meet up? in little block letters, and above it, From: Jamie Tartt. 

Ted had made a point, back when he started coaching, never to delete any of his players’ numbers, no matter the havoc it wreaked on his address book; gathered them around before their last game and told them he was real proud to have been their coach and to go ahead and give him a shout if they ever had the inclination.

He’d had more than a few take him up on it over the years, whether for a friendly drink or a minor emergency, and he’d never regretted making the offer — but if he were a gambling man he wouldn’t’ve put any money on this one. He’d kept an eye on Jamie, on and off; watched his games if they happened to come on TV and even a handful of minutes of that reality show.

Sure thing, bud, he typed. Crown & Anchor work for you? 

Jamie wrote back right away: yes, coach.

He was distracted the rest of practice, thumbing through news articles between drills. Jamie’d been dropped from Lust Conquers All a couple of days past, it turned out; seemed like he’d caused a whole hullabaloo with a young lady and a hot tub, which Ted didn’t bother investigating further — his boys (or former boys, in this case) could do whatever they liked with their bodies off the field as long as they and everyone else involved were being safe about it, but it was none of his business even when it was printed in the tabloids for everyone to see. 

Jamie’d been dropped from the show, and then he’d been dropped from Man City; found out about it right there live on TV, from the looks of it. Ted watched the clip with the sound off, Jamie dressed all in black with his hair slicked back, eyes going wide and shocked. Beard’s mouth twitched up in a half-smile, a man in Schadenfreude if he’d ever seen one, but Ted preferred to keep his Schaden un-Freude’d. He’d give the kid a fair shake; some advice if he was willing to listen — seemed like he had been for a second there last season, making that extra pass that got Richmond relegated and before that with arms slung around Dani’s shoulders in the flickering firelight as he sung into the night sky. 

*

That evening, Ted watched out the corner of his eye as Jamie slid up next to him at the bar, arms braced against the polished wood. He set the army man on the surface between them. 

“I named him Ted,” he said, quiet and a little sheepish, voice stripped of its usual bravado. “After Ted Danson.” 

“All time great,” Ted agreed. Kept his eyes forward; Jamie seemed a mite nervous, like he’d rabbit on out of there if he made any sudden moves. “You know, from Cheers to Curb to the Good Place; what a career. I mean, he’s basically the male version of Julia Louis-Dreyfus.” 

“Who’s like the female version of Dave Grohl,” Jamie said. 

“Yeah, all three of them got that Midas touch, don’t they?” Jamie said nothing, still stood at his side. Looked like he’d have to be the one to get this one rolling. “Nice to see ya, Jamie. Take a seat.” He did, finally, slid onto the bar stool and hunched in on himself, tugging at his sleeves. “How you been?” 

“Uh, awesome.” Well, that sounded more like him, confidence and all. Less like the truth, though.

“Yeah?” 

“The best,” Jamie said. Then, softer, “Pretty good. Okay. A little depressed. It’s all shit, Ted.” 

“That’s a real rollercoaster, there,” Ted said. This was familiar enough, at least; he’d helped plenty of kids through a rough patch. “Glad I was tall enough to join you on that ride. Anything I can help you with?” 

Jamie rubbed his thumb over the army man, avoiding his eyes. “Uh, so I was talking to Keeley and I was wondering, like, what the chances were of me coming back to play at Richmond?” 

Should’ve seen that one coming, maybe, what with Jamie being freshly out of a club, but it came as a shock all the same, a glass of cold water dumped over his head. He’d been furious when he found out that Rebecca’d sent him away, real, proper furious like he hadn’t been in years, bubbling hot under his skin. All that work trying to get Jamie to be one of eleven and just when it seemed like he was getting through to him, he was gone, hours up the road in Manchester. 

But then… the team had done well, afterwards, without the oppressive cloud of Jamie’s sniping and his explosive fights with Roy, and it’d sure made his job a heck of a lot easier, not that that was the important bit. And then Jamie’d started mouthing off about them on TV, and Ted started to think maybe he hadn’t gotten through to him quite as much as he’d thought. Wished the kid well, of course, but somewhere other than Richmond. 

“I don’t know, Jamie. You burned a lot of bridges over there.” 

“Look, coach, I need Richmond,” Jamie said, still in that strange, soft voice. 

“And Richmond needs you.” Mae slid him a pint, shooting Ted a hard look.  

Jamie cupped it between his palms without taking a sip. “Cheers,” he said. Then, as she turned leave, “Uh, actually, Mae, would you be a darling and ask those lads at the end of the bar to stop staring at me, please?” 

“Oi, you three, fuck off.” Baz, Paul, and Jeremy bustled off, mumbling their apologies. Jamie’s shoulders eased a little as he watched. 

“Old people are so wise. They’re like tall Yodas.” 

Ted held up his glass. “Cheers.” 

“Cheers.” Jamie clinked it with his own, raised it to his mouth then set it down without taking a drink. Ted had known some athletes over the years who preferred not to drink, but he hadn’t thought Jamie was one of ‘em. Maybe he was trying to get himself back in shape after his time away. 

“Jamie, let me ask you something. Why’d you do that reality show? You were getting good minutes up at City.” 

Jamie shrugged. “Dunno, just thought it’d be fun. Help boost me brand,” he said, too fast. Ted said nothing. Had to wait for ‘em to come to you, sometimes, and this time Jamie did. “Did it to piss off me dad.” Something inside Ted flinched back. His leg jogged, itched to push up and run, but Jamie pressed on, quiet and tense. “He was just on me after every match. How I played, how many minutes I played, how I sat on the bench when I didn’t play. Just drove me fucking mad.” His fingers tapped against the glass. “He can be a bit…” 

You’re better than that, Jamie! He’d looked small, sitting on the treatment room table with his head bowed, frozen still when usually he was all constant, restless movement. But it was his dad. A flawed man, for sure, rough around the edges, but football got the blood up in England same as it did in America. Ted had seen more than a few good parents put their worst foot forward in the locker room or up in the stands, and just as many young men shove away the hands just trying to guide them on the right path.

“You know, I’ve noticed that sometimes having a tough dad is exactly what drives certain fellas to become great at what they do,” Ted said. “I hear Bono’s father was a real piece of work, but then again, so was Joshua Tree, so, you know…” 

Jamie shrugged again. His shoulders hiked up higher, hands vanishing into his sleeves. “What about you? Was your old man like that?” 

Ted breathed through the hard squeeze in his chest. “No. No, my father was a lot harder on himself than he ever was on me.” 

“You’re lucky,” Jamie said. “So what do you say then, coach?” 

“Jamie, you’re an amazing player, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

“Yeah.” Jamie tucked the army man into his hoodie pocket. Offered a little half-nod and a twitch of his mouth that might have been a smile, then turned and headed for the door. 

Ted watched as it swung shut behind him. “Another, Mae?” 

She shot a pointed, disapproving look at Jamie’s empty spot when she brought it over, but bring it over she did, and then another after that ’til it tamped down the twisting sickness in his stomach.

*

Ted dragged himself out of bed the next morning with a headache pounding behind his eyes, swallowed his painkillers and his bowl of cereal in time to meet Beard at the front door, equipped with two cups of take-out coffee. 

Ted took one and down half of it in one go, scalding his tongue in the process. “Ooh, that’s the stuff.” He looked Beard up and down — he was dressed in his usual Richmond jacket and looked decently shevelled. “Hey, you get that key situation sorted?” 

“I’m staying with Jane,” he said. “How’d it go with Jamie?” 

“Told him it’s not a good fit,” Ted said. “He’s one heck of a talented young man, he’ll land on his feet.”

“Hmm.” 

By the time they made it to Nelson Road, the fresh air had finished the job the coffee started and smoothed out the last of the jitters — not that they stayed gone long, with Dr. Sharon up in the stands again and the boys sending glares his way like he’d snuck into their homes and stolen all their prized possessions.

“Somebody order training extra spicy today?” Beard asked as they watched Colin brush himself off from a particularly brutal tackle by Sam, of all people. 

“Yeah, got that Nando’s peri-peri sauce on it, huh?” Not exactly the foot he wanted to put forward when they had an audience with a psych degree. “How come every time I look back there it’s like she’s getting closer and closer?”

“Optical illusion induced by your mistrust of her profession?” Beard suggested. 

“Metaphor, huh?”

“Bingo, Ringo.” Will handed him a little plastic cup of sports drink and he took a sip: tangy and a bit tropical. That kid had a real talent for mixing flavours. Nate followed suit and spat it out on the grass. A talent catering to particular tastes, apparently. 

“Is— is there pineapple in this?” he demanded. “Jesus Christ. I’m with Ted, we’ve been overrun by incompetent outsiders.” 

“I don’t think I said that, did I?” 

Beard shrugged. “Not to me. It was him.” 

“Yeah.” And there was that prickling at the back of his neck again. Ted turned to look up at the stands. “Oh, come on, she’s definitely getting closer.” 

Out on the pitch, Sam passed to Dani — or passed in the general direction of Dani, more accurately. A love tap where it should’ve been a full on love whack, as it were. 

“Hey, Nate, hit me two times, will you?” The boys turned to him at the sound of Nate’s whistle, still grumbling. Except Sam, who turned to go after the ball without waiting to see what the fuss was about. 

“Hey, Sam, hold up.” Sam kept on ’til Ted got a hand on his shoulder. “Hey! Look, baby, when you make that pass, you gotta put some grass under it, alright? Make Dani chase it down like it’s a loose toddler in a busy parking lot.” He’d done that with Henry once or twice back when he was a precocious little explorer who saw a car as a glittery fascinating contraption and not several thousand pounds worth of bone-crushing metal. 

“Oh, what, so you think you can do better?” Sam snapped. Well, that was new. Ted had been half convinced the kid had an endless well of patience in there. “Come out here and do it, then.” 

“Oi! Easy, bruv,” Isaac said. 

“No, no, no, that’s okay,” Ted said quickly. The last thing they needed was the good captain getting up in arms defending his honour. “Sam’s right. There ain’t nothing going on out here on this field that I can do better than any of y’all, unless you break into a game of finish that Jimmy Buffet lyric. Then I’ll be changing your latitudes and attitudes left, right, and centre. You—” Sam turned and stormed away. Ted jogged after him, caught him at the entrance to the tunnel. “Hey, Sam. I’m just trying to help the team, here.”

“Bullshit.” 

He watched Sam’s retreating back, baffled. “Okay.” Turned back to the team, all staring between him and the space where Sam had been. “Um, I’m gonna see what that’s all about here, real quick.” And they had the good doctor visiting, too, teleporting all around. “He’s not normally like this,” he assured her. 

Ted caught up with him in the weight room, Sam striding forward with the type of intensity usually reserved for fire alarms and the sound of an ice cream truck down the street on a hot summer’s day. “Hey, Sam, slow down.” Sam didn’t slow down. If anything, he sped up. “Hey, you got something you wanna talk about?” 

“No.”

“Really? ‘Cause it seems like you got something on your mind. You know, something like ‘I’m angry about a mysterious thing, so I’m gonna do some cussing now.’” 

Sam turned to face him with an expression doing one heck of a tightrope act between furious and contrite. “I mean, I am angry,” he said. “And I did cuss, and every time I do, I regret it.” 

Coming up on a year in England, Ted suspected he might be the only person in the entire country to feel that way. “That’s because people say cuss words when they don’t know the right ones to use to express themselves, right? Except Bernie Mac. You know, he uses them like van Gough uses yellow; effectively, right?” Sam shrugged, eyes downcast, mouth twisted in half a frown — seemed like the facial circus act was ongoing. “Come on, talk to me.” 

“I can’t believe you’re bringing Jamie back to the team.” 

“What?” Of all the things he’d predicted… well, he hadn’t gotten around to predicting much of anything, but if he had, that wouldn’t have been one of them. 

“I saw the picture of you and him on Twitter.” Yeah, maybe meeting in public hadn’t been the best call. Still blew his mind a little that his players were the type of people who ended up on Twitter when they went out for a nice evening drink.

“Oh, Sam, there’s a bunch of crazy stuff on Twitter. Heck, someone made an account for my moustache.” 

“How many locker room punch-ups have we had since Jamie’s been gone?” Sam demanded.

“None.” 

“None,” Sam repeated. “Have we won yet? No, but we will. I believe that, don’t you? I mean, just because Jamie can score goals doesn’t mean he deserves to be here.” He took a deep breath. Pressed on, quieter, “No teammate has ever made me feel as bad about myself as Jamie did.”

And, yeah, ‘course he had. Jamie’d made Ted feel pretty crummy himself on more than one occasion, and that was without the added burden of being twenty years old. “Well, look, Sam, I understand your anger towards him.” 

“It’s not him,” Sam said, sharply. “I’m mad at you. You didn’t even talk to us about it.” 

“Honestly, Sam, I didn’t think there was anything to talk about. I told Jamie it wasn’t gonna happen.” 

“Oh. Now I feel awkward.” 

“I bet,” Ted said. 

“Did everybody see me when I stomped off?” 

“No, no one saw that.” Sam’s expression melted into a tentative smile. The kid was an optimist, he’d give him that. “Yeah, man, everyone saw that! Come on.” 

“Of course they did. Coach, I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay, Sam, alright? You’re a leader on this team. I want you to speak your mind.” 

“Thank you,” Sam said. Hesitated. “You know, my father says every time he sees you on TV, he’s very happy that I am here. That I’m in safe hands with you.” 

And that… that was all he’d ever wanted from coaching, really. To be there for his players, give ‘em somewhere safe to just be themselves and have fun while they struggled through the ordeal that was becoming an adult — even if most of this set were a little farther along that journey than he was used to. 

“Well, that means a lot, I appreciate that.” He grinned. “You know I still gotta make  you run a bunch of laps though, right?” 

“Oh, I was hoping you would,” Sam said, like Ted hadn’t set him the task for exactly that reason. 

“Okay, get going.” 

Back on the field — after he’d been jump-scared by Higgins; that man would make a heck of a good spy — he gathered the team while Sam ran his laps. Now he knew what the problem was, he could see the tension in their faces, the hurt hiding behind anger, letting its bigger, tougher sibling do all the heavy hitting. 

“Hey, fellas. I hear there’s been some rumours swirling around so I’m gonna go ahead and put them to rest, alright? Some of y’all might’ve seen a picture of Jamie and I going around on Twitter, and I just want to let you know — first off, we’re not really sitting in a giant hand, that’s just a trick they do with perspective. And second, we talked, but he ain’t coming back on the team. Alright?” He was met with a series of nods and a chorus of murmuring. “Alright. Now scooch your boots back out there, come on.” 

He watched Sam lope across the field, light and happy now the worry had lifted from his shoulders. In safe hands, he’d said. He thought of Jamie hunched over tense at his side in the Crown & Anchor, watching his beer like it’d leap out of the glass and attack him; of the resignation in his eyes that day in the treatment room. Wondered if he’d ever felt like he was in safe hands, back when he was at Richmond. If he felt safe now, wherever he was.

It was still churning over in his mind when they gathered in a meeting of the Diamond Dogs after practice to get Higgins a new office in with Nate. Jamie’d been a real piece of work, but he’d been polite the other day, almost contrite.

“Now, before y’all bounce, I do have one piece of football business we need to discuss, and that is Jamie Tartt’s future with this team.” 

“I thought that was settled,” Beard said. 

“Well, I did, too, but then I was talking to Sam and he unsettled it,” Ted said. 

“Sam wants Jamie back?” Nate asked, disbelieving. 

“No, no. Sam just reminded me that he himself has got a great dad.” And because he had a great dad, and was a smart, understanding young man, he’d adjust quick enough, not that it much helped the spark of guilt in Ted’s stomach. “Not everyone has that. And isn’t the idea of ‘never give up’ one of them things we always talk about in sports? And shouldn’t it apply to people, too?” 

“Two aces is very tempting,” Higgins agreed. “Could be exactly what we need.” 

“But it could also ruin morale to have someone in here just belittling everyone all the t—” Nate’s eyes snapped to the locker room, where Will was putting away the towels. “Will! Will! Not beneath the lockers, on the bench, man, come on.” 

“Sorry!” Will called. 

“What a donut. What was a I saying?” 

Ted turned to Beard. “What about you, coach?” 

Beard shrugged, slumped back in his chair with his feet up on the desk. “Pro: he’s a great player. Con: he’s a poop in the punch bowl.” 

“Alright. Diamond Dogs, as canines, we are supposed to lack opposable digits,” Ted said. “But right now I’m gonna ask you, thumbs up or thumbs down?” 

And it was split: thumbs up from Higgins, thumbs down from Beard and Nate. Looked like he’d have to be the decider. 

“I appreciate y’all’s input,” he said. “I’m gonna situate myself in the most non-committal part of the political spectrum and say we’ve got some real strong points on both sides here. I’ll think it over, give y’all a shout when I decide. And by shout I do mean text, unless my voice gets real loud.” 

*

Outside, he found Dr. Sharon unfolding her fancy transformer bike. She really was everywhere — they’d have to make her a Roy Kent chant of her own, if she kept it up. “Hey, there she is.”

“Goodnight, Coach Lasso,” she said. “And thank you for letting me observe training today. Some coaches get quite conspiratorial at the notion.” 

“Well, I didn’t know I had a choice,” he said, then, seeing her expression, “I was just goofing,” though he wasn’t entirely sure he had been. “Besides, most of my conspiracies revolve around the Freemasons on account of a couple of different Disney cartoons I watched a bunch as a kid.” 

“I’ll email you and your staff my takeaways when I get home,” she said, all business. 

“Well, hey, come on. Let ‘er rip now right. Reading that email will just be like listening to a cover tune of your thoughts. I’d rather hear this tune for the first time from the original artist.” 

Dr. Sharon seemed to consider it, head tilted slightly to the side. “Well, if you insist.”

“I do.” 

“There’s a wonderful atmosphere here,” she said. “All the employees are thoughtful and kind, and they actually listen to one another.” 

Something inside him eased: he’d been half convinced she’d tell him to skedaddle on out of there, and he was running out of places to skedaddle to — might go to Australia, finally conquer that case of arachnophobia he’d been sweeping under the rug alongside the dead spiders he kept finding under the kitchen sink.  

“Yeah, I’ve noticed the same thing. Well, hey, let me ask you this now: you think we got ourselves a ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ situation here, or what?” 

“That depends. Does everyone agree that being winless with eight straight draws ‘ain’t broke?’” 

A year ago he would have said yes, but Beard had set him straight on that one, and now he could see how it was wearing on them all. “Yeah.” 

“Heavy is the head that wears the visor, Coach Lasso. You must have a lot on your mind. I hope we get a chance to sit down and talk about it all someday.” 

That… probably wasn’t going to happen, but no need to insult the woman on her first day at work. “Yeah, no, I look forward to that. Alright, good night, Doc… tor. Doctor. Sorry.” 

“You can call me Doc. It’s okay.” With a real smile and everything. He really was making progress. 

“Oh, thank god. I mean, it has been killing me. You saw it, you know. It’s just such a good nickname, that’s all.” 

Oh, yeah, definitely a real smile. “Prince of Tides.” 

“Oh, is that your nickname for me now?” 

“No, Coach Lasso, my favourite book.” 

And then she got on her neat little bike and rode away. Ted watched her go. It’d been a good day, he decided. A little rough, but the best ones always were. As he walked, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. Tipped his head back in the evening breeze, watching the sky as he put the phone up to his ear. It connected on the second ring. 

“Hey, Jamie,” he said. “Now, I’ve been thinking about our talk the other day and you know what? I might’ve been a bit too hasty in saying you and Richmond don’t have a future together.” 

“Really?” Jamie asked. His voice came out tinny through the speakers, breathless and a little shy. 

“Yeah, really. Now it ain’t gonna be easy — there’s a lotta trust for you to rebuild, here. But if you’re willing to put in the work, we’d be happy to have you back.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I will, coach,” Jamie said, words stumbling all over each other like a puppy just finding its feet. “I won’t let you down, I promise.” 

“I believe that, Jamie,” Ted said. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, alright?” 

Chapter Text

Ted’s phone had a glitch: right up at the top, in big bold letters over Henry’s smiling face, it read Monday, October 5 where it should’ve read Wednesday, October 7. He’d putzed around with it while he got ready — late again, you really couldn’t teach old (or rather, middle-aged) dogs new tricks — but it went on stubbornly declaring it was two days in the past no matter what he did, though admittedly that might’ve had more to do with Ted’s love/confusion relationship with modern technology than it did the phone itself. 

He meant to ask Beard about it, but the street was empty of assistant coaches when he stepped outside and stayed that way for the next ten minutes: he’d assumed the text saying he’d gone in already was part of whatever glitch had taken over his phone, but maybe there were only so many ways to phrase the same information. Sure enough, Beard was already in the office — rumpled and dressed in a white tank top, head propped up on his fist. 

“Man, did you sleep here again?” 

“Jane threw my keys in the river.” 

Ted blinked: Beard and Jane would always be Beard and Jane, mysterious and tumultuous as they were, but twice in one week sure was a lot of key-throwing. “Well, hey. My couch is always open if you need somewhere a little more horizontal and a little less locker room-scented to stay.” 

Beard shook his head, bending to rifle through his bag. “Jane wouldn’t like it.” 

“It’s open anyway, alright?” He glanced out into the empty locker room. “Hey, you seen Jamie?” 

“Yeah. Public favour is a fickle mistress,” Beard said, muffled. He popped back up holding his Richmond jacket. “After what he did to Amy? Holly and Phil will tear him apart.” He didn’t sound too upset at the prospect. 

“Don’t I know it. But I did mean in this here building, not on the ol’ boob tube.” 

Beard shot him a blank look. “Why would Jamie be in the building?” 

“Thought I told you we’re bringing him back on the team.” He scrolled through this texts. “No, dang it. See, my phone’s got this glitch; the date’s wrong and it’s showing all my notifications and texts and things from the other day, maybe you could take a look at—”

The door to the coaches’ office swung open, followed by Nate looking more riled than a cat in a thunderstorm with a towel clutched in his hands. “No, no, no. Smell this.” He held it out to Beard, who took an obliging sniff.

“A Parisian bedroom.” 

Ted leaned over to take a smell of his own. “Oh, that’s nice. Lavender, right?” Then, remembering their conversation the other day, “Guess you’re still not a fan, huh?” Nate shook his head disapprovingly, calling for Will as he strode back into the locker room. 

“Gotta respect a man who knows his tastes,” Ted said. “Alright, I’m gonna call Jamie, see where he’s ended up.” 

Out in the hall, he opened his call history, but the glitch that was affecting the rest of his phone had got to that, too. By the time he’d located him in his contacts between Martin Tanner (one of the boys from his third season coaching) and Laura Taylor (a uni friend who’d gone on to be a surgeon), Ted had wandered his way to the empty weight room and sat on the bench. The ringtone echoed tinnily through the empty space as he waited — one ring, two, three, and then the call connected a second before it would have dropped. 

“Coach?” 

“Hey, Jamie, where are you, bud?” 

“At— at the studio, you know. ‘Bout to go on Holly and Phil,” Jamie said. He sounded a little quiet, uncertain, same as he’d been at the pub the other day. “They’re, you know. Doing my hair and all. Gotta look fit.” 

“They make you do that twice?” Ted asked. 

A long pause. “No, I— I dunno what you mean, coach.” 

“Well, you were just on a couple’ve days ago, weren’t you?” Ted said. 

“No,” Jamie repeated. 

Ted scrubbed his free hand over his face, filled with a sudden rush of exasperation — he’d really thought Jamie had left all this behind him, the poking and prodding and pushing back against everything Ted said for no other reason than he could. “C’mon, man, I really thought we were getting somewhere.” 

“You’re the one that sent me back,” Jamie said, sharp. “You think I wanted to go back to City? You saw what my—” he cut off in a choked breath. “I was trying, coach. Why’d you send me away?” 

Ted’s fingers trembled. He scrubbed them viciously against the fabric of his pants, but when he spoke, his voice came out steady. “Jamie, I invited you back.” 

“Why’re you still playing mind games?” Jamie asked, plaintive. It was a strange sound on him, one Ted wasn’t sure he liked. “You won. Just leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone.” And then he hung up. 

Ted stared at the phone, still displaying the wrong date. He’d thought they were making progress. Even when he’d told Jamie no in the bar, he really thought he’d changed; softened that hard spiky shell and started talking to people without trying to hurt ‘em. And even before that, when he’d pushed against Ted at every turn and bullied his teammates, there’d never been all that playacting — he’d put on a friendly face for a second, sure, but nothing vulnerable or uncertain, not even for a joke. 

Unsettled, Ted climbed to his feet; found them carrying him upstairs for biscuits with the boss — and right into Higgins, stood in the middle of the room with his box, philodendron and all. 

“Geez, sorry, Higgins, didn’t see you and Robert here,” he said. “Wait, didn’t we get y’all settled in with Nate, yesterday?” 

“Oh, Plant,” Higgins said. Then, “Er, did we? That’d be wonderful, if Nathan doesn’t mind.” 

“He said he was okay with it, didn’t he?” Ted asked. “Hey, be honest with me now: do I need to spice up my meetings? Add a little pizzazz? ‘Cause between you and Beard, I’m starting to think y’all have been falling asleep on me.” Higgins stuttered. “Nah, I’m just kidding, don’t worry.” 

“Ah, yes. Well, thank you, Ted.” 

Dropping into the chair across from Rebecca, he slid the biscuit box towards her. “Here you go, boss.” 

“Has Leslie told you he hired Dr. Fieldstone for the season?” she asked. 

“No ma’am, Keeley beat him to the punch, there,” he said, something queasy settling in his stomach. One person forgetting something they’d talked about the other day was happenstance, two was coincidence, but now they were up to three, and that was… well, he wasn’t too sure what it was, besides mighty unsettling. 

“I’m not sure I see the point, frankly,” Rebecca was saying. “I can diagnose myself in a heartbeat. I thought being invulnerable would protect me so I pushed people away for years, leading me directly to my greatest fear: being alone. Big whoop.” 

“Big whoop,” Ted echoed vaguely. “Hey, look, I gotta run but you just keep on enjoying those biscuits, you hear?” 

Out in the hall, he sagged against the hall, heart racing, though he couldn’t for the life of him say why. Heck, he’d been known to tell the same story a time or two himself, and Jamie, well, he’d always been a tough customer; maybe it was for the best he didn’t want to come back after all. 

“Are you alright, Coach Lasso?” And there was Dr. Sharon, watching him from the doorway of her office. Looking at her, there was something… a feeling, like a word on the tip of his tongue. He’d had it sitting with Rebecca, too, come to think of it. 

He startled upright. “Oh, yeah, all good here. How about you, doc?” 

“Doctor,” she correct. 

“One time hall pass, got it. Sorry about that, Doctor,” he said. “Hey, you coming to practice today?” 

The thought didn’t fill him with quite as much dread as it had the first day, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t just a titch disappointed when she said, “If it’s alright with you.” 

“Yeah, of course, doctor. And you can go right on ahead and assume that invitation’s open any day. Well, any day we have practice. Although René is good company if you wanna come down on our off days. He does run a cult down there, though, so you know, watch out for that. Don’t go to any meetings.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

The strange feeling nagged at him all the way down to the field, an itch he couldn’t quite reach. Like the fitness drills: they ran through the same ones plenty; heck, sometimes they even ran through them in the same order. 

But there was something… Dani whooping “yes, mi amigo!” when Colin knocked one in clean while Zoreaux protested it wasn’t a fair shot; he’d been distracted tying his cleat, which only brought a fresh wave of heckling at his terminology. Hey now, you can’t blame the man for being confused, Ted had said two days ago, to the exact same exchange. Could’ve sworn he’d said it. Don’t make no sense that y’all use the same word for the trunk of a car and the shoes y’all wear to play this fine sport. And Colin had rolled is eyes and said, mate, how does that make less sense than you lot using the same word for the boot of a car and an elephant’s face?

And then he ran into Keeley, him leaving the coaches’ office and her heading for the stairs with a coffee in one hand and a sandwich from the place down the street in the other. And, well, he’d be the first to admit he didn’t have much of an eye for fashion, but if there was one thing he could count on Keeley for — besides a killer headline and good company — it was an eye-catching outfit, and he could have sworn he’d seen this one before: a black and white checkered dress like a tablecloth for a vampire under a fluffy blue jacket that’d probably have no place at a vampire picnic, unless those vampires were real stylish and inventive. 

He didn’t think he’d seen Keeley repeat an outfit the whole time he’d been at Richmond, and definitely not twice in the same week. Maybe whatever had messed with his phone had got to her washer and dryer, too, only the more he thought of it, the more he was certain it wasn’t just her. That Dr. Sharon was wearing the same outfit as the other day, and Rebecca, and the boys. 

He waved hello, mouth working on autopilot. Turned around and dropped boneless into his chair in the coaches’ office, Nate and Beard’s eyes tracking him as he did. 

“Y’all ever have deja vu?” 

“I wouldn’t know; most of my days are the same,” Nate said. 

“Time is a flat circle,” Beard supplied. 

“True Detective?” Ted asked. 

“Nietzsche.” 

Beard turned back to his book, highlighter caught between his teeth. Nate watched him for a moment longer, then hopped off the side table and went back to his office. Ted scrubbed his hand over his forehead against the headache budding behind his temples. Maybe he should call Jamie again, see if they could clear things up. 

Please, just leave me alone. Like that made any god-dang sense when Jamie’d come to him. Asked to come back on his team, which sure as heck involved spending time around each other. But he’d sounded honest-to-god upset: not the sharp, spitting anger of all the other times he’d accused Ted of playing mind games — and he never had any idea where Jamie got that idea, figured it said more about him than it did Ted — but shaky, close to tears in a way that’d have him pulling any of the other players aside to ask what was wrong. And the second interview… the weird world of British reporting never ceased to puzzle, but that sure was odd.

A quick search for Jamie Tartt Holly & Phil revealed him sprawled back on the studio couch dressed all in black, clearly from the first interview he’d done the other day. Jamie Tartt says he quit football after learning of George Harrison’s death, 20 years after the fact. He scrolled further, but whoever said it was impossible to hide anything on the internet sure was mistaken in this case, ‘cause no amount of searching could turn up any evidence Jamie’d been back on Holly and Phil that morning. 

The nagging itch only grew stronger as the afternoon dragged on: had Isaac kicked the ball like that before? Had Zoreaux made that save, had Roberts worn those shoes? But the team didn’t need whatever strange thing was going on in his head distracting them, so he pasted on a smile and clapped when they scored, trying to boost their spirits. By the end of the day he was just about ready to lie down right there in the grass and forget the whole tangled, confusing mess had ever happened. 

“Alright, coach?” Beard asked as they pulled on their jackets after the last of the boys had trailed out of the locker room after practice. 

“Yeah. Just a weird day, you know.” And because Beard knew him better than anyone in the world (better than anyone in the world beside Michelle, he would’ve said not so long ago), he didn't ask if he wanted to talk, just slung his bag over his shoulder and let him chatter on about nothing as they walked home. 

“You want Henry’s room or the couch?” he asked when Beard followed him up to his apartment. 

“Couch.” 

“Alright, one couch for Coach coming right up.”

He ended up having to strip Henry’s bed for him anyway — wasn’t like he'd brought a fully stocked linen closet with him when he crossed the Atlantic. After two decades accumulating spare towels and sheets and washcloths to pull out when they had guests over, it felt a little like being punted back to the early days after college when he and Michelle were just starting to build their life together, living in a little one-bedroom apartment with their second-hand futon and the one set of bedsheets they had to bring to the laundromat early in the morning to put back on before they went to bed at night. Beard had slept on their couch then, too. He’d also stolen their car, and then turned around and become just about the greatest friend of Ted’s life. 

“Night, Coach,” he said. 

“Sleep tight, Coach,” Beard replied. 

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite, Coach.” 

*

Tuesday, October 6. It stared up at him from the screen of his phone as he blinked the bleary haze from his eyes, peeled himself out of bed and ambled into the sitting room with it held out in front of him.

“Hey, Beard, can you take a look at this? It’s still showing the wrong date and it’s defeated my admittedly limited technological prowess.”

Beard, standing at the stove flipping pancakes in a flower-patterned apron, reached out a hand without turning around.

“This is today’s date,” he said after a moment. 

“Today’s the eighth, ain’t it?” 

“It’s the sixth.” 

Beard turned towards him and they met each other’s eyes, frozen there together in the kitchen. And Ted knew things up in his friend’s brain were more complicated than he let him see; that sometimes he couldn’t trust that the world around him was the way it appeared to be. That he trusted Ted not to make it worse, to help him, as much as he’d allow. 

Beard dug his own phone out of his pocket and held it towards him, and Ted looked at the screen, already turning over what he’d say; Beard’s eyes serious and resigned as he checked — and there it was at the top of the screen. Tuesday, October 6. 

“Huh. Man, I dunno where my head’s been the past few days. Thanks, Beardo.” He turned to pull the plates out of the cupboards. “Alright, what do we have cooked up for today? Besides these delicious pancakes, I mean.” 

What they had cooked up was another strangely familiar day of practice with Dr. Sharon watching from the stands. Less spicy than last time, if it was last time and not all some strange coincidence, but the same skirmishes, the same teleporting psychologist, the same outfits. 
By noon, a thought had lodged itself at the back of his mind. An impossible thought, but he’d just about eliminated all the improbables and, well, all that remained was the impossible. 

So he did a bit of experimenting: lingered in the office ’til he spotted Dr. Sharon heading for the exit and waited thirty seconds to follow her out, the two of them standing across from each other in the parking lot same as they’d done two days earlier. 

“Hey, there she is.” 

And she turned to him with that same mild smile and said, “Goodnight, Coach Lasso, and thank you for letting me observe training today. Some coaches get quite conspiratorial at the notion.” 

Well, that was that, then. Now, he might not have… whatever the equivalent of an eidetic memory was for conversations, but it wasn’t every day someone suggested he might be “conspiratorial at the notion.” Just on two days that might actually be the same day. Probably. Possibly. Maybe it warranted a bit more experimentation before he decided the fabric of space time had gone and folded itself in half. What was it he’d said? 

“Well, I didn’t know I had a choice. Besides, most of my conspiracies involve the Freemasons on account of a couple of Disney cartoons I watched as a kid.” 

“I’ll email you and your staff my takeaways when I get home.” Alright, now it really was building up to be one heck of a coincidence, though maybe emailing takeaways every second day was normal for psychologists. 

Feeling strangely calm, Ted said, “Hey, let ‘er rip right now. Reading an email will be like hearing a cover tune of your thoughts. I’d rather hear this tune from the original artist.” 

She told him they had a wonderful atmosphere, that the employees actually listened to each other. Said “heavy is the head that wears the visor, Coach Lasso,” and told him he could call her “Doc.” Didn’t tell him her favourite book was the Prince of Tides, but then again they hadn’t had that conversation this go around. 

He walked home. Went numbly through his evening routine and climbed into bed, and when he woke up the next morning, the screen of his phone read Monday, October 5. 

Chapter Text

The next morning, Ted strategized on the way in to work. He’d seen enough movies to know these sorts of mind-bending shenanigans only happened when the universe had a lesson to teach, and that meant he’d done something to anger the powers that be — whatever they may, well, be — enough that they’d decided he needed a do-over. 

The first version of today and tomorrow, he’d made two big choices: he’d agreed to Higgins hiring Dr. Sharon for the rest of the season, and he’d brought Jamie back. And then, on his second rodeo he hadn’t realized was the second rodeo ’til it was nearly through, he’d agreed to Higgins hiring Dr. Sharon but hadn’t invited Jamie back, even if that bit hadn’t exactly been intentional — and thinking back on how upset the kid had sounded on the phone, he wasn’t exactly mourning that conversation’s disappearance down the memory hole. But that didn’t mean keeping him off the team had been the wrong choice — maybe Sam was right: string of draws or no, they had a good thing going; didn’t need to mess with that adding volatile (former) teammates and psychologists to the mix. 

Ted took the long way around, sipping at his coffee. He’d never fired anyone before — figured most people just needed some understanding and a second chance, not to contend with the misery of unemployment — but then again it wasn’t every day some… higher power or whatever the heck was going on here told him to do it. Or, hinted at him to do it. Or hinted at him to do something, of which firing someone seemed like the mostly likely course of action. 

He stopped in at the cafeteria for an extra up of coffee for Beard when he got to Nelson Road, invited him to spend the night again. Caught a ride with Carl on the back of the mower to make up for blowing him off the other day, even if Ted was the only one who remembered he’d done it, and also ‘cause it was a whole heck of a lot of fun. Said hi to Keeley and tried to say hi to Roy, who peeled off before he had the chance, same as usual. And then the doc rode in on her transformer bike and there wasn’t much longer he could put off the tricky part.

“Hey, Higgins, could I speak to you in private for a minute?” he asked, poking his head into the coaches’ office. 

“Er, yes, of course, Ted.” Higgins pushed away from his spot by the door, then paused. “Though that might be a bit tricky. I’ve given my office to Dr. Fieldstone.” 

“Well, that’s no problem, I’m just gonna go ahead and use my tyrannical power as head coach to ask Beard and Nate here to give us the room for a minute.” 

Beard and Nate did, glancing between them curiously as they left. Ted waited until they’d shut the door behind them before he took a seat and gestured for Higgins to do the same.

“Oh dear, this seems quite serious,” he said after a moment, when Ted still hadn’t spoken. 

“Naw, no, nothing like that. Sorry, just, uh, running a little slow this morning, you know how it is.” He leaned forwards, elbows braced on his knees. “Look, Higgins, you know I trust your judgement, right? I want you to make your own decisions, ‘cause I know you’re real good at your job and chances are they’re gonna be the right ones.” 

“Thank you, Ted.” 

“So I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, now — even the best of us need some peer review, you know?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“I see why you hired Dr. Sharon for the rest of the season,” he said. “Just trying to look out for the boys, right? Figured she helped out Dani and some of the others?” 

“I shouldn’t have done it without asking you,” Higgins said. 

“No, no, no,” Ted said. “I want you to trust your judgement, remember? But in this case, yes. I am gonna countermand you on this one, but I want you to keep on making those decisions, alright?” Higgins made his strange choking sound. “What’s up, Higgs-boson? I want you to share what’s on your mind.” 

“Well, it’s just that she is quite popular,” Higgins said. “A lot of clubs have sports psychologists — not Richmond, because Rupert was, well, Rupert, but I’ve heard good things. About Dr. Fieldstone, especially. But it is your call, Ted, of course. I should have run it by you.” 

“I hear that,” Ted said. “Gonna stick with my decision, but that’s real sound reasoning, thank you, Higgins.” He clapped his hands on his legs, pushed to his feet. “Alright, guess I better get on with it, then. Y’all have a good day, now.” 

*

Ted stopped back at the cafeteria again before he headed up to see the doctor, Jenny eyeing him from beneath raised eyebrows as he hemmed and hawed over the selection of sugar-free snacks for something that said thank you kindly for your service, but the mysterious forces beyond my comprehension are telling me that you working here ain’t a good idea. Maybe a scone; those seemed like solemn food — made him feel solemn, at least, on account of how they looked like they’d taste all nice and sweet but were actually just kinda dry and bready, which seemed like it’d be a selling point for the doc.

Scone in hand, he head upstairs. Knocked instead of bursting in this time, though he felt a little like he skin was gonna crawl right off his body in the ten-odd seconds it took her to answer. 

“Come in.” 

When he slipped inside, Dr. Sharon was on her feet, packing her belongings into a box. 

“Hey, doctor. I’m real sorry for the confusion, here. Just a little miscommunication on the management side, you know how it is.” 

“I do,” she said evenly, turning to face him. “And those types of miscommunications can have a profound effect on the rest of the team, Coach Lasso. My job isn’t just to work with the players but with the entire organization to untangle issues of exactly this sort.”

Ted whistled. “Hey, that is a great sell, but I’m gonna have to turn you down.” He held out the scone. “Here, I brought you a going away present — sugar free and everything.” Dang it, he wasn’t supposed to know that yet. “Figured that type of healthy stuff would be right up your alleyway. And it’s what they had in the cafeteria.” 

“Thank you, coach, that’s very thoughtful. And correct; I don’t eat sugar.” 

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. That scone would be mighty disappointing, otherwise.” 

She took a bite, still studying him in a way that he wouldn’t miss at all. “Does my profession make you uncomfortable, Coach Lasso?”  

“No, ma’am.” He planted his hands on his hips for something to do, suddenly ungainly in his body. “Just figure we have a good thing going here; real if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it-type situation, you know?” 

She ushered him to the door, expression neutral as ever. “Does everyone agree that being winless with eight straight draws ain’t broke?” 

*

He was feeling pretty good about the whole thing by the time lunch rolled around. Rebecca had said, “I think that’s an excellent idea, Ted,” when he told her, and even Higgins admitted he was a little relieved to have his office back — “I was going to set up shop in the hall, to be honest,” he told Ted as he helped him unpack his box of office supplies — while Beard shot him a look that meant he thought he knew something about Ted that Ted didn’t know about himself, but was willing to see how things played out. 

 Jamie’s can we meet up? rolled in as he ate lunch, as expected, and he tapped out sure thing, bud, along with the time and place same as he’d done the first time; tossed plays back and forth with Beard and Nate at the whiteboard, trying his best to suggest the same ones he had before — it’d been a minute since he’d sat through a class on the scientific method but he was pretty sure the important bit was to only change one thing at a time. 

He was feeling pretty good about the whole thing right up until he stepped onto the field for afternoon training to find the boys grumbling and dragging and drifting out of formation to whisper at each other.

“What’s going on there, d’you think?” he asked Beard. He blew his whistle. “Focus up, come on, now. Can’t go stopping in the middle of a game ‘cause y’all feel like being chatty Cathys.” 

The boys drifted back into formation, but reluctantly; so much so he was half convinced they somehow knew he’d be meeting up with Jamie later on, the way they kept sending dirty looks his way the rest of training. Afterwards, he gestured Isaac into his office.

“Seems like you boys were having a bit of a rough time today,” he said. “Anything on your collective minds?” 

“Yeah, actually, coach.” Isaac shifted on his feet. “Some of the lads were wondering why you fired Dr. Sharon. Not that we don’t respect your decision and all, but she was really helping us out.”

“Hey now, I didn’t fire her,” Ted objected.

“So she’s still working here?” 

Ted pushed down a flare of irritation at the hope in Isaac’s voice — he’d spent a good chunk of the last season getting the team to a place where they could lean on each other, and now instead of doing that they’d all gone and latched onto a stranger paid to pretend to care about their problems instead of their friends who did for real, and for free, too. 

“Well, no, she ain’t, but it was more of a miscommunication about her potential hiring than an actual boot out the door. Like showing the plumber out once they’ve got your toilets fixed up instead of inviting ‘em to hang around as a member of the family, you know?” 

Isaac steeled himself. Ted could practically see him donning his captain hat, shoulders going back, feet planted like he was defending the net. “She ain’t a plumber, coach.” 

“No, I know. Meant it as a metaphor.” 

“So did I, bruv. She’s more like, I dunno, a construction worker. I’m not gonna spill everyone’s private business but what she does takes time, don’t it? Some of the lads had regular sessions planned.” 

“And that kind of team spirit is exactly the reason we don’t need her in here changing things up. You’re already doing a bang-up job looking out for each other.” Ted clapped him on the shoulder. “I know Roy left you some mighty big shoes to step into, and I know eight draws ain’t exactly the start to your captaincy that you were hoping for — but I believe in you, and so does everyone here at Richmond. You just gotta believe in yourself.” 

“Right,” Isaac said. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, coach.” He didn’t look convinced, but he  strode out of the office still in captain-mode and gathered the boys to him in the locker room, speaking to them seriously. Ted waited a moment to make sure he seemed to have things well in hand, and then he headed out to meet with Jamie. 

*

When Ted got to the Crown & Anchor, he found Baz, Paul, and Jeremy in one of the booths and headed over, ignoring Baz’s hissed, oh shit, he’s coming this way, act natural. 

“Hey, fellas. I’m going to be meeting with Jamie here in a sec, and we’d really appreciate if y’all gave us some privacy.” 

“Jamie Tartt?” Baz asked. “He’s coming back to Richmond?” 

“No sir, he is not. I’m just having a chat with a former player, so there’s no need to get the good folks on Twitter buzzing over nothing. Or flapping, I guess.”

“We won’t. Promise,” Paul said. 

“I appreciate you.” 

Jamie came slinking in a minute later, hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie. He slid up next to Ted, stayed standing. Set the green army man onto the bar. “I named him Ted. After Ted Danson.” 

“All time great,” Ted said automatically, then stopped, thrown — he’d said the exact same thing the other day, he was pretty sure. Strange how the brain just spit out the same words without even thinking of it. 

“Yeah,” Jamie said. 

They stayed there in silence for a bit, Jamie’s hand clenching and unclenching around the toy soldier, cautious look on his face. And Ted had seen that on him once before, he realized — not just because of whatever time shenanigans were going on, but way back when he first got to Richmond and had taken a stab at positive reinforcement. Jamie’d been almost shy, gently pleased in a way that had Ted convinced he’d gotten through to the kid right up until the next time he saw him out on the pitch. 

Now Jamie was shifting on his feet, eyes darting towards the door. “Take a seat.” He sat. Ted raised his hand to signal Mae for another pint, then remembered the one Jamie’d left un-drunk, their first go around. “You want anything?” 

Jamie shook his head. “I’m good. Thanks.” Cleared his throat. “Not much for drinking, just now.” 

“Hey, that’s alright. Gotta do what’s best for you.” He took a sip of his own drink. “What brings you here, Jamie? I was mighty surprised to get your text.” 

“Sorry. Guess you thought you’d be free of me now, yeah?” Jamie mumbled. 

“Hey now, don’t go putting words in my mouth — I’ve got some Ted Lasso originals right here fresh from these vocal chords and they’re telling you I said surprised, not disappointed. I’m always happy to hear from you, Jamie.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

Ted leaned over to nudge him in the side but Jamie recoiled, whole body locking up. “You’re really building up the suspense, here.” 

“Sorry.” Jamie scratched his thumbnail across his eyebrow, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. “Uh, so I was talking to Keeley and I was wondering, like, what the chances were of me coming back to play for you at Richmond.” 

Ted sighed. He’d thought about what he’d say on the way over, but that didn’t make it any easier. “Jamie, you’re a fine athlete, but there’s more to a team than just scoring goals.” 

“No, I know,” Jamie cut in. “I’ll— I’ll pass, I’ll be nice to the lads, swear down.” 

“And I believe that, Jamie, I do, but I gotta think of the whole team. You made a whole lot of people feel real bad about themselves, and they’re not ready to work with you again just yet.” 

“Please, Coach. I need Richmond.” 

Ted shook his head. This was when they’d talked about the show, the first time ‘round. Talked about their dads, and Jamie’d said, you’re lucky, when really he was the lucky one, with his dad still around and capable of change. “Jamie, you’re an amazing player, but it’s not a good idea.” 

“Right,” Jamie said quietly. He pushed back from the bar to stand. 

“But if anyone comes asking after you, I’ll put in a good word, alright? Let ‘em know you’re ready to be a team player.” Ted grinned. “Heck, I can even recommend some places in America, have the two of us do a little switcheroo.” 

Jamie shook his head. “No, coach. I mean, thanks, but I think this is it for me, d’you know what I mean? Got an offer for another reality show, and all.”

Ted watched him go, fingers tapping against the side of his glass. Downed the rest of his beer and went upstairs to wait for a day after tomorrow that might never come. 

Chapter Text

The morning of Monday, October 5, Ted slapped off his alarm and lay in bed with his palms pressed to his eyes. He’d stared at the screen for a full five minutes waiting for the words at the top to change. 

Of course no one solved a time loop in three goes; that wouldn’t make much of a good story, would it? Phil Connors’ day in Punxsutawney had lasted a whole heck of a lot longer than that, but then again he hadn’t been quite so quick on the ball at trying to sort things out. Bit more romantic, too. He groaned, pressing his palms into his eyes; stayed there ’til his phone buzzed and he reached for it blindly. 

“You coming in today, Coach?” Beard asked. 

“Shit,” Ted said, stumbling to his feet with the blankets tangled around his ankles. 

“You okay?” he could practically hear Beard’s eyebrows climbing up his forehead. 

“Yeah, just — running late. Or lying late. Sleeping late, but without the relaxing connotations. You just get the boys doing drills if they turn up before I do.” 

“Way ahead of you, Coach.” 

Ted slipped onto the field halfway through the scrimmage, hair hastily tamped down and hands jammed into his pockets, a tickling at the back of his neck — Dr. Sharon had un-fired herself overnight; or rather, the powers of the universe had un-fired her overnight, and now Ted was gonna have to fire her all over again. Fire her and hire Jamie, and if that didn’t solve it, well, he’d be fresh out of ideas. 

All in all, he was more distracted at practice than he’d been since Henry was a baby and he was lucky to get four hours of sleep a night. Beard covered for him, herding the boys inside to listen to Nate explain their latest strategy while Ted slumped against the boards, feeling like his body had been filled with rocks. 

At noon, he had his usual text exchange with Jamie as he climbed the stairs to Higgins’ office, only to remember right before he raised his hand to knock that it belonged to Dr. Sharon for the day. He turned away: if she tried to psychoanalyze him today, he’d — well, he didn’t know what he’d do, truth be told. Something he’d regret, probably. 

“Ted!” He startled, spun around, hand clutched to his chest. Rebecca strode towards him, impressively fast on those towering heels. 

“Boss, hey!” 

“I missed you this morning,” she said. “Everything alright? You look a bit…” she waved her hand at him. “Frazzled.” 

“That would be an accurate assessment.” 

Rebecca hesitated. “Ted, is it… I mean, is it like in Liverpool?” She rushed on before he could answer. “You don’t have to tell me. But I’m sure Beard and Nate can manage if you want to head home early today.” 

“No, nah, nothing like that. That’s real kind of you, though, I appreciate it. And you’ll be getting double the biscuits — I made ‘em up for you last night then just plain forgot ‘em on my kitchen table this morning, can you believe that? Been nagging at me worse than my nana during my teen rebellion phase.” 

“If you’re sure,” Rebecca said. 

“Sure as shooting.” He pulled a face. “You know, I never thought how violent that sounds ’til right now; I’m gonna find a new expression — but before that, I’ve got a date with our man Higgins.” 

He found Higgins contemplating a storage closet with his box full of office supplies clasped in his arms and jogged up next to him, eager to have the conversation over with. It sure was tiring, having to do everything over again. 

“Hey, just the man I was looking for! Now look, Higgins, I appreciate the initiative, but I’m gonna need you to pop on up to Dr. Sharon’s office and let her know we’re thankful for everything she’s done for Dani but we’re not gonna be needing her services any longer.” 

“Yes, of course, I should have run it by you first,” Higgins said. “But—”

Ted clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man. Thanks, Higgins.” 

This time, the boys didn’t hear about it ’til Ted was on his way out of the office: usually his workday started and ended hours before and after the players, but today he packed his things away against the backdrop of the boys rustling around in the locker room; had just about made it out the door when Colin’s voice rang out behind him. 

“Dr. Sharon’s gone!” 

Ted groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could not for the life of him understand how that woman had gotten everyone under her spell — they’d had their moment of camaraderie, sure, but she wasn’t exactly the warm, fuzzy type. More… cool and spiky, with a touch of judgement mixed in for good measure. 

Ted pushed out of the coaches’ office with more force than he’d meant, door rebounding against the wall. Twenty pairs of eyes snapped towards him. “Hey, fellas. I couldn’t help but overhear what y’all are talking about out here, and I just want to address something real quick. Dr. Sharon came here to do a job, alright? And now she’s done it, it’s time for us all to step up and do our job, which is supporting each other — ‘cause frankly, if y’all think you need some fancy brain doctor to talk to when you’ve got your friends right here with you every day, something’s gone wrong with this team.” 

“Coach—” Isaac started. 

Ted rounded on him, something hot and tight building under his skin, the locker room gone blurred and echoey around him. “And that goes double for you, Isaac, ‘cause you’re supposed to be a leader to these boys. The heart of this team. And here they are going to some stranger with their problems.” 

He looked up, finally, blinked his eyes clear to find the boys all arrayed around him, faces open and shocked. Ted stared back, shaking hands jammed into his pockets. He’d never shouted at his team like that, not in all his years of coaching — but no, that wasn’t right. There’d been that night with Nate in Liverpool, when the kitman had come to his door and Ted had ripped into him, grief heavy in his gut and divorce papers unsigned on the table. Swore it’d never happen again, but maybe Ted wasn’t so good at keeping promises as he’d thought. 

*

Back home, he slumped onto the couch with a glass of whiskey. He’d set up pictures of Henry all along the mantlepiece, his little boy going from a wide-eyed, round-cheeked baby with footballs printed on his onesie — the real kind, not the kind his players kicked around for a living that’d always be soccer balls in his book — to a toddler covered in spaghetti sauce in his highchair to a kid in a crooked graduation cap at his kindergarten graduation to the boy he was now, him and Ted sat cross-legged on the carpet building a Lego tower on his last visit. He raised the glass to his lips and met air; reached out blindly ’til his fingers brushed against the bottle on the side table. Poured himself a refill. Drank. 

Jamie was already at the bar when he reached the Crown & Anchor half an hour later, folded in on himself with his hood drawn over his head like he was trying to scrunch himself down as small as possible. Baz, Paul, and Jeremy watched from the end of the bar with their phones out, whispering to each other when Mae had her back turned polishing the pint glasses. 

“Hey there, Jamie,” Ted said, slipping onto the stool next to him. 

Jamie flinched back, eyes wide and dark, something strange rippling through his expression before it went flat and closed. “Hey, Coach,” he said quietly.  

“You’re here early.” 

“No, I—” Jamie blinked again, hard. “I mean, yeah. Must’ve misread your text. Bit shit at reading, me.” His shoulders winched up higher.

“You’ll be wearing those as earmuffs if you keep that up.” 

“I don’t… I dunno what you mean, Coach,” Jamie mumbled. 

“Your shoulders. Got yourself all tensed up, there.” 

Jamie slumped like a puppet with its strings cut. His hands inched out of his sleeves to rest on the bar but the wary thing stayed fixed on his face. He’d been tense the other times, too; his usual bravado scraped thin, but this was a whole different beast only Ted could not for the life of him guess why — nothing different happened in anyone else’s day without him making it different, as far as he could tell, and he couldn’t think how coming in a few minutes late would have such an effect. He scrubbed a hand over his pounding eyes, left them there a moment to block out the light. 

“You look like you could use this, love,” Mae said, setting a pint down in front of him.

“Thanks, Mae.” 

Jamie eyed him as he drank, spilling a little with unwieldy hands — might’ve pre-gamed it a little more than he’d thought with the whiskey. He set it down carefully. “Alright, what can I do for you, Jamie?” 

“I, um.” Jamie’s hands winched up into his sweater, twisting the fabric around his fists. “I— it’s nothing. I dunno.” 

Ted huffed out a sigh, grasping onto the fraying edges of his composure as the headache burrowed deeper into his temples. “Well, it’s clearly something, seeing as you texted me to meet up, and all. Weren’t exactly buddy-buddy, you and I.” 

Jamie nodded, convulsive. “Yeah. No, I know. Sorry,  Coach. Shouldn’t’ve wasted your time.” He hurried to his feet so fast the stool tilted back with him and he shot out a hand to catch it, set it gently back on its feet with his eyes on Ted the whole time. 

“No, Jamie, that’s not what I meant. Just tell me what you want.” 

Jamie twisted his hands up deeper, rocking back on his heels. His eyes darted from Ted to the door then back to Ted, like he was thinking of making a run for it. “I was just wondering what the chances are of me coming back to play for Richmond,” he mumbled out all in a rush, eyes still skittering around the room. “But it’s stupid. I’ll figure something out.” 

Yeah, that hadn’t worked out so well, at least as far as the time-looping powers of the universe were concerned. “Hey, no, that’s not stupid at all,” he said. “I’ll say we’ve got ourselves a clear forecast there, folks: one hundred percent chance of Jamie Tartt coming back to Richmond.”

“Really?” 

“Sure, why the heck not? Couldn’t make anything worse.” 

Jamie smiled, tentative but real, like sun coming out from behind a cloud. When he stuck out his hand to shake, it was clammy cold and trembling. “Thanks, Coach.” 

Ted stayed a while after that; nursing his beer ’til he started listing in his seat and Mae barked at him to get his arse upstairs before he made a scene in her pub. Dropped into bed with his clothes still on and woke in the weak dawn light with the scent of alcohol sour on his skin. 

He swallowed his painkillers dry; showered with his eyes closed and his forehead pressed against the shower wall, swiping one-handed clumsy at his hair — raising both seemed like too much effort, just now — while Jamie’s face floated up in his mind’s eye; the twitchy hunch to his shoulders, the blank look in his eye that’d seemed, just for a moment, familiar. 

The shampoo bottle slipped from his hand, clattering against the bottom of the tub. Ted jerked at the noise. I didn’t come all this way to watch my son pass the ball! And Jamie’d looked up and for a moment their eyes had met through the window, and he’d walked away — but it’d seemed familiar then, too, nagging at him like a pebble caught in his shoe as he walked on pretending it wasn’t poking at his toes. 

‘Cause he’d been the one to cause that look, was the thing; scraped raw from Henry and Michelle’s visit, some dark, ugly part of himself he usually kept shoved away under the carpet had rising up for just a second in vicious satisfaction, and maybe he wasn’t proud of how he’d shouted, after, but he never could bring himself to regret it. 

*

For the first time in days, Ted got in early. Dropped into his desk chair meaning to… he didn’t even know what. Make a plan, maybe, some sort of fancy flowchart for what he’d do if this didn’t work out and he had another go-around of these two days coming up for him. 

Instead, he stayed there until Beard drifted in (“want to talk about it, Coach?” he asked, expression creasing to a frown when he shook his head), followed by Nate, and then Jamie. He walked into the room like a stray cat let inside for the first time, fingers clutched around the strap of his bag, eyes scanning around the room as he inched into the locker room. 

And then he caught sight of Ted watching from the office and his shoulders went back, his chest puffed out, his steps easing to a swagger. He stopped in front of his old cubby, blinking up at the name for a moment before he turned, lip caught between his teeth. Went back to scanning the room, edged over to the empty cubby off in the corner when he didn’t spot his name anywhere: Ted had texted Will, the first time around, asked him to come in early and get everything ready. Make Jamie feel welcome, ‘cause the kid was in for a heck of a hard time even if it was of his own making, but this time it’d plain slipped his mind. 

“What’s he doing here?” Nate asked sharply. 

“I second that question,” Beard said. 

“Oh, shoot, yeah,” Ted said. “I met up with him last night, figured Richmond could use a little boost.” 

“He’s bad for morale,” Nate said. 

“Poop in the punch bowl,” Beard agreed. 

“Well, he’s here now, so let’s just try to make the best of it, alright? I’m gonna—”

“What the fuck is this shit?” Isaac’s voice echoed through the room, whip-sharp. Beard whistled between his teeth, shooting Ted a look that meant he thought he’d brought this on himself.

Ted levered himself to his feet with a sigh. “Gonna go see what that’s about. Yeah. Soothe some feathers, you know.” 

When he made his way out of the office, the boys were gathered in the locker room entrance, Isaac in the front with his arm out like he was protecting them from a threat — like Jamie’d leap out from where he’d frozen in front of his locker, halfway through unzipping his jacket. 

“The fuck are you doing here?” Isaac demanded. He rounded on Ted. “The fuck is he doing here?”  

“I’m back on the team,” Jamie said, uncertainly. Now he was looking at Ted, too, eyes wide. 

“Welcome back, Jamie Tartt!” Dani’s voice piped from somewhere at the back of the crowd. 

“How could you do this?” And that was Sam, pushing his way past Isaac and into the room. “How could you— no one has—” his shoulders were drawn up tight and trembling, expression twisted in fury. He threw the bag to the floor. “Fuck you, Coach.” 

Ted rubbed at his eyebrow, watching as he turned and stormed back out, trailed by the rest of the team. Considered just leaving it, letting the day run out and deal with it tomorrow if it really was tomorrow instead of yesterday. Or ereyesterday, as his English lit professor would say. Heck of a convenient word, and a crying shame it wasn’t in use anymore. Then again, not dealing with it might just be what’d make it ereyesterday instead of overmorrow. He heaved out a sigh, counted to ten, and followed. 

Stepped out onto the field to find Sam sequestered away from the rest of the team, viciously kicking soccer balls into the net. The rest of the team paced around like a pack of grumbling, snappily-dressed hyenas. 

“Alright fellas, I know we like to keep it all loosey-goosey around here, but this goose is a little too loosey even for me. I’m gonna need you to get changed before we start training.” 

“Fuck you,” Sam said. It was a bit less of a shock the second time. 

“Look, Sam, I can see where you’re coming from, this here ain’t the time and place to settle it. How about you come on down to the office after training, have a little heart to heart?” 

“No, I think here is the right place,” Sam rounded on him, eyes hard and shining. “Why would you do this, Coach?” 

“It is a very stupid decision to bring in a volatile player after firing our psychologist,” Jan Maas chimed in, tactful as ever. 

“Well, I’m always happy to hear your opinions, y’all know that, but maybe in this case you can hold off on your judgement until you’ve actually met Jamie, how about that?” 

“But the rest of us have!” Sam snapped, gesturing wide. “He treated us— he treated me terribly. No one has ever made me feel as bad about myself as Jamie did.” 

“Sam, mate, I didn’t—” and there was Jamie, stood at the entrance of the tunnel, eyes wide. 

“You did not mean it?” Sam said. “You insulted me, you insulted my parents on accident? Tell me, Jamie, what is your excuse?” 

“No, that’s not— I know I were a bit of a bellend, yeah?” His hands inched towards the hem of his shirt, then back out again, clenching at his sides. “If you wanna, I dunno. Get it out of your system, just… go ahead, yeah?” 

“You’re not in charge here, bruv. We don’t need your permission,” Isaac said, striding forward to put himself back between Jamie and the rest of the team. He jabbed a finger at Jamie’s chest. “We don’t fucking want you here.” Then, turning to Ted, “either he gets the fuck off the pitch, or we’re not training.” 

The irritation flared again, and this time it stayed, burning bright in his chest. “Jamie may no be in charge here, Isaac, but neither are you. It’s your job as captain to be a good example for your teammates, and if you can’t do that, then I’m gonna have to ask you to get off the pitch and hand your armband over to someone who’s willing to do their job.” 

Isaac went thunder-faced and tense, and for a moment Ted was convinced he’d take him up on that offer — but then he shook his head, still frowning hard and said, “Right. Sorry, Coach,” in a voice a country mile away from contrite. 

“Great. Thank you. Go get changed now, please.” 

*

It took twenty minutes for things to go wrong. “Try not to do too much out there today,” Ted had said while the others were in the locker room, but Jamie’d never been much one for heeding advice, at least not when that advice came from Ted. 

He went racing off down the pitch, feet deft as he kept control of the ball — and Richard careened into him in a full slide-tackle that Ted would’ve figured was illegal even before he’d started to pick up the great game that was English football in fits and starts. Jamie bounced back to his feet, shaking himself off, only to go down again a minute later when Sam darted into his path and sent him sprawling. This return to his feet was a little slower, Sam leaning over to ruffle his hair before he jogged off to rejoin training.

By the fifth tackle, Jamie was starting to lag, testing his weight gingerly before he took off running again. Ted hesitated, hand going up to his whistle — he’d been coaching long enough to know sometimes you needed to let the fellas sort it out among themselves, but Jamie wasn’t exactly known for having a long fuse and with each swipe (verbal or physical) he could practically see that clock ticking down to an explosion. 

“Someone’s going to get hurt,” Beard said quietly. 

“Maybe,” Ted agreed, watching Jamie pick himself back up again. He nicked the ball away from Dani, went for the goal. “But I figure we owe it to him to give him the chance to prove us wrong.”  

“I meant physically.” 

The ball sailed into the net, missing the tip of Zoreaux’s outstretched glove by barely an inch. Zoreaux stooped to pick it up — and whipped it hard at Jamie, who flinched back, arms jerking up a moment too late to protect himself. The ball collided with his face with a sickening crack. He swayed, stumbled, slumped limply to the ground. When Ted skidded to a halt at his side his eyes were closed, blood tracking down the side of his face from his swollen nose, pooling into the grass. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” Zoreaux was saying somewhere in the distance, voice reaching him as if through a thick pane of glass as Ted raised a shaking hand to Jamie’s wrist, feeling for a pulse. Found it, thready-thin, after a long minute. Jamie’s eyes were still closed, his body limp. How long could someone be unconscious before there was a risk of brain damage? A minute? Thirty seconds? He squeezed Jamie’s wrist, desperate and too hard. 

“Come on, bud,” he said, voice cracking in the middle. “C’mon, Jamie. Go on and open your eyes, let us see how you’re doing; you’re fine.” 

Jamie didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t move at all ’til the ambulance drove up on the field and then he blinked, eyes hazy and panicked. One of the paramedics crouched down in front of him and he scrambled backwards, pushing himself away on uncoordinated limbs. 

“Mr. Tartt—” Jamie made a high, desperate noise. 

“Jamie, let these nice folks take a look at you now,” Ted said. Cautiously, he shuffled around to put himself behind Jamie, wrapped his arms around his shoulders to hold him still. The kid froze at the touch, muscles locked up and trembling hard. 

“Can you tell me your name?” the paramedic asked, shining a light in his eyes. 

“Jamie,” he said, a little slurred at the edges.

“Can you tell me what happened, Jamie?” 

“Fell.” 

“He got, uh, whacked in the face with the ball just now,” Ted corrected. Catching Zoreaux’s guilty expression out the corner of his eye, he added, “accidentally, that is.” The rest of the boys gathered in closer, expressions anxious — they all knew the signs of a concussion, and confusion and slurred speech didn’t spell anything good. 

Clearly, the paramedics thought the same. “Alright, let’s get him loaded up,” 

“No, no, no,” Jamie started thrashing again, jabbing Ted in the ribs as he struggled and Ted fell back, more out of surprise than at the force of it. Felt a little sick as he watched the paramedics corral Jamie into the ambulance, eyes shiny and desperate and somehow resigned as they met Ted’s just for a moment, like a swimmer who’d spotted a lifeboat far off in the distance and wasn’t too sure it’d reach him before he drowned. 

“Can I ride with him?” Ted asked. “Might help to have a familiar face. Calm him down, a little.” 

It didn’t, not really. Ted posted up at Jamie’s shoulder, trying to keep himself out of the paramedics’ way while Jamie huddled on the gurney, pale under the vivid red mark across his face, breathing in choppy gasps, not fighting anymore but so painfully far from relaxed. 

“You’re gonna be okay, bud,” Ted murmured in a rambling, looping refrain. “Just let these folks take care of you and you’ll be right as rain in no time, you’ll see.” 

In the hospital, Ted hunched over his knees in the waiting room, clenched fists pressed to his mouth. “You can come in when the examination is finished, if he agrees,” a nurse had told him gently but firmly when he tried to follow as they wheeled Jamie into the room. 

And so he waited. Texted Beard to say they were at the hospital and he’d let them know as soon as he knew anything; to keep the boys at practice so at least they wouldn’t be stewing in their anxiety alone. 

His head buzzed, a too-familiar ache starting up in his chest, a tremble in his hands. He forced out a slow, even breath, then another. Couldn’t fall to pieces here — didn’t matter Jamie wouldn’t remember a thing come tomorrow (come yesterday), that didn’t make him a lick less hurt and scared right now. Hurt because of Ted, so certain he’d done the right thing this time around when really he’d just made it all worse. 

“Mr. Lasso? You can come in now.” 

The lights were off inside the room, the curtains shut. In the dim light Jamie looked pale and small and sick, hands clutched in the blankets over his chest. His whole body twitched at the sound of the door, tracking Ted as he made his way to the bed without ever meeting his eyes. 

“What news, Blues Clues?” he asked, settling on the chair beside the bed. At Jamie’s blank look, he clarified, “How’re you doing?” 

“I can play,” Jamie said, eyes fervent bright. 

“The doctor tell you that?”

His head jerked, halfway between a shake and a nod. “Please, Coach. I’ll be good. Swear down.” 

“I know you will, Jamie,” he said gently. “But right now how you do that is by listening to the doctors and giving yourself time to recover.” Not that he’d need it, not unless the powers that be had one sick sense of humour — which admittedly events up to this point hadn’t exactly disproven. 

“I need to play,” Jamie said, shaky and a little wet. 

“Well, I’m your coach and I’m saying you need to rest up,” Ted said. Then, before Jamie could get sucked deeper into whatever spiral he’d fallen into, “I bet there’s folks worried about you — anyone I should call, let ‘em know the phone’s gonna be a no-go for you for a bit?” Jamie shook his head. Ted thought back to the bonfire last season, how he hadn’t been certain afterwards if Jamie’s mom was still around. “Your dad?” 

His expression went stricken. “I’ll be better,” he said, pushing himself upright in bed on the second try. “I’ll pass, I’ll— I’ll be good to the lads, swear down. You don’t gotta call him.”

“Jamie, he’s your dad,” Ted said. Jammed his hands under his legs where Jamie couldn’t see them shake, only this time it wasn’t that helpless clawing terror but something molten hot battering at his skin from the inside. 

“I know it ain’t the easiest of relationships, but if my little boy got hurt and I didn’t come sit with him in the hospital, I’d never forgive myself.” 

“He’ll be fucked off I got hurt in training.” 

Ted could relate: he practically had a heart attack every time Henry went down a bit too hard on the field, and it’d gotten about ten times worse now he couldn’t do more than watch through the screen. 

“That just comes with the territory of being a parent. You hold this tiny little person in your arms for the first time and next thing you know, you’ve got a vendetta out against every soccer ball that whacks ‘em in the face.” 

“Not my da,” Jamie said. “He’s the one doing the whacking, usually.” 

Chapter Text

Ted left Jamie’s hospital room with a half-baked excuse and a pit in his stomach; stumbled into his apartment gasping and poured himself a drink before he’d even taken off his jacket — if there was one good thing about time’s stubborn refusal to move on forward, it was the bottle of whiskey that filled itself back to the top every morning. 

And in the morning when it all reset he didn’t bother getting dressed; didn’t bother with any of it, just dragged himself as far as the couch with a mug of instant coffee and a dash of something extra and pressed his eyes shut. Jamie’s face flickered up behind his eyelids, all shocked and open and hurt for just a moment before it smoothed out into the blank hard mask he’d worn all of last season. And Ted stared down at him pale and frightened in the hospital bed and he thought, I can’t do this. And then, awfully, shamefully, what does it matter if I stay? Not like he’ll remember it. 

On TV, a bubbly young woman gestured at the map behind her, saying something about centimetres of precipitation, wind gusts, cloudy skies, same as every other day since he’d come to this miserable country. Onto a man in a shiny suit with traffic; three-car pileup with minor injuries, now onto Mel with sports; yes, thank you, Brian, after their match on Saturday, London’s AFC Richmond is on their eighth draw of the season and questions are swirling about the leadership of head coach Ted Lasso— 

He changed the channel and there was Jamie, safe and unbruised in black on the couch in Holly and Phil’s studio telling them he’d quit football for his brand, that smooth blank mask firmly in place as he learned he wouldn’t be coming back to City. Did it to piss of my dad, he’d said, reckless and stupid same as Ted had been as a teenager, back when he looked at his dad and all he saw was a man who’d forgotten how to crack a smile, who’d shut himself in his study all day, who didn’t seem to have time for him anymore. 

He shut off the TV. Took another drink. Called Beard and told him he was feeling a little under the weather; probably wouldn’t be in tomorrow either but by Wednesday he thought it’d be if not clear skies than at least more of a light drizzle than a full downpour, if you know what I mean. Texted Jamie the same when he asked to meet up. Whiled away the afternoon watching some peppy young couple in hardhats strip sea-green tile off the bathroom walls of a sprawling brownstone and plaster it over in gleaming white.

Dozed off, at some point, and when he woke he found Henry’s contact on autopilot, some internal clock ticking over and he pressed dial before his brain had a chance to catch up: they’d talked for a couple of hours yesterday, by Henry’s calendar, but by Ted’s it must’ve been near a week, longer than they’d gone without talking since he’d left town. 

Michelle picked up with her hair wrapped in a towel and a frown on her face. Ted frowned, fresh guilt bubbling in his stomach along with the indigestion from consuming nothing but coffee all day long. “Oh, dang it, I messed up the time change, didn’t I? Is the little guy up?” 

“He’s eating breakfast, but Ted, could you call back later? You know what it’s like getting him out the door.” And he’d left her to do it by herself, she didn’t say. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll make sure he gets going on time. It’s just— long day coming up, you know? Wasn’t sure we’d get a chance later.” 

Her expression softened a little. “Just until I’m done getting ready, alright?” 

At the kitchen table, Henry’s hair was sticking straight up, the sleeves of his star-patterned pajamas pushed messily to the elbows as he worked his way through a plate of pancakes. He broke into a smile when he caught sight of Ted on the screen. “Hi, dad!” 

“Hey, bud! Those looks great, did your mom make ‘em?” 

He used to be the one to cook for them both in the morning while Michelle packed Henry’s lunchbox, the two of them moving around each other easy as a pair of figure skaters only without all the fancy twirls. Time was the conversation flowed just as easy, but over time they’d gotten quieter and quieter, talk pared down to who was gonna pick Henry up after soccer and when they had their next appointment scheduled with Dr. Jacob. 

“I helped,” Henry said, jogging him out of his thoughts. 

“You did? When you get on MasterChef you tell Gordon Rasmay I said hi, alright?” 

“I’m not going on MasterChef! I was gonna put in salt instead of sugar but mom noticed.” 

“Hey, everyone’s gotta start somewhere,” Ted said. “I believe in you.” 

Henry scraped up the last of the syrup with the edge of his fork. “How come you’re calling before school, dad?” 

“Just a long day, you know,” he repeated. 

“How come?” 

Ted scrubbed a hand over his face, let his smile drop just a little. “One of the players is having a bit of a tough time with his dad,” he said. It wasn’t the kind of thing he’d admit to Henry, usually, but the room had gone dark and the glowing numbers on the oven read 1:00 and exhaustion tugged at his bones and Henry wouldn’t remember any of it tomorrow. 

“Then you should help him,” Henry said, like it was simple — and maybe it was. Ted had never had the chance to help his own dad and now here was another father and son with the ties between them crumbling away. 

“You’re smarter than I am, bud. That’s a real good idea,” he said. “You better get going, now. Love you.” 

“Love you too, dad.” 

*

Jamie showed up at 8:00 with a takeaway cup in one hand and a paper bag in the other. He thrust both in Ted’s direction and Ted startled at the movement, eyes fixed on Jamie’s face: he looked a little peaky, but his skin was smooth and unblemished, his eyes clear and alert. 

“Sorry,” he said before Ted could speak. “It’s just hot water; I was gonna get tea ‘cause you’re sick and all, but then I remembered you don’t like tea and I thought maybe you’re not supposed to have coffee when you’re sick and I panicked.” 

“Hey, that’s alright, I appreciate the thought. Come on in, Jamie.” 

Jamie toed his shoes off, scanning around the room as he did. Ted had never thought of him as a particularly nervous guy, what with all that brash confidence, but every time they’d seen each other lately he moved like he was walking through a haunted house, just waiting for someone to leap out and shout boo! Then again, he’d never pegged Jamie as someone who’d remember what he did and didn’t like to drink, either.  

“Take a seat. You want anything?” Jamie shook his head, tucking himself into the far corner of the couch with his sleeves tugged over his hands. “You sure? I’ve got tea here just for guests; you’d be doing me a favour taking that disgusting leaf water off my hands.” 

“No. Thanks.” 

“Alright, then. How’re you doing, Jamie?” 

“The best,” Jamie said, straightening up. “Pretty good. Okay, a little depressed. It’s all shit, Ted.” By the end, he’d wilted back into a slump. 

Ted smothered a smile. “That’s a real rollercoaster, there.” 

Jamie nodded despondently. “No one wants me,” he said to his hands. “I was, uh, talking to Keeley the other day and I was wondering, like, what the chances are of me coming back to play for you at Richmond?” 

“You know, I thought you might say something like that,” Ted said. 

“Really? So I— can I?” 

“I believe in second chances, Jamie, and I believe you and Richmond can be real good for each other.” Jamie beamed, relief breaking across his face like the sun emerging from from behind a cloud. “There’s just a little something I need to talk to you about first.”

Jamie was already nodding eagerly. “Anything, Coach.” 

Ted took a deep breath. “I wanted to have a little chat with you about your dad.”

“Oh.” His expression fell, hands vanishing into his shirt. “Yeah, I— I’ll make sure he doesn't bother the lads. He don’t like leaving Manchester much, so.” He gestured vaguely with his shoulders, hands still bunched in his shirt. 

“No, bud, I’m not trying to make you feel like it’s your job to make him act a certain way,” Ted said. “But Jamie, every person in your life, you only got one of ‘em, you know?” 

“Thank fuck,” Jamie said, grimacing. 

“Yeah, clones might be a bit much. But my point is, you love your dad, don’t you?” 

Jamie shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“And he loves you.” 

“Dunno.” 

Ted leaned forward, ducking a little to meet his eyes. “He does, Jamie. You know how I know that? ‘Cause I’ve got a little boy myself, and let me tell you, when you hold your kid for the first time, that’s it. There’s never gonna be anything in the world that matters to you more.” 

Jamie’s eyes were wide, shiny at the edges. “Was he like that, too? Your dad?” 

He’d thought so, as he a kid. As a teenager, even, right up until his dad went and quit on him when he still needed him. “Yeah,” he said softly. 

“You’re lucky,” Jamie said, and it didn’t hurt any less to hear the second time. 

Ted breathed through it. “You’re lucky, too,” he said. “Now, I’m not saying things ain’t hard between you and your dad, but bud, you’ve got something real special here, and that’s a chance to patch things up while he’s still alive. I learned the hard way that ain’t always gonna be the case.”

“I’m sorry, Coach,” Jamie mumbled. 

“Nah, no, I’m not trying to make you feel bad. It’s just, you’re already making some real good strides here with your second chance, and maybe it’s time to pay that forward, you know?” 

Jamie hunched in further, arms wrapped around his stomach. He turned his face away, staring out the window. “Is that like, a condition? To come back?” 

Ted blinked: he hadn’t meant it to be, but maybe… “I’d sure appreciate if you gave it a go.” 

Jamie nodded, still turned away, fingers twitching against his side, curling and uncurling. Then he pushed himself up, bouncing lightly on his toes. “What if he don’t want to? ‘Cause, like, if I can only get back on the team if me and dad start getting on I’m gonna save us both the time and just, fuck off now. Sorry, Coach.” 

“How do you know if you haven’t tried?” Ted asked. “Heck, when I was a kid I swore up, down, and sideways I’d never put a pistachio near my mouth. Thought they looked like little dried up slugs, you know? But then one day I figured maybe I should give ‘em a fair shake before I decided I didn’t like ‘em, and you know what? That was one of the best decisions of my life. Besides, you know, having my son and all that. Best food-related decision, maybe. That and a real good scoop of chocolate gelato.” 

“I see my dad all the time, though,” Jamie said. 

“Seeing him’s not the same as talking it out,” Ted pointed out gently. He stood, too, picking up Jamie’s phone where it had slipped out of his pocket and onto the cushions. Jamie made no move to take it. “Just give it a try, alright? I think he’ll surprise you.” 

Jamie shook his head frantically, pale-faced and wide-eyed, mouth pressed into a flat line. He stumbled back a step, then another; banged his shins against the coffee table and kept right on going. 

“I can’t,” he said, high and thin. “I can’t fucking bear him, Coach, I couldn’t— I went on the show ‘cause he wouldn’t fucking— even when I were just sitting on the bench he was on me. I know it’s fucking soft, and pathetic, and I’m being a stupid fucking baby about it, but I can’t— my agent’s got some fucking show lined up or I can play in America, or—”  He cut himself off, forced out another breath. “Sorry, Coach.” And then he turned and left. 

Chapter Text

The train jerked to a stop. Ted blinked his way out of a restless doze, peeling his face off the window and stretching his legs out in the cramped space. It’d been a rushed mess of a day; scouring through the BritRail website for last-minute train tickets, then to figure out how to get himself a pass when it turned out they did it that way instead, and then off to the station to catch a ride up to Manchester first thing the next morning. 

He’d spent the first chunk of the ride posing for ussies and signing autographs and cooking up white lies to explain why he was skiving off work in the middle of a tie streak to visit a city where they wouldn’t even be playing this season, on account of the whole relegation business. If this here turned out to be the solution — and he was feeling cautiously optimistic on that front — he’d have to buy Keeley a gift basket in thanks for whatever social media magic she’d have to pull to cover for him. 

He stopped at the train station bathroom to tamp down his hair and straighten his shirt, peering at himself in the mirror — felt like he should have a weeks’ worth of stubble, but he looked fresh as he had the first go-around, plus or minus a handful of wrinkles in his clothes and the imprint of the windowsill creased into his cheek. Fresh out of excuses to dawdle, he head out into the damp afternoon air and hailed himself a cab. Shoved down the panic scratching at his insides, dragged in slow even breaths like Rebecca had taught him outside the pub in Liverpool and watched the city blur past and told himself he was doing the right thing. 

The part of town where they pulled to a stop was a little rundown, clinging to middle class by the fingertips, the house a charming little brick place like something out of a storybook except for the unkept lawn and the shutters hanging loose off the window: an ordinary type of place in any other circumstances, but not what he’d have expected from the father of a successful footballer-slash-reality TV star.

He’d stared after Jamie for a long time after he’d walked out the other day, was the thing, picking over the tremble in his voice and the wet sheen to his eyes, and in the end he figured the kid had an idea stuck in his head about the type of person his dad was — not that Ted could blame him all that much, from what he’d seen of the man. But he’d meant it when he told Jamie that something happened when you became a parent. That no matter how bad things got tangled up afterwards, there’d always be that seed of love deep down inside, and no matter the man’s faults, he’d bet his bottom dollar it was the same for James Tartt Sr. 

Ted squared his shoulders as he climbed the walk, trying and failing to rehearse what he’d say, same as he had the whole train ride: usually he had no shortage of words bouncing around up there just waiting to tumble out, but somewhere between talking to Jamie and buying his train pass they’d all up and run out on him. He paused on the doorstep with his fist raised to the door. Pasted on a smile. 

Knocked. 

And waited. 

And waited, and waited some more. It occurred to him that James Tartt might not live there any longer — he’d pulled the information from Jamie’s file from last season; maybe Jamie’d gone and bought him an upgrade since then. Or he was at work, or out with friends, or heard the knock on the door and had the reasonable thought that Ted was some fella with an armful of flyers and a product to sell. 

He hesitated, hands tucked into his pockets. He’d just… get a hotel, then. Wait until the loop restarted and see if he could get himself down here faster now he knew how the rail system worked. Maybe whoever lived here now could tell him where to find James Tartt if someone answered the door and it turned out not to be the man himself — wasn’t like time was in short supply, these days. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Ted had only seen him for a moment, those months ago through the window of the Nelson Road treatment room, but he recognized the man right away, the tangled grey beard and the hair to match, shifting from foot to foot in the open door as he scowled up at Ted in a funhouse echo of his son. 

“You’re, uh, James Tartt?” Ted asked, holding out a hand to shake.

“What’s it to you?” James demanded, ignoring it entirely. 

“What it is to me is either your son’s one of my former players or he ain’t, and if it’s the latter, well, I sure would like to know before we carry on with the rest of the conversation or things’ll be a mite confusing for you, not to mention a violation of privacy that’d land me in a whole heck of a lot of trouble.” 

“Piss off, wanker.” He said it sharp and taunting, like pressing on an old bruise to see if it still hurt. Grabbed the edge of the door and went to slam it shut but Ted slipped his foot into the gap before he could manage, tears springing up in his eyes — that sure hurt a heck of a lot more than it looked in the movies. “Hey now, I know no one likes an uninvited guest, but this here’s real important. Can I come in?” 

James’ eyes flicked up to his face, scowl twisting deeper. “And why the fuck would I do that, then? Turned my son into a whimpering fucking pussy and now you’re going after me, is that it?” 

The venom hit him like a punch in the chest. He breathed through it, hands tucked into his pockets — if there was one thing he’d learned in all his years dealing with angry parents, it was not to let ‘em see they were getting to you. 

“Well, I dunno if I’d describe Jamie that way. He’s a real tough customer.” 

James snorted. “Think he came by that on his own, do you? My son’s twice the footballer of any of your fucking amateurs, and you think it was his precious fucking mummy who made him that way? Or your fucking sunshine-and-rainbows fairy shit?” He bounced closer, eyes narrowed. Jabbed a finger at Ted’s chest. “So you leave him the fuck alone and stop putting all that shit in his head or me and me mates, we ain’t gonna take kindly, yeah?” 

“I can see how much you care about him,” Ted said, not certain he believed it. “I can see how badly he wants to make you proud.” (Did it to piss of me dad, he’d said at the pub, that first time. And before that, I actually fucking hated that.) 

“Doing a shit fucking job of showing it,” James said. 

Ted took a deep breath. “Look, I know things are real complicated between the two of you and I don’t wanna go butting in where it’s not my place.” James laughed at that, sharp and crackling and mean. “But, look. I tried talking to Jamie, alright? Told him your relationship is a real special thing — that the relationship between any parent and child is a real special thing —; that it’s something you only get once, and you never know how long it’s gonna last.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” James took a step forward and Ted took a step back, abruptly aware that the street was deserted behind them. “Think my son’ll fuck off, do you? That he’ll abandon me— or d’you think I’ll die, is that it? Be real fucking convenient for you, that would.” 

“My dad shot himself,” Ted heard himself say, as if from a great distance. “When I was sixteen. And I just—”

“No fucking wonder, with you as a son,” James said. His eyes raked over Ted’s face, twisting up into a vicious grin. Snapped forward with a curled fist and brought it to a stop an inch from his stomach. Let out another big cackling laugh and stepped back over the threshold and snapped the door shut. 

Ted heaved out a gasp, tight and strained and heavy, ribs cracking beneath some great, invisible weight. Sank to the ground in a barely-controlled fall, pressed his forehead into his knees and tried to suck in a breath. No Rebecca to help him out, this time. Nothing but the rough wood of James Tartt’s porch and the awful thundering beat of his heart and the slow cooling of the air.

He stayed there ’til the air bent around him in a sickening swirl and he blinked and—

Chapter Text

—opened his eyes staring at the ceiling alarm blaring in his ear and he smacked it off and shot off a text to Beard and not to Jamie, never to Jamie, he couldn’t look at his name, couldn’t think of the man who shared his face, and—

Chapter Text

—did the same the next day, and—

Chapter Text

— pulled on his shoes; made it two steps down the stairs before he remembered Dr. Sharon’s cool, assessing eyes. Turned around and locked the door tight and stumbled as far as the couch, pressed his cheek into the scratchy fabric of the arm. Clicked on the TV, some time later, and there was Jamie with Henry’s face layered over his own; with James’; with his father’s, hidden away beneath a sheet as the paramedics wheeled him from the house. No fucking wonder, with you as a son, he thought hazily. Shut off the TV. Reached out blindly ’til his hand knocked against glass and he wrapped his hand around the cool smooth neck of the whiskey bottle and he drank.

Chapter Text

Beard turned up, one day — Ted must’ve forgotten to call in, or sounded off on the phone, ‘cause he burst in flushed and wild-eyed, brandishing his spare key, slumped in on himself when he caught sight of Ted sprawled out on the couch in sweats and a t-shirt. Still, he hustled over just a touch too fast to be casual and sank down beside him, eyes sharp. 

“You alright, Ted?” he asked.

“Sure thing,” he murmured. “How about you, Coach? Must be serious if I’m getting the unannounced home visit treatment.”

“You didn’t come to work,” Beard said. 

“Yeah. Just not feeling so hot, you know.” Really he wasn’t feeling like much of anything. Just heavy. Kind of dull, like he was sitting under water. 

“I’m going to stay.” 

Ted should protest: the boys deserved to have their coaches show up for work, and Nate deserved colleagues who’d turn up to do their jobs. Instead, he tipped his head back against the arm of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “Okay.” 

And stay he did. Silently, mostly — Beard wasn’t exactly the most loquacious fellow and this was no exception; he planted himself at the far end of the couch making his way through one of his trusty soccer books, pausing every so often to scrawl notes in the margins. 

At some point, Ted dozed, and when he drifted awake he could hear the faint sound of him bustling around the kitchen. He rolled his head to the side, peering over the couch back to find a crockpot on the stove and Beard was staring at the knife rack with an intensity he might’ve found worrying on anyone else. 

Later — minutes, maybe an hour; wasn’t like time meant much of anything anymore — they ate across from each other at the table, bowls filled with steaming chicken soup made with just a touch of spice. Meant to offer to help with the dishes but instead he just sat there, tongue leaden heavy. He knew he should say something, try to ease the stiff set to his friend’s shoulders but all he could think was why bother? Wouldn’t matter in two days anyway.

He texted Jamie on autopilot. Settled back on the couch with a cooking show he could recite by memory on low in the background: Beard had turned it on and he couldn’t muster the energy to explain why he wanted it off. Beard finished his book and started another. Went back to the kitchen and emerged with sandwiches. Washed the dishes.

That night, Beard slept on the couch — or maybe didn’t sleep at all, the way the shadows carved dark under his eyes the next day. He struck up a monologue, more words in a row than Ted had heard from him in all their years of friendship. Made breakfast and lunch and dinner; didn’t say a word about the team, or the string of ties, or their duty to the boys. 

In the evening he opened the window wide and dragged a pair of kitchen chairs over to face it, settled in one and waited for Ted to haul himself over to the other. Night in London was glowing yellow and rushing with traffic, but the coool breeze eased something inside him all the same. 

“Remember the Great American Twinetrip?” Ted asked abruptly. It’d been not long after Beard got out of prison, back when he was still living in his and Michelle’s guest room and skittish as a newborn deer. Come summer and with it the end of the coaching season, Ted had packed them both into his car and spent two and a half weeks driving them around the country to see every record-breaking ball of twine in the country. “We camped in that field out by…”

“Lake Nebagamon,” Beard supplied. 

“Yeah.” They’d gotten lost on some deserted road, gave up on trying to find their way into town once the sun set. “Remember the stars? Can’t see nothing like it out here.” 

“Light pollution.” 

They went quiet again. The curtains fluttered. In the field outside Lake Nebagamon, Ted had told him, just ‘cause you used to be a certain way don’t mean you’ll be that way forever, but Beard had closed his eyes when Ted stored the car keys for the night and Ted had torn a piece of paper from the back of his notebook and scrawled KEYS HERE in neon pink highlighter and pressed Beard’s wallet back into his hands when he tried to hand it over mumbling something about insurance. And crunched there together in the folded-down back seat he’d met Ted’s eyes in the dark and said— 

“Think I might be cursed.” Beard quirked an eyebrow, waiting for him to go on. “It’s just… I dunno. Feel like no matter what I do, I can’t seem to get it right.” 

“Specific it or general it?”

“Heck, I dunno. Both, maybe.” Ted sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I think I’ve messed things up with Jamie.” 

“Tartt?” Beard asked. 

“Nah, my friend Jamie Cupcake, you ain’t met him?” Beard waited. “No. Yeah, that’s the Jamie. You know why I asked you to give him that toy soldier last season?” 

“I thought I did. Now I think I don’t.” 

Ted let out a slow breath, tipping his head back against the chair back. Watched the curtain flutter against the muddy grey sky. “I saw him talking to his dad. Or saw his dad talking to him, really. Shouting. You know, shoving him around a little. Not a lot, just…” he gestured, a half-hearted echo of James pushing his son’s head to the side. “Tossed a cleat at him — don’t think he was aiming for him, but…”

Beard’s face went frozen closed. “He hit him.” 

“I mean. Didn’t see him make contact.” 

“He hit him,” Beard repeated. “You saw that.” 

“Yeah,” Ted said. “Then I walked away from him. Told myself trying to intervene would just make it worse and I dunno, maybe it would’ve. And, you know, it’s his dad. Not really my place, is it?” 

“Then whose is it?” 

Chapter Text

He’d sat up with Beard the rest of the night, neither of them speaking. Words had always flowed easy for Ted — too easy, sometimes; when he got nervous or upset or just plain uncomfortable and his mouth started running away without him. But after the past few days, all that awful dragging, sickening misery, of sinking into himself and of giving up the way he’d promised he never would, he just wanted to sit. 

To be with someone he loved and just sit, at least ’til the air warped electric around him and he blinked awake in bed with his alarm ringing in his ear. This time, he climbed out of bed. Climbed into the shower. Ate his big piece of cereal and brushed his teeth and took the long way into work. Stopped to pick up a sugar-free gift basket on the way, so that by the time he came through the parking lot Roy’s hulking black car had pulled up, him and Keeley chatting inside before she stepped out.

“Hi, Ted!” 

“Hey, Keeley.” He glanced up to wave through the car window. “Hey, Roy.” Roy peeled out away, rubber screaming against concrete. “Don’t think he heard me.” 

“He’s in a rush this morning,” Keeley said. 

Ted glanced back at the parking lot entrance again, where Roy had vanished around the corner, an idea brewing like an itch under his skin: he’d figured, sometime during the long hours peering out into the London night, that he’d messed things up pretty bad with Jamie, and not just the whole deal with his dad. He’d tried bringing him back and he’d tried not bringing him back, and for all he might be stumbling towards the right answer on the complex parental relationships front, it wouldn’t do him or the timeline any good if he went and messed up the football side of things. Might be time to get a second opinion from someone who knew a whole heck of a lot more about the sport than him or even Beard, even if that second opinion was admittedly not the most unbiased on Jamie — but Roy had proven he’d do what was best for the team even if he dragged his heels a little (a lot) first.

Ted shook himself out of his thoughts. “Oh, yeah, sure thing. But hey, d’you know if there’s anywhere I could track him down, pick his brain a little?” 

Keeley hesitated. “He’s been a little…” She drew her eyebrows together, pulling an exaggerated frown. 

“Yeah, he can be like that, can’t he?” 

She dug through her purse, jotted something down in a sparkly pink notepad, then tore out a page and handed it to him. “But I think it’d do him some good to talk to someone who’s not me, his sister, or a team of eight-year-old girls, so this is where you can find him at lunch.” 

“Thanks, Keeley, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Well, you’re a lifesaver for me, too — I love Roy to death, obviously, but he’s driving me a bit mad, you know? Honestly, I think he’s driving himself a bit mad.” She nodded down at the gift basket balanced on his hip. “Who’s the lucky person?” 

“Figured I’d give the good doctor a warm welcome for the rest of the season, plus a warm thank you for helping Dani out.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Keeley said. 

“Savoury, actually. This here’s sugar free.” 

“Eugh.” 

“My feelings exactly,” Ted said. They watched as the doctor pulled in on her fancy little bike. 

“Holy shit, it’s a transformer!” Keeley said. 

“Hey, Doctor,” Ted called, holding up the gift basket. “Got something for you here.” 

Dr. Sharon’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead. “That’s very kind of you, Coach Lasso.” With a goodbye to Keeley, he jogged up to meet her, swapping his gift basket for her neat folding bike over her protests. 

“I’m not trying to bribe you, if that’s what your worried about. This coaching operation’s clean as a whistle.” He hiked the bike up higher, puffing more than he was proud to admit as they climbed the stairs. “That’s sugar-free,” he said, gesturing at the gift basket with his elbow before he remembered he wasn’t supposed to know that yet. “Got to be a bit of a habit working with these folks here, so, uh, sorry if it’s a little bland for your tastes.” 

“No, that’s perfect. I don’t eat sugar.”

 That would never cease to amaze, no matter how many times he heard it. “Huh. Lucky guess, I guess.” They reached the top of the stairs, finally. Dr. Sharon politely didn’t comment as he took a moment to catch his breath. “Look, I just wanted to say welcome and, you know, Nelson Road is your oyster. What’s ours is yours.” 

“I take it you wouldn’t mind me watching training today, then.” 

“Ding, ding, ding, got it in one! You go on ahead and watch us all you want,” he said. Frowned. “That came out sounding a little more sinister than I was aiming, but you know what I mean.” He steered her bike into her new-slash-Higgins’ old office. “Alright, you have a nice day, now.”

And it was a nice day, at least compared to the last few loops. He cheered the boys on from the sidelines just a titch harder than usual, guilt tugging at his stomach for how he’d snapped at them all back… however long ago that was now, and how he’d given up on them to wallow in his own self-pity, ‘cause it didn’t matter if they’d remember, it was the principle of the thing, wasn’t it? 

He called lunch a handful of minutes early to make his way across town to Roy’s kebab place — getting around town without a car sure could be inconvenient, sometimes, but getting a British license felt just a little too permanent. Like digging his roots down into British soil instead of sitting out on the porch in an American pot. 

Roy’s kebab shop was a charming little hole-in-the-wall neighbourhood place, not quite the type of spot he’d have expected a professional athlete to frequent — even Roy, who for all he’d deny it to his dying breath liked the finer things in life just as much as the rest of the boys and had more than enough money to get them. 

But sure enough, the man himself sat at one of the booths, eating a kebab with an expression as close to content as he suspected he’d ever see on Roy Kent’s face — until he caught sight of Ted, and then it went scowling and suspicious, though he still liked to think there was a touch of fondness mixed in there. 

“No,” he said when Ted slipped into the seat across from him. “The fuck are you doing here? This place is my church.” 

“And it sure is a charming one.” 

“The fuck are you doing here?” Roy repeated, sounding aggrieved. 

“Getting right down to business. I can respect that.” Roy raised a doubtful eyebrow — a fair reaction, Ted was self-aware enough to admit; his manner did tend to be a touch circuitous. “You, uh, been keeping up with Jamie?”

“Fuck no,” Roy said, then, “what does the little prick think he’s playing at anyway, fucking off like that? Fucking little prick baby idiot.” 

“Think it’s a loss to the wide world of soccer that he’s not playing any longer?” Ted asked. Roy hunched tighter over his kebab, growling faintly. “Would that be a yes, Ted, I think Jamie’s one heck of a player growl, or an I’m gonna be stubborn and pretend he ain’t ‘cause my pride hurts growl?” 

“Don’t make me say it,” Roy said. “Disgraceful fucking waste of talent, is what it is.” 

“So what’d you say if I said I’m thinking of bringing him back to play for Richmond?” 

“I’d say he’s a fucking bellend, fucking terrorizing Sam and making everyone miserable.” He sighed. “I’d also say that unless someone starts scoring goals, you’re fucked.” 

“That’s about the shape of it,” Ted agreed. Roy turned back to his kebab with a huff, grumbling all the while about how Jamie was a twat and wasting his talent. He hid a smile behind his hand. “Well, hey, I’m meeting with him tonight. You wanna tag along?” 

“Fuck no, the one good thing about retirement is not having to see that little prick,” Roy snapped. Then, “When?” 

*

Ted held the meeting in his apartment again, if only because Roy and Jamie getting into it in public was sure to cause more of a hullabaloo than he was eager to deal with even if it might get washed away by the mysterious, repeating sands of time. Roy showed up ten minutes early with a scowl like he hadn’t agreed to come along of his own volition and planted himself on the couch, arms spread across the back. 

He accepted a cup of tea, knuckles going white around the ceramic when Ted started giving him a rundown of everything that’d gone on at Richmond since he left; offered a handful of words when Ted made a go at changing topics by asking about his niece, never mind hearing about Roy standing on the sidelines where he could cheer his kid on and spin her up in his arms when she scored made something go tight in his chest. Eventually, they lapsed into silence. Maybe that was the point of the loop: to squeeze the loquaciousness out of him, smooth him down into a quieter person, a listener instead of a talker. 

“Did you get hit in the head with a football, or something?” Roy demanded after a that had gone on for a minute, eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

Ted swallowed around a sudden rush of nausea and the memory of Jamie trembling against him, the deep red marks across his face that’d just begun to fade to violet. “Nah,” he managed after a second, faint. Cleared his throat. “No, no, nothing like that. Just a little stressed, I guess.” 

“No fucking wonder. Seven draws, Jesus fucking Christ.” He shook his head, looking faintly amazed. “Don’t know how the fuck you even manage that.” 

Jamie knocked on the door, then, a quick nervous tap-tap-tap, and Ted sprang to his feet to let him in. “Hey there, bud, how you doing?” 

“Awesome,” Jamie said, same as usual, then his eyes drifted past Ted’s shoulder and he twitched. “What’s he doing here?” 

“Roy’s just here to give us a little advice,” Ted soothed, herding Jamie inside. 

“I don’t need advice from that dusty old fart.”

“You ran off to do a stupid fucking reality show, you twat,” Roy snapped back. He climbed to his feet, jabbing Jamie in the chest with his fingertip. “Only reason you don’t need advice is ‘cause you’re too fucking thick to take it.” 

“Alright, fellas, settle down,” Ted cut in. “Jamie, Roy’s just here for a little occupational expertise, ‘cause I figure I got a good idea what you’re looking to ask and I know Roy here can give us some real good professional insight.” 

“Why’s it gotta be him, though,” Jamie said, but the ire in his voice had gone half-hearted. 

“Funny, I was just asking myself the same thing,” Roy said, but he backed off, dropping back onto the couch with a wince that suggested it maybe hadn’t felt so hot on his knee. Jamie caught it too, his expression doing something complicated. 

“You boys want anything?” Ted called, moving towards the kitchen. 

“Yeah, some water and carbs for this one,” Roy said, gestured at Jamie. 

“Fuck off,” Jamie snapped, hackles going up again.  

“I’m gonna agree with Jamie on that one, bud, minus the fruity language — you ain’t his coach yet.” 

Roy barked out a laugh. “See, usually I’d agree with that, but this little fucking twat—” he jabbed a finger in Jamie’s direction again— “doesn’t know how the fuck to take care of himself, fucking swanning around all dehydrated the whole fucking summer. And I won’t ever be anyone’s coach.” 

“I weren’t dehydrated, what’re you on about?” Jamie demanded. 

“Didn’t the nutritionists ever tell you you’re not supposed to be able to see your fucking abs like that?” 

Jamie’s expression went through a veritable set of gymnastics before settling on a blinding grin. “You watched me!” 

Ted paused where he’d been pulling a selection of snacks from the cupboards, intrigued by this new information — he hadn’t exactly pegged Roy as Lust Conquers All man himself. 

“I fucking did not.” Jamie said nothing, but the grin spoke a fair few paragraphs on its own. And then Roy said, “You can’t pull shit like that if you come back to Richmond. Running off and being a prick to the lads and not passing,” and his expression crumpled, hands bunching to fists in his lap.

“I didn’t do it to run out on anyone,” he said. “I just thought— for my brand, d’you know what I mean? And then it didn’t even fucking work, and I ain’t stupid enough to keep doing the same thing over again and expect something different. Definition of insanity, innit?” 

Ted winced — that made one of them — but Roy was frowning, impressive as all heck eyebrows drawing together. “That’s not why you did it.”

“How the fuck would you know, grandad?” 

Roy levelled him a flat look. “Because I was a player too, you twat.” 

Jamie’s hands snuck up into his shirt, twisting anxiously at the fabric. “It’s fucking soft,” he said quietly. 

Ted slipped back into the room, keeping his footsteps light to avoid startling him, took a seat in one of the chairs. “How about you tell us anyway and let us make up our own minds,” he said, pushing down the squirmy ache in his stomach — he could imagine the type of thing James Tartt might’ve told his son, now, no matter how much he wanted to believe he’d never dug his claws into his own boy the same way he had a stranger on his porch.

“My— my dad were just getting on my case, you know? Going after me for how I played,” Jamie mumbled. 

Ted waited expectantly, but he stayed quiet, shoulders hunching in. He wondered if it was because of Roy — that the presence of another (former) player, or maybe of legendary hard man Roy Kent specifically, made him clam up. Or maybe it was that Ted already knew the shape of the thing between Jamie and his dad, no matter how hard he tried to pretend he didn’t. 

“Fuck him,” Roy said. Jamie’s eyes snapped up, wide and shocked. “What the fuck does he know? He’s a fucking piece of shit.” 

“Let me ask you something, Jamie,” Ted cut in. “Were you happy at Richmond?” 

Jamie blinked at him, nonplussed. “I dunno. Guess not, but like, I think maybe that was more me than the team, d’you know what I mean?” 

“Sure do, bud.” 

He thought of the boys, the crackling tension out on the field before Jamie went down hurt and terrified. Maybe it’d always go that way — Jamie awkward and apologetic but cocky beneath that in a way he couldn’t seem to help; the boys warier than a pack of cats during a thunderstorm, and when he stuck them together someone was bound to come out hurt. Jamie was bound to come out hurt. Couldn’t seem to stop it happening, over and over again.

“It’s not gonna be easy, if you come back. Burned a lot of bridges.” 

“I know. I want to anyway,” Jamie said. 

Ted scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Okay,” he said at last. “Alright, that’s— we can do that. Give it the old college try.” He’d just have to keep an eye on the boys, make sure no one was on the path to ending up in the hospital again. He turned to Roy. “How about you, coach?” 

“Fuck no.” 

They sat together a little longer, Roy grumbling about how Jamie hadn’t kept up with his conditioning like a big, grumpy mother hen, shoving glasses of water and a plate of leftover lasagna he’d found in Ted’s fridge into the kid’s hands, then corralled him to his feet to run him through a series of stretches. Jamie looked perturbed, but also shyly pleased, the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile.

“The fuck are you smiling about?” Roy said, grabbing his shoulder and fixing his posture. 

“You’re going senile in your old age, grandad,” Jamie sniped back, but to Ted’s jaded ears it sounded almost affectionate. 

He watched them from the armchair, feeling… strange. Jamie still looked a little pale and a little tense and it might’ve been the happiest Ted had ever seen him, and it was with Roy sniping at him, telling him his dad was a piece of shit. Ted wondered if he should push back against it, but, well. It wasn’t an entirely inaccurate assessment. And he couldn’t begrudge Jamie a little happiness after all the shades of misery he’d seen on him lately; all the shades of misery he’d begun to suspect he’d seen on him before, hidden behind all those spines. 

Years ago, standing in the glaring Kansas sun as they lowered his father’s coffin into the ground, he swore he’d never let anyone get by him who was hurting — but he had, with Jamie, without even realizing it. 

“Jamie, can I talk with you a minute?” he asked when he and Roy had drifted towards the door, Roy scrawling something on one of those little pads of paper real estate companies kept leaving in his mailbox. He shoved it at Jamie. 

“This is your training plan. Fucking follow it.” Ted suppressed a smile — if the sands of time didn’t erase the day, they’d be seeing him in a Richmond jacket on the sidelines before the month was out. 

“I can’t read that!” Jamie objected. 

“I’ll help you out,” Ted said, only regretting it a little when he leaned over and caught sight of a scratch that’d put chickens to shame. “Thanks for coming, Roy. It was real good to see you.” 

“Yeah,” Roy said, which he figured was as close to good to see you, too as he was going to get.

“What’d you want to talk about, Coach?” Jamie asked when the door had shut. 

Ted sighed. “You better come sit down for this one.” 

Jamie trailed him back to the couch, eyes wide and hands tucked beneath his knees. Ted settled beside him. “I need to apologize to you about something, but it’s a little complicated so I’m just gonna need you to bear with me for a sec, okay?” He waited for Jamie to nod before he continued. “Something strange has been happening to me, lately. You ever seen Groundhog Day?” Another nod. “Well, it’s a little something like that. Wake up in the morning and it’s yesterday, you know? Or, the day before yesterday, rather.” 

“Is that a metrophor?” Jamie asked after a moment, watching him with wide, uncertain eyes. 

“Metaphor, and nope, though that sure would be a heck of a lot easier. Time’s going in a circle, my young friend.” 

“Did you… get hit in the head at training?” Jamie craned around to peer anxiously at his eyes. 

Ted winced. Probably wasn’t a great sign he’d been asked that more than once in a single day. “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk about, actually — not me getting hit, that didn’t happen. But, uh, on one of these loops I was talking about, you did. I brought you back on the team and things got a bit rough in training, you know, everyone working out their feelings and all that, and you got hit. Not on purpose, I don’t think, but you weren’t doing so hot after. And I know you don’t remember any of that and you probably don’t believe a word I’m saying, but I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry, Jamie. I should’ve been more careful with you and I wasn’t.” 

Jamie bit his lip, eyes somehow even rounder. “I think maybe we should go to the hospital,” he said. 

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I promise you it’s true, okay?” Ted thought back over the past… however long it had been, searching for something to convince him. What came out was, “I talked to your dad up in Manchester.” 

For just a second, Jamie’s expression went stripped open, all raw flayed hurt before he put himself back together the way Ted had seen more times than he could count, by now. 

“I really think we should go to the hospital,” he said, eyes darting around the room restlessly before settling on the door like he was hoping for Roy to come back. When Roy failed to be here, there, and every f-ing where, he sprang to his feet, tugging Ted up by the arm after him. Ted let him — the kid looked more spooked than a horse faced with a plastic bag. 

“Jamie, I’m okay,” he repeated. “I appreciate you looking out for me, I really do, but let’s just sit and chat for a bit.”

Jamie nodded, a little frantic. He still hadn’t let go of Ted’s arm. “It’s probably just brain chemicals, yeah? Like, you got too much of something or not enough and they’ll give you meds for it and then you’ll be fine. Plenty of people have brain shit.” 

“They sure do,” Ted agreed, mainly because now didn’t seem like the time to debate the merits of the psychiatric institution. “But I ain’t one of them. This brain’s all in good order, yes sir.” 

“It’s just, I dunno if you can always tell, when it’s your brain,” Jamie said. Ted met his eyes. He looked young, and scared — not quite full-on panicked, the way he had been when Ted had tried to have him call his dad in the hospital; just overwhelmed, like he was twenty-three years old and convinced someone who was supposed to be looking after him was in the middle of some kind of breakdown and he’d rather be anywhere else but now he’d ended up in this mess he was determined to see it through. 

“I wish I didn’t keep hurting you, bud,” Ted said softly. 

“What’re you on about?” Jamie asked. He’d managed to steer them to the door and was looking around for Ted’s keys.

“Tell you what,” Ted said. “Richmond’s got a sports psychologist this season — you heard what happened to poor Earl?” 

“Yeah. Went to the memorial, like.” 

That was surprisingly sweet of him — or maybe not surprising, now he was getting to see Jamie beneath the spiky exterior. 

“Dani was real torn up about it, but Dr. Sharon — that’s the psych — really helped him out. How about we split the difference and give her a call before we go cause a stir in the emergency room.” 

Jamie pulled a face, considering. “Okay,” he said eventually. “But like— she probably doesn’t work evenings, yeah? And I feel like maybe we should get you checked out now, you know, so it don’t get worse or nothing.” 

“I’ll make sure Higgins pays her overtime, how about that?” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay,” Ted echoed. “Alright, here we go.” 

Higgins, efficient as ever, had already sent the doctor’s contact information out to the staff. The prospect of explaining to a psychiatric professional that he was stuck in a time loop wasn’t exactly appealing, but he figured he owed it to Jamie to help calm him down a little after he’d done nothing but spin him up lately, not to mention the kid was a professional athlete and could probably drag him to the hospital if he set his mind to it. 

“Coach Lasso, this is a surprise,” Dr. Sharon said. She’d answered on the first ring, which Ted had been half-hoping she wouldn’t. 

“Sorry to go butting in on your personal time, Doc… tor. We’ve just got, uh, a bit of a situation here.” 

“We?” Dr. Sharon prodded. 

“Yeah, uh, Jamie Tartt and I.” 

“Is he safe?” For a moment Ted was convinced she knew about his dad, about Manchester and all the awful things he’d said, about I didn’t come all this way to watch my son pass the ball and the thud of a cleat rebounding off the wall, and he realized she’d probably heard about the football star who’d run off to do a reality show, then got booted off that show and off his team all on the same day, and figured he might be having a bit of a crisis. 

“Just a bit shook up,” Ted said. “It’s, uh, something else, actually. Something with me,” and then stopped, words caught between his teeth. If this one did turn out to be the solution, he wasn’t too keen to deal with the consequences. 

“Go on,” she said when he’d let the silence linger a beat too long. 

“You, uh, ever seen the movie Groundhog Day?” he asked again. 

“I have,” she said. 

“Well, I’ve had a little something like that going on with me lately.” 

To her credit, Dr. Sharon didn’t miss a beat. “Could you tell me more about that?” 

Jamie was watching him intently, looking like he was ready to spring forward and snatch the phone away at a moment’s notice. Ted sighed. “Well, for the past… guess it must’ve been a few weeks by now, I’ve gone to sleep on Monday and woken up on Tuesday like usual, but then when I go to sleep on Tuesday I wake up on Monday instead of Wednesday. Every day is October 5th or 6th and, well, I’m not too certain how to solve it, to be honest.” 

This time the pause went on a little longer. “What led you to this conclusion? That time is… repeating itself?” 

“I do things, and after the two days, they just,” he waved his hand, then remembered she couldn’t see him. “Whoosh. Up and undo themselves. And I’m not talking little things like people wearing the same clothes again or getting my feelings hurt ‘cause I remember a conversation and someone else don’t. I mean real big, thorny problems, like this rose bush that grew in my neighbour’s yard back in the day — asked me and Beard to come help him dig it up ‘cause he was getting up there in years, you know, and this thing was real big but mostly dry bark instead of leaves and roses, and the pair of us were just about covered in scratches for a week afterwards. Looked like we’d lost a fight to a cheese grater.” 

“Could you give me an example of these problems?” Dr. Sharon asked. 

He glanced over at Jamie again, reflexively. It wouldn’t be right to say the kid looked more relaxed, but his shoulders had dropped from around his ears a little and he’d slouched back into the couch corner, knees tucked up under his chin. “Jamie got hurt pretty bad,” he said softly, not that it’d keep him from hearing. “Ended up in the hospital. Concussion, bruising, a bit, uh, freaked out, you know? This was on Tuesday. One of the Tuesdays. And then I went to sleep, and when I got up in the morning, it was Monday, and Jamie here was whole and healthy as ever.”  

Another pause, longer this time. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Coach Lasso. I appreciate that talking about something like this can be daunting,” she said. “If you’re amenable, I’d like to refer you to one of my colleagues. They should be able to get an appointment for you tomorrow.”

“Hey, if tomorrow gets here, I’m happy to talk to whoever you like,” he said. 

“And I would ask that you have someone stay with you until then. You have no obligation to tell them anything you don’t want to, but I would recommend that it be someone other than Jamie — he may not be your player at the moment, but he is a young man going through a difficult time, and a power differential still exists between you.”

“Yeah, no, sure thing. I’ll give Beard a call.” 

*

Beard showed up five minutes later, eyes flicking automatically to the oven. “You figure out how to fix it?” he asked, before he noticed Jamie crunched against the arm of the couch. “Jamie.”

“Nope, no mysterious beeping noise today,” Ted said. He turned to Jamie, who still looked a touch uncertain about the whole situation. “Thanks for coming over, bud. Beard and I have it from here, so you just go out and have yourself a good time, alright?” 

“Thanks, Coach,” he mumbled. He climbed a little clumsily to his feet, paused for a second in front of Beard like he was thinking of saying something, then seemed to reconsider when Beard levelled him a flat look. He gave a little half-wave and slipped out the door. 

“So. Jamie Tartt,” Beard said. 

“Well, he’s sweetened up a little since the last time we spoke. More Jamie Semisweet.” 

“Mixing your baked goods there, Coach.” 

“Yeah, that’s true. Guess tart chocolate ain’t a thing, unless Jamie here has a change of career.” 

“He find another team?” Beard asked, perching on the arm of the couch. “He’s a poop in the punch bowl, but at the bottom of the table, that kind of talent might look appetizing.” 

“Dunno if I wanted that image in my head, Coach,” Ted said. He dropped back onto the couch, scrubbed his thumb along the ridge of his brow against the building headache. 

“You alright?” 

“Yeah,” Ted sighed. “Well, no. It’s complicated.” 

Beard’s eyebrows hiked up at that. “Anything I can help with?” 

“No, no,” he started, then cut himself off. He’d already told Jamie and Dr. Sharon, already tried everything he could think to do, and he’d always told Beard more than anyone else. “Actually, yeah. Call me a vulture, ‘cause there’s a little something I’d like to pick your brain about.” 

“About Jamie?”

“That’s part of it, yeah. The icing on the whole confusing layer cake.” 

“What are the other layers?” 

“Well, I guess it’s more like one layer over and over, you know?” Actually, this was probably one of the only situations where Beard wouldn’t know — he was perceptive as all heck, but it wasn’t exactly on anyone’s roster of possibilities. “Willis, I promise I ain’t pulling your leg here, and it’s not a mental thing. It’s really happening, not that I’ll blame you if you don’t believe it. But Jamie already had me call Dr. Sharon, so, you know, no action required. Officially your job’s just to, uh, make sure I stay on my rocker. Or, half on the rocker, I guess. Not fall off the rocker more than some folks figure I already have.” Beard raised an eyebrow. “Right. Well, uh, guess I’ll just go ahead and tear off the band-aid. I’m, uh. Stuck in a time loop, seems like. Well, we’re past the seems like stage. Is like. It’s October 5th and 6th over and over again, is the point I’m making here.” 

“Do you know the password?” Beard asked. 

Ted had opened his mouth, prepared to fight his corner for the third time that day, and then shut it, thrown. “The password? There a secret time loop club I don’t know about?” 

“This is the first time you’ve told me, then.” 

“Sure is.” 

Beard met his eyes, mouth drawn into a serious line. “Listen close to what I’m about to tell you: the password is pineapple.” 

“That doesn’t come up too often? I feel like you’d be breaking out the time loop protocol whenever Will makes that new sports drink. Hold up, is Will also in a time loop?” 

“He is not,” Beard said. “And it’s the context that makes the password, baby.” 

“Okay, so like, Beard, I got something to tell you. I’m in a time loop and the password is pineapple? Something like that?” 

“Perfect.” 

Ted slumped bonelessly against the couch back, tension rushing out of him. “I dunno how to fix this, Coach.” 

Beard slid off the arm to sit next to him, feet propped up on the coffee table. They’d sat like that more times than he could count over the years — he’d moved back in with him and Michelle after Henry was born, insisting he’d just look after the house, that he’d do the cooking and the cleaning but he wouldn’t go near the baby; he couldn’t be trusted with that. No offence, bud, but that’s just about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, Ted had told him, but he’d insisted right up until Henry had reached his little hand out towards him and Ted, sitting next to him like they were now with his boy cradled in his arms, held him out. C’mon, Willis, he’d said. He wants to meet his uncle. And Beard had taken him, gentle and reverent, and Ted knew no matter what happened to him his boy would have someone in his corner. 

“You think Jamie’s the key?” Beard asked now. 

“I also tried firing Dr. Sharon a couple of times,” he admitted. “Boys were pretty sore about it. But yeah, I figure it’s something to do with Jamie — thought it was about bringing him back on the team or not bringing him back on the team, at first, but then…” He sighed, dragged a hand through his hair. “Things are a little rough with him and his dad.” 

“What kind of rough?” Beard asked. 

Ted sighed. “Emotionally. Physically. He’s really afraid of him, you know?” 

Beard levelled him an assessing look, like he was peering right into his soul. “What did you do?” 

“I tried to fix it.” 

In fits and starts, Ted laid it all out: the confrontation in the treatment room at the end of last season; his and Jamie’s first conversation in the pub and all the ones that’d come after; the ambulance ride and Jamie’s terror lying there in the hospital. The trip to Manchester and crushing sorrow and guilt and fear that followed. 

“I didn’t have an easy relationship with my folks,” Beard said when he’d finished. 

“Yeah, I hear that. Mama Beard sounds like one heck of a character.” He’d never had the pleasure of meeting the woman herself, but he’d overheard a phone call or two, and when the mood took him, Willis could be quite the storyteller. 

“No, you don’t,” Beard said, firmly but not unkindly. “You don’t know what it’s like, growing up with someone like my mom, or like Jamie’s dad.” 

“You think I shouldn’t’ve meddled?” 

Beard wiggled his hand back and forth in a kind of gesture. “I think you should have meddled differently.” 

“I mean, I figured going down to Manchester was the wrong move, and pushing him to reconnect with his dad, but it’s gotta be something I did the first time around that set this whole thing off, ain’t it? And I can’t think what I did then that was so bad.” 

Beard stood, crossing the room to rifle through his desk drawers until he emerged with a pen and a pad of paper. “Tell me everything you said to him.” 

“Er, I dunno if my memory’s quite good enough for that, but I’ll give it a shot.” Ted drummed his fingers against his leg, thinking — the days had all blurred together. “He texted me to meet up and I told him to come to the Crown & Anchor at 8:00.” 

“That was probably fine.” 

“We joked around a bit, I think. Or I did; Jamie’s been real tense. And then…” And then he’d done something he hadn’t again afterwards. “He asked to come back; I said it wasn’t a good idea. Asked him why he’d gone and done the show, and he told me it was to get away from his dad. Said he’d really been on him since he’d come back to Manchester, you know, getting on his case about how he played and all. I told him having a tough dad is what gives plenty of folks that little extra push to be great.” 

“Do you believe that?” Beard asked softly. 

Ted opened his mouth to say yeah, of course he did, just look at Bono, but something stopped him. Not the faint tension in Beard’s expression or his crossed arms, or the knowledge that his friend wouldn’t agree — great minds thought alike more often than not, but they also thought a whole heck of a lot differently their fair share of times. He’d opened his mouth and the words turned heavy, clogging his throat. Because Jamie’s dad had made him the person he was, just maybe… not in a good way. 

“I think I did, when I said it. Now… I dunno. Feels a bit like I was kicking him when he was down, but I don’t think — I mean, seems a little small potatoes for reordering the base functions of the universe, don’t it?” 

Beard tilted his head, considering. “Maybe. But even if it doesn’t fix this, you’d still be choosing to say a kind thing to him instead of a cruel one.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Ted pulled the notepad towards him. “Alright, let’s get down to business, to defeat, the time loop. You got a plan, Mulan?” 

“Sure thing, Ping.” Beard dropped down next to him on the couch. “So here’s what I’m thinking…” 

Chapter Text

Ted woke on the morning of Monday, October 5. The sun was peeking above the trees, the birds were singing, and he was on the cusp of being late for work. He hummed through his morning routine, dropped by the bakery for a sugar-free treat for Dr. Sharon, then looped back around to pick something up for the boys, too. Said hi to Keeley and tried to say hi to Roy and headed up to welcome Richmond’s newest member (you sure it ain’t Dr. Sharon causing these shenanigans? he’d asked, to which Beard had raised a judgemental eyebrow and said, pretty sure.) 

“You just make yourself at home now,” he told her, perched on the edge of the desk. “You might’ve noticed I’ve got some healthy Mid-Western skepticism towards your profession, but you really helped Dani, and it seems like you’re helping out the rest of the boys, too.” 

Dr. Sharon accepted the pastry a little warily, same as always. “Tell me more about this Mid-Western skepticism,” she said. 

“Maybe later,” Ted said, already heading for the door. “Good to have you here, doc.” This time, he almost meant it — therapy’d probably never be his cup of disgusting leaf water, but if he’d learned anything through this whole adventure it was that some problems were just plain outside his wheelhouse. 

He managed to stash the pastries in the office without the boys catching on — he’d made the mistake of giving his team their sweet treats before sending them out for hours of intensive exercise exactly once, way back in his first year of coaching, and he could do without a repeat showing. 

His shoulders eased as he stepped out onto the grass, feeling a little ridiculous for his week-long sulk now he was back out on the pitch, wind in his hair and sun (or rather, creeping grey cloud cover) on his face. 

“You look happy,” Beard said. 

“Just hard-won contentment here, Coach.” Beard shot him a look that suggested he’d be in for another talk about how winning might not be everything but it sure was something real important to these fellas and everyone else in Richmond if he kept it up, but for now, he let it go. 

Jamie’s text rolled in at lunch, same as usual. He got halfway through typing Sure thing, bud! Crown & Anchor at 8:00?, then erased it. Can you pop by Nelson Road after training? he sent instead. The pause before Jamie’s response stretched on a little longer than usual, but his phone chimed when he was halfway through his sandwich: Yes, Coach. Alright, then. Show time. 

“Gather round, gather round,” Ted called as he stepped into the locker room. The boys did, zeroing in on the pastry boxes stacked in his arms. “I know it ain’t been the easiest start to the season,” he said. “Eight ties — draws —, that’s one heck of a streak. Feels a little like we got ourselves another curse.” An alarmed murmur sprung up around the room. “No, no, hush your butts, now, we got rid of all the ghosts last season, don’t you worry about that. I just wanted to say, I’m real proud of you all. Of how you’ve played, but more than that, of the men you’ve become.” He gazed around the room, at the young men all peering at him with rapt attention. With trust, and that was a gift he wasn’t about to take lightly, not when he knew what it was like to lose it. “But you know what’s better than a pep talk? A pep eat, which is why I brought y’all some goodies.”

“We’re eating Pep?” Colin asked, pulling a face. 

“Yeah, I guess that did sound a little cannibalistic. We’re eating pastries to lift our spirits, and then we’re gonna go out there and kick Man City’s ass with our feet instead of our mouths, once we get ourselves back in the same league.” The boys all stared at him in a sort of perverse horror. “You know what? This metaphor’s gotten away from me. Upshot is, pastries.”

He waited ’til they’d finished swarming and retreated back to their cubbies with their pastries before he continued on to the next part. “I’ve also got some news, and I want y’all to keep an open mind, alright?” 

“This bribery, Coach?” Bumbercatch asked. 

“Well, that depends on whether it works, don’t it?”

“These are very good,” Dani said. “You can bribe me, Coach.”

“I’m meeting with Jamie this afternoon,” Ted said. The room went deeply, abruptly silent.  Sam’s mouth flattened into a hard line, eyes going shiny and upset. “Now I understand he was real rough to be around last season, and I hope y’all know by now I don’t ever want to do anything that would hurt you.” Not that it’d stopped him, before. Some of the conversations he’d had this past month would be lingering in his guilty conscience for a while yet. “I also believe in second chances — heck, I wouldn’t be where I am now if I hadn’t had my fair share of ‘em, and I’d bet it’s the same for all of us here. So here’s what we’re gonna do: I’ll meet with Jamie here tonight, and if a couple of you don’t mind sticking around, you can play together for a bit, see if y’all jive as a team.” 

For a long moment, no one spoke. “I’ll stay,” Isaac announced. “It’s my job as captain, innit? Make sure no one fucks with us.” Well, that was a little more aggressive than he’d been hoping, but a good start. 

“I would like to see amigo Jamie, as well!” Dani said. 

Isaac jabbed Colin in the side with his elbow. “Guess I’ll stay too,” he said, unenthusiastically, followed by Jan Maas on the grounds that he hadn’t been there last season and could therefore be an objective judge. 

“Anyone else?” Ted asked. 

Sam fidgeted in his seat, hands wrapped tight around the edge of the bench, scone discarded at his side. “Me.” 

*

The boys were a little tense in the afternoon, a little wary, but their skirmishes were looking a little stronger and no one swore or stormed off in a huff. Afterwards, Sam knocked on the office door as the rest of the players — minus Isaac, Colin, Jan, and Dani — got changed, expression caught between nervous and determined. 

“Hey, Sam, come on in! What’s on your mind?” 

Sam shut the door behind him, hesitated for a moment before he spoke. “Look, Coach, I just wanted to ask — if we decide we do not want Jamie back on the team, will you tell him no?” Then, words rushing out of him, “not that I don’t trust you! But, will you?” 

Honestly, he’d been banking on it not coming to that point. Jamie’d shown himself to be ready to turn over a new leaf; a little rough around the edges, but not cruel the way he sometimes had been. The thought of Jamie going somewhere other than Richmond felt wrong, now he’d caught just a glimpse of how the team might all come together, Jamie and Roy as coach (once he was ready for it) and the rest of the team. 

“Well, Sam, I ain’t gonna lie to you here. I’m the manager, and it’s my job to make what I think is the best call for the team. But part of making that decision is listening to you — you’re a leader on this team, and I want you to speak your mind, and I know you and all the rest of the boys will probably always know much about this amazing and confusing sport than I do. Let’s just all keep an open mind, how’s that sound?” 

“Okay,” Sam said, sounding a little uncertain. 

“And if Jamie does treat you the way he did last season, I promise you I’ll tell him no. Let’s just give him a chance to prove himself first, you know?” 

“Okay.” Sam repeated. “Yes. Thank you, Coach.” He smiled, a bit sheepish. “You know, my father says every time he sees you on TV, he’s very happy that I am here. That I’m in safe hands with you.” 

“Well, that means a lot, I appreciate that.” 

*

Jamie slipped into the locker room after everyone else had left, like he’d been lurking out in the parking lot waiting for it to empty out. He stood in the middle of the floor, hands tucked into his shirt. 

“Hey there, bud,” Ted said, poking his head out from the office. “Come in here a sec.” 

Jamie perched on the edge of the desk, same as he’d done that first time Ted had called him in there, that hard, spiky shell melting away for just a minute to be replaced by something softer. 

“Take a seat. How you doing, bud?” 

“Awesome,” Jamie said, predictably. “The best. Pretty good. Okay, a little depressed. It’s all shit, Ted.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ted said. Took a deep breath to steady himself. “Things have, uh, been tough in Manchester?” 

Jamie nodded, head ducked. “It’s just my dad, you know. He was on me about how I played, how much I played, how I sat on the bench when I didn’t play.” He tugged at his sleeves. “Just drove me fucking mad.” 

“Yeah,” Ted said. It would be the kind thing to do, Beard had said, and if nothing else, he owed Jamie some kindness. “You know, Jamie, I’m real sorry I didn’t check up on you after… after what I saw last season,” he sucked in another breath, feeling a little sick. “I’m sorry I couldn’t— sorry I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

“Would’ve just made it worse,” Jamie mumbled. 

Ted nodded, though the kid was still looking down at his hands. “I’m still sorry. He shouldn’t treat you that way.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m sorry you’ve had such a tough time, too.” 

“Okay,” Jamie repeated. He hesitated, hands tangling in his shirt. “Can I ask you something, Coach?”

“Yeah, shoot.”

Jamie looked up, finally, meeting his eyes. “Why’d you send me away?” 

“It was out of my hands, bud,” Ted said gently. “It ain’t my story to tell, but what I can say is this: I was real torn up to find out you were gone, and so were the rest of the boys. Felt like we were making real progress, you and I.” 

“Okay,” he said a third time. “Then, could I… I mean, I was talking to Keeley and I was wondering, like, what the chances were of me coming back to play for Richmond?” 

“You know, I had a feeling this conversation might be headed in that direction. Now, I can’t make any promises — you burned a lot of bridges here, bud, and it seems to me like you’re willing to put in the work to rebuild them—” Jamie nodded enthusiastically — “But that’s a two-way street, you know? Or bridge, I guess. You really hurt some folks, and I want to give them the chance to see if they feel like they can play with you again before I go making any decisions.” 

“Yeah,” Jamie said quietly. “No, that— that makes sense. What, uh, how’re you gonna do that?” 

*

Jamie stepped out of the tunnel with his shoulders back and his hands loose at his sides, fingers twitching like they wanted to crawl back up under his shirt. Ted hadn’t thought to tell him to bring his kit and they hadn’t kept his spares past the end of last season, and so he stepped back onto the pitch in his street clothes, same as the last time he’d been there as a Richmond player. 

Isaac, Colin, Sam, Dani, and Jan were clustered around the net kicking the ball idly between them, but they abandoned it at the sound of footsteps, turning to face Jamie all in a line with Isaac half a step ahead of the rest, arms crossed and expression stern.

“You say you’ve changed?” Isaac asked. He took a step back and sent the ball shooting towards Jamie, who caught it on instinct. “Prove it.” 

“Don’t try to do too much,” Ted said quietly. “Make that extra pass, you know.” 

“Got it, Coach.” 

Jamie bounced off, skidding a little on the damp grass without his cleats. Sam nicked the ball off him right away, sending him tumbling to the ground. Jamie winced at the streaks of mud on his trackies, blinked up in confusion when he looked up to find Dani holding out a hand to help him up. After a moment’s hesitation, he took it. 

Ted reached for his whistle as he climbed to his feet and took off after Jan, who’d gained possession, ready to intervene if things started looking violent, but instead of the steadily ratcheting tension that’d landed Jamie in the hospital, the hard tackles and lightning passes gentled to something like the five of ‘em had been doing while he was in talking with Jamie, a group of… not friends, not quite yet, but young men messing around for fun instead of a group of professional athletes practicing their sport. 

Ted let them go at it until the sun crept below the horizon. The boys sprawled onto pitch at his whistle, Dani stretched to his full length with his head propped up on Sam’s leg. Isaac and Colin rolled the ball idly back and forth between them, bracketed on either side of Jamie — not as his followers, this time but, at least in Isaac’s case, as a barrier between him and the rest of the team. Between him and Sam specifically, who sat at Jan’s side with an uncharacteristically blank expression. (Jan’s expression, of course, was characteristically blank). Jamie sat a little ways back, not quite outside the circle but not quite in it, either, fidgeting with the hemline of his shirt. 

“You gonna play like less of a dickhead if you come back, bruv?” Isaac asked abruptly. 

“Yeah,” Jamie said, nodding eagerly. “And I’m, you know. Sorry for being a bellend, and all.” 

“That was not a very good apology,” Jan Maas said. 

They all turned to Jamie, the air silent and tense as they waited from him to snap back or make some snarky joke, but he just shrugged, fingers scratching at the seams of his jeans. Then they all turned to Sam. His expression was still blank, eyes fixed on the grass as he threaded it between his fingers — it wasn’t Jan that needed an apology, or Dani, who’d avoided the worst of Jamie’s teeth, or Isaac and Colin, who hadn’t always been much better than him even if they’d been quicker to turn it around. His dark eyes flickered up, skated around the circle before landing on Jamie, and they just sat there watching each other, all of them frozen in the gathering darkness. 

“Fine,” Sam said, and that was it. He climbed to his feet and headed back to the locker room, hands tucked into his pockets. The others trailed after him, murmuring amongst themselves so it was only Jamie sat there in the grass, discarded soccer ball at his feet. Ted ambled over next to him. 

“D’you think that was okay, Coach?” he asked quietly. 

“I think it was progress,” Ted said. He held out a hand and this time Jamie didn’t hesitate before he took it. “How about you head on home, get yourself some rest while I talk to the other fellas inside?” 

“Home like— to Manchester?” Jamie asked. 

“Well, they say home is where the heart is, so I guess that depends on you, don’t it?” Ted said. Jamie’s expression flickered, his hands bunching back into his shirt. He hadn’t done that since stepping out onto the field, Ted realized, but now he was tightening up again, the tension creeping back in. “But we’d be real happy if you made a home here, if that’s what you want.” 

Jamie glanced up at him, almost shy. “You think so? ‘Cause like, I’m not so sure the lads are happy to see me.” 

“Yeah, maybe not yet,” he conceded. “But they were willing to give it a try, and that sure ain’t nothing. You had some fun out there, didn’t you?” 

“I missed it,” Jamie admitted. “When I quit City to go on LCA, I thought maybe I’d just be done forever, you know? Like, I was just… we had this match, and the whole time I was fucking miserable. And I’d never felt like that about footie, d’you know what I mean? It’d always been the before and after that was awful, with— with my dad, but when I was out on the pitch it all just went away. ‘Cept this time I could hear him the whole fucking time in my head, and I played like shit, and then afterwards—” he cut off abruptly, kicking at the grass. 

“So I left. Figured I’m young and fit and all, could make a career of it, you know? But then I got to the villa and at first it was fucking fantastic, ‘cause we weren’t allowed phones or nothing, but then I felt like, itchy?” He shot a skittish glance in Ted’s direction out the corner of his eye. “I dunno. I dreamed about playing all the time, kept getting in trouble with the producers for trying to get everyone to do a kickabout when we were filming. Figured I could put up with dad again if it just meant I got to play.” 

“I’m sorry you felt like that,” Ted said. “And, you know, even if the boys are really dead set against having you back — not that I think that’s how it’ll shake out — we’ll still work on getting you set up somewhere safe, okay? You ain’t gonna be alone with this.” 

Jamie blinked rapidly. Turned his face away, scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. Ted pretended not to see, pretended to watch the cloudy sky until Jamie’s breath lost its trembling edge. He reached out to clap him on the back — and then he abruptly remembered last season, how he’d flinched back when Dani tried to high-five him. Back then, he’d pegged it as standoffishness, the kid feeling defensive now someone had come in with the same skills and none of the bad attitude. But Dani had come at him hands first and he’d flinched. 

“It’s been good talking to you bud,” he said instead. At Jamie’s wide-eyed surprise, he chuckled ruefully. “Yeah, I know we didn’t spend so much time on the right foot. But, I dunno. It was a real instructive experience balancing on the left foot with you there.” 

Jamie shot him a crooked grin. “Thanks, Coach. I think.” 

“You betcha. Now you just let me know if you need anything, you hear?” 

*

When he came back inside, the rest of the boys were dressed and holding conference by Isaac’s cubby. Ted clapped his hands together, calling their attention. “Tell me straight, doc: what’s the prognosis?” 

“He is less rude than you said,” Jan commented. 

“I missed amigo Jamie very much!” Ted couldn’t help but chuckle: if there was anyone who could spend a day with the prickly ball of defensiveness that was the Jamie of last season and come out of it convinced they were friends, it was Dani Rojas. 

“Jamie ain’t your friend, bruv,” Isaac said. 

“He called me a jaundiced worm,” Colin added. 

The article had been a whole event, coming right on the tail end of the season as everyone was nursing the hurt of their loss and Roy’s injury, and Colin had been buzzing about it all week — English newspapers were all rubbish, he’d explained, but a Welsh newspaper, that was a real honour: the North Wales Chronicle, based out of his very own Bangor, Gwynedd. There’d been a predictable mess of jeering at the name, but less than one might expect of a football team.

They’d interviewed some of Colin’s school friends from when he was little, the captain of the Welsh national team. Even Ted himself had put in his two cents, though he wasn’t too sure it’d end up in the article the way him and the reporter had been tripping all over each other’s accents. Colin’d sent it to the group chat for the whole team when it came out, the one with the coaches and the kitman and everyone, and Ted got a third of the way through before he knew for certain the poor kid hadn’t read it first. He’d sat there in his armchair staring at the words, a pit in his stomach. It was one thing for Jamie to call him a rodeo clown; the pair of them had never exactly seen eye-to-eye. But Colin had been his friend right up until the end there, and for all he’d joked about it afterwards, even over text it was plain to see the sting of hurt underneath. 

“Fuck him,” Isaac said loyally. 

“You do not appear to be jaundiced,” Jan added, which was about as close as he got to encouragement. 

“What is jaundice?” Dani asked. “I pretended to know earlier because everyone was angry but I am confused.” 

“Jaundice is disease where you turn all yellow ‘cause your liver’s not doing so hot,” Ted said. “But that’s not the point. The point is, look. Y’all are real angry with Jamie right now, but let me ask you this: how’d you feel about him last season, when we were getting rid of all the ghosts ‘round here? Seemed like y’all were okay with him then.” 

“I was not here for that,” Jan pointed out. 

“Everyone but Jan,” he amended. “You’ll just have to take their word for it, sorry bud.” 

It was Sam who spoke up. “I thought he wanted to be better,” he said quietly. “When he said those things about us on TV, I felt foolish for having believed in him.” 

“I think Jamie felt real hurt, after he got sent back,” Ted said. “Not to excuse it at all. But as the musical great Adele would say, just ‘cause he said it don’t mean that he meant it.” 

“You’re right, that doesn’t excuse it,” Sam said, voice hard. After a moment, his shoulders slumped. “It is your decision, Coach. I trust you to make the right one.” 

*

The first time, Ted had tossed and turned over his decision all night. Now he was pretty sure Richmond had a Jamie Tartt-shaped space just waiting to be filled, and that Jamie was ready to fill it a whole lot more kindly then he had before. But it’d been a long time since the thought of a reset tomorrow evening filled him with dread instead of apathy or, a handful of times, relief.

 But now… they’d started building a good thing, he thought. Only he’d been convinced of that the first time, hadn’t he? Blustered on forward none the wiser and next thing he knew the ground had fallen away beneath him. Ted Lasso didn’t quit things, but he wasn’t sure how he’d survive another… how long had it been? Twenty days? Thirty? A month in two days, each picking away at the fragile scab stretched over the wound that’d opened with the scent of his father’s blood in the air and the red stain that never quite left the floor no matter how much they scrubbed, ‘cause he might not have been able to save his dead but he’d thought he was doing real good for the other people in his life. Except Michelle. Except Jamie. Except Sam, furious and betrayed, the pillar of trust he’d built up painstakingly over the past year fracturing at the foundation. 

He wondered, lying wide awake in bed watching the sliver of light that slipped through the curtains make its way across the ceiling, whether he should use the password, clue Beard in on everything that’d gone down — but no, better to see their first plan through, make sure he sure came back with all the relevant data. 

He tossed and turned and rolled out of bed after four hours of restless sleep, stumbled through his morning routine and out onto the sidewalk.

“Rough night, Coach?” Beard asked, holding out a cup of takeaway coffee. 

“Not the gentlest ride. A little turbulent, you know.” And, looking at his friend, he realized there was something he’d forgotten about that first day — Beard hadn’t exactly been having the easiest time of it, either. “How about you? Got your keys back?” 

“New set. The other ones are still in the river.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. That’d be one hell of a fishing job.” He downed the rest of his coffee. “Hey, look. If you ever need anywhere to stay, my door’s always open. Well, my door’s usually closed, when I’m not using it, but I’ll always open it for you. Give you a key that’ll stay on dry land, if you want it.” 

“Thank you, Ted,” Beard said softly. 

“So you’ll take me up on it?” 

“Thank you,” Beard repeated, in a voice that meant no. 

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Ted said. “Does she make you happy? Jane?” 

“She makes my world more exciting.” 

“Exciting ain’t always good.” He clapped Beard on the shoulder. “Just think on it, that’s all I’m asking. I ain’t trying to make you do anything you don’t want to.” 

*

They met Jamie out front — or rather, out side; he’d tucked himself into the corner of the parking lot, and Ted had spent long enough around professional athletes by now to spot someone making a point to avoid the cameras. He broke into a smile when he caught sight of them, maybe the first time Ted had seen the kid direct that expression his way. 

“Feeling good, bud?” he asked.

Jamie bounced on his toes, glancing up from where he’d been staring down at his locked phone screen. “Yeah. Yeah, sound, Coach. Thanks for letting me come back.” He shot a side-eyed glance at Beard. “And, you know. For what you said. About my dad, and all.” 

Beard’s eyebrow ticked up. Ted shot him a look to say, tell you later. “Sure thing, Jamie. Remember what I said. We’re always here for you, got it?” 

“Thanks, Coach.” 

It was early enough the locker room was mostly deserted, Will peeking around the corner to wave hello. Jamie’s name was plastered fresh on the previously-empty cubby in the corner, a fresh jersey hung up in the locker. He’d have to ask the good folks in payroll about giving Will a raise for that — Ted had bolted awake halfway through the night to the memory of Jamie standing lost in the middle room, that day he’d ended up in the hospital. He was pretty sure no one would be getting a football to the face this time, but if there was a little extra something that’d get rid of that nervous, lost expression too, well, he’d do it. 

He offered the kid another smile. “It’s real good to have you back, Jamie. I mean that. Now go on up to Higgins to get all that confusing as heck contract stuff sorted out. Y’all remember the way?” Jamie nodded eagerly and bounced off. 

“You think this is a good idea?” Beard asked when he’d vanished around the corner. 

“You know what?” Ted said. “I think I am.” 

They ran passing drills that morning, just getting everyone used to each other again. Isaac kept a captainly eye on the proceedings, never letting Jamie out of his sight for too long, but Jan treated him same as the rest of the team, and while Sam played a touch more aggressive than usual — Ted flinched as a particularly impressive tackle send Jamie flipping through the air, landing sprawled on his back, but he barely blinked at the jarring impact before he jumped to his feet and took off after the ball — he smiled and joked and his shoulders stayed loose and easy when Nate blew his whistle to call them all in and he and Jamie ended up next to each other, even if he did shift a step away. 

“I’m so proud of you all,” Ted told them as they changed back into their street clothes at the end of the day. “I know I said it yesterday, but there’s some things you can’t hear too often, you know? Now, I truly believe we can get ourselves back into the Premier League this season—”
 “That is statistically unlikely,” Jan Maas reminded them all—

“But no matter what happens, that ain’t gonna change, okay? And you should all be proud of yourselves. Now go rest up, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

*

He and Beard stayed late, puzzling over the white board with their feet up on the desk long after Nate had left for dinner with his family. 

“You know, I’m real glad I met you,” Ted said. 

Beard glanced over, startled, from where he’d been arranging the magnets into formation. “Everything alright, Coach?” 

Ted peered over his shoulder at the clock: 9:00pm. In three hours, he’d know if he got it right, and then… and then he’d live. Either slip back into the past to start over again or go on with all this strange experience stacked up in his head and no one to share it with, except—

“You sure?” Beard asked. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Really, I am. It’s just a bit complicated, you know?” Took a breath. “The, uh, the password is pineapple.” 

Beard’s eyebrow ticked up again. “You want help? 

“I think maybe we’ve got it, this time,” he said. “Just three more hours ’til we find out. You mind keeping me company? I’ll tell you all about it sometime, if tomorrow ain’t ereyesterday.”

They set out on foot with no particular destination in mind, wandered a meandering path under the darkened sky. They didn’t talk about the time loop, or the team, or Jane and the sorrowful set to Beard’s mouth when he thought no one was looking; the way he’d sometimes check his phone ten times in as many minutes. And when Ted stumbled home footsore and lighter than he’d felt in weeks with his best friend in the whole world at his side, his phone screen read Wednesday, October 7. 

Chapter Text

By early April, Ted felt cautiously optimistic: the Greyhounds were steadily clawing their way up the table, not just towards promotion but towards the FA Cup; the team was flourishing under Roy’s coaching, especially now that he and Jamie had sorted things out between them; and, best of all, time continued to march forward in a steadily linear fashion. 

The boys were a little antsy in the week leading up to the match against City, and even Ted knew it was an intimidating prospect: wasn’t every day you stepped foot on world-famous grass against one of the best teams in the country, and it didn’t help none of them besides Roy had been there before as anything other than spectators. 

But there was a tense, jittery set to Jamie’s shoulders that seemed like a little bit more than regular nerves: he’d become tuned into the kid somewhere along the way; how he hunched in on himself, how for all his emotions usually showed big and clear on his face he could plaster up a cool front and pack everything down inside. In the past week, his hands had crept up under the hem of his shirt more and more often; he kept his phone facedown on the bench or in his cubby and seemed to steel himself before checking the screen, something complicated flashing across his face when he thought no one was watching. 

“Think I should talk to him?” Ted had asked Beard on the third day. 

“Give him a little time,” Beard suggested, and sure enough, Jamie tapped on the office door on Friday afternoon, hands tangled in the strap of his little bag. 

“Can I talk to you, Coach?” 

“Sure thing, bud,” Ted said, gesturing at Beard’s empty seat. “What’s on your mind?” 

Jamie hesitated. His eyes fixed on a point at the wall behind Ted’s head. He fidgeted, tugging at the strap of his bag, bounced his leg. “D’you, uh, remember what you said about my dad? When I came back on the team, like?” 

Ted’s heart stuttered. “Yeah, ‘course I do, bud. He giving you trouble?” 

Jamie shook his head, eyes down. “He ain’t— it ain’t like that, d’you know what I mean?” The leg bounced harder. He caught his lip between his teeth, hard enough that Ted worried he’d draw blood. “It’s just, he’s asking for tickets to Wembley for him and his mates?” 

Part of him— the part that couldn’t hear fireworks without flinching away, the part that itched towards a bottle after he got off the phone with Henry and the miles yawned endless between him, urged him not to let another kid lose his dad. But Jamie wasn’t Henry, and he wasn’t Ted. Having his dad in his life had never brought him anything but hurt. 

“Do you want him there, Jamie?” he asked instead. 

“I— he’s my dad,” Jamie said quietly. 

“There’s plenty of places folks don’t want their dads,” Ted reminded him. “Especially one like yours.” The kid still looked torn. Ted offered an encouraging smile, pushing to his feet. “How about this? We can head on up to talk to Higgins and Rebecca, see if we can’t get something sorted so we can make sure he can’t get to you if you decide you don’t want ‘em to?” 

Relief washed over Jamie’s expression in a heartbreaking wave. “Thanks, Coach,” he whispered.

“Sure thing, bud. It’s what I’m here for, ain’t it?”