Work Text:
Jamie never should have trusted the gaffer. He never should have given his advice a second thought. But he’d been an idiot and for a second there, just one fucking second, he’d convinced himself that maybe Ted cared about him. That maybe Ted cared about Jamie and not just Jamie fucking Tartt, star footballer. And he’d been trying so hard to listen, really he had, to all that stuff Ted said was important. About passing the ball and not being a prick and all that.
And what had all his efforts gotten him? Fuck all.
He’d let Ted give him advice and thought really hard about maybe following it. He’d even gone to their ridiculous ghost ceremony and told them about making his mum proud and then, before the little voice in the back of his head could stop him, he’d told them about his dad. It was an abbreviated version of events, sure, but he’d still told them about his dad calling him soft and how much he fucking hated it. And he’d wanted to keep going then, when he looked over his shoulder at Ted and the gaffer had smiled at him like he really cared. He wanted to tell them everything. He wanted them to know how much of a bastard his dad was. And then, well, then that grating voice was ringing in his ears. You won’t tell anyone, will you son? Wouldn’t want ‘em thinkin’ you’re soft.
So he’d snapped his mouth shut and stepped back, trying his best to act casual as if it didn’t feel like every muscle in his body was straining, as if his very existence wasn’t a tense cord on the verge of snapping. He tried to pretend everything was fine, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stood next to Ted and ignored the miniscule tremors that ran through him. And then the strangest thing happened. The tension started to drain from his body, just like that. His muscles relaxed as if the mere presence of the other man at his shoulder was enough to calm him. And Ted had looked at him and given him a smile, another real smile. He smiled as if Jamie had just done something worthy of praise, and he could have sworn he felt something warm unfurling in his chest. Despite this unfamiliar feeling, he felt safe here. He felt safe a half-step behind Ted as the slope of the man’s shoulder acted like a barrier between Jamie and the rest of the world.
And then Ted sent him back to Manchester City.
He sent Jamie back to the team that hadn’t wanted him in the first place, back to the people that only knew him as a prick, back to… back to his dad. Back to his dad who wouldn’t want the new Jamie, who wouldn’t allow the new Jamie to exist. Ted had said that he wanted this new version of Jamie, had smiled at him like he cared, like he’d done something right for once in his life, and then he’d abandoned him.
So when Jamie stepped out on the pitch, back in the sky blue kit that suddenly felt impossibly heavy, there was anger burning in his chest. There was anger and some other strange feeling that started to bubble up inside him as he looked at the Richmond coaches gathered in the technical area. Whatever that strange feeling was, he couldn’t quite name it, but he hated it. He hated the way it filled his mouth with a bitter, acrid taste and made the back of his eyes burn. He hated the way it made him feel like clawing at his own chest until he couldn’t feel anything at all.
Rubbing at his face with his sleeve, he forced that nameless feeling down and let his anger trickle back up. Anger he was familiar with, anger he could deal with. He grabbed hold of that anger and kept it in the crackling cavity of his chest. The anger shook through him like a fever, making his muscles ache and the exposed angles of his skin sting as the chilled air hit him. He shifted around that anger, letting it run its course until it was replaced by the usual coil of nerves that met him before every match.
As he stood restless and bouncing in the grass, his eyes began to roam the pitch before his gaze was dragged inexplicably back to the Richmond technical area. He grinned teasingly at Roy, although the gesture felt foreign as it crossed his features. Despite the tremendous effort it seemed to take, Jamie forced himself to keep that grin on his face. He settled into that casual mask and tried to convince himself that he’d really only looked that way to get a rise out of Roy. Yeah, he figured he could stick with that. He was about to look away again when Ted's eyes suddenly met his and that painfully kind smile appeared on his face like it always did. Jamie felt that unnamed feeling clawing its way back up into his chest and he tried to shake it away. He was almost successful, and he could feel the lump in his throat fading as the back of his eyes stopped burning.
Then Ted grinned impossibly wider and shouted, "Hey Jamie! Good luck!"
And fuck if it didn’t sound genuine coming out of the man’s mouth. But people weren’t like this, not to Jamie, and he couldn’t help the surge of anger that forced bitter words up his throat. “Fuckin’ mind games.”
Dragging his eyes away, he pulled his sleeve over his hand and started to rub furiously at his face. His eyes were burning and that nameless feeling was making him feel unbalanced, like he might tip over at any moment, but he didn’t have time for this. He was Jamie fucking Tartt and he had a job to do. So he grabbed all of the bullshit and pushed it away just as both teams got into position and the referee blew his whistle. Game on.
Jamie played like his life depended on it. He did everything Ted told him not to do. He was a prick, he refused to pass, and then half-time came around and they still hadn’t scored. He still hadn’t scored. And even though he couldn’t hear him, he could’ve sworn his dad’s voice was ringing in his ears again. Jamie was getting frantic now, even as he plastered a cocky smirk on his face. He knew his dad had come all the way down just for this match and the thought of what his dad might say, what he might do, if Jamie didn’t score made his hands shake. He kept playing like he always did, keeping that panic just below the surface of his skin, but he could feel it shifting. He could feel the way his whole body tensed with each shot that he missed.
When Hendrick made that penalty, Jamie almost choked on the jealousy that jumped into his throat. He coughed, his breath harsh against his own lungs, and rubbed his sleeve across his eyes again. He could feel Richmond’s disappointment hanging heavy in the air and he risked just one more glance at their technical area. Ted didn’t meet his gaze this time, too busy discussing something with the other coaches, but Jamie still felt his brain go fuzzy. Everything became a blur then, as the world around him got watery and sharp breaths tore from his lungs. Violently lightheaded, he ripped his gaze away from Ted and his old team and forced himself to keep playing.
Somewhere in the middle of the blur that had taken over his mind, Jamie got the ball. He wasn’t even aware of when or how it happened, just that it had happened and suddenly he was dribbling down the side of the pitch. The familiar feeling brought him into the present with a jolt and he watched as the world settled back into some semblance of focus. He could see the goal, he could see the opportunity stretching out ahead of him. Then Roy was there and then Roy wasn’t there and Jamie was on the ground, trying very hard not to be sick in the middle of the pitch.
Jamie rolled onto his back, not daring to stand until he was sure his stomach had stopped doing flips. He tried his best to ignore the fact that none of his teammates came to help. By the time he’d dragged himself up and started to nervously mess with his boots, Roy was getting helped up while the fans chanted his name. Jamie watched him go, swallowing down the guilt that threatened to tip him onto the grass again. He’d done that, hadn’t he? He’d ripped Roy’s world right out from under his feet, just like… just like Ted had done to him.
Ted who had been nauseatingly kind to him. Ted who had tried so hard to turn Jamie into a better man. Ted who had helped him; Ted who had abandoned him. Ted, who was watching him now with an expression that Jamie couldn’t, that he wouldn’t try to read. Jamie grunted and whipped his gaze away one last time. Even when Richmond finally scored a goal in the final minutes, he refused to glance that way. He just kept playing, seizing the momentary distraction that their celebration brought and tearing down the pitch.
The world around him fell away in flashes of color as his focus narrowed in on the task at hand. His ears were full of nothing but static as the goal came into view. He was about to take the shot, and then one of his breaths rattled around all wrong. It caught in his chest, a sharp sting of air trapped right where the guilt and shame usually settled. In that split second, he heard two things rolling around in his mind: his dad’s voice screaming, Tartts don’t pass the fucking ball! and Ted’s gentle words, somehow a thousand times louder, Jamie, how many times I gotta tell you to make the extra pass?
Jamie made the pass.
He made the pass and cheers erupted from the crowd, but his ears were suddenly buzzing with static again. He could barely hear his teammates’ excitement and he felt unsteady as the celebration slowly dwindled until everyone was making their way off the pitch. Dragging himself forward on legs that felt like lead, he followed his team into the guest changing room where they started to collect their things. They separated then, breaking off into smaller groups to continue the celebration and exchanging noncommittal mumbles about making it back to the coach in time. Besides O’Gara giving him a friendly pat on the back, the rest of the team left Jamie alone, so it was easy enough for him to slip away when he saw a familiar figure hovering down the hall.
He walked up to his dad, willing his hands to stop shaking and watching in frustration as they refused to listen. James wouldn’t like that. Trying to hide his panic, he tucked his hands under the edge of his shirt and tugged at the fabric. It seemed to work, and James made no comment about the way Jamie’s limbs trembled as he watched the man stroll up to him. James seemed far too focused on whatever it was that was currently flooding his mind to care about what Jamie was doing in this moment, and although his expression and gait were casual, there was something dark in his eyes as he met Jamie’s gaze.
"Y'alright?" Jamie greeted, somehow managing to keep his tone steady even as his insides twisted. There was a part of him that still hoped he could talk his dad out of a confrontation, although that hope was slowly dying the longer he stood there.
"Why don't you and I have a chat?" James ground out from behind gritted teeth. "Somewhere private, yeah?"
That hope was dead.
Jamie gave a jerky nod and took his dad down the still-familiar halls until they reached an empty treatment room. James placed a hand on the back of his neck, fingers digging into the exposed skin there as he dragged Jamie inside. Once inside, Jamie managed to duck out from under his dad’s grip and immediately sat down on a treatment table by the door. He unlaced his boots with trembling fingers, as if this was just going to be a casual conversation between father and son, as if panic hadn’t already started to wrap cold hands around his lungs.
Silence stretched out between them, only broken by the occasional stuttered breath that escaped him as he snuck a glance at his dad who was still standing by the open door. He could see tension starting to build in the curve of the man’s shoulders and he flicked his gaze away. Instead of staring, he busied himself with digging through his bag. He wasn’t looking for anything specific except for a distraction from the fear that was making the air feel too thick to breathe.
The door slammed shut.
Jamie jerked his head up in a panic. His dad had turned around to face him now, arms crossed and that dark look in his eyes steadily spreading across his face. He took a step toward Jamie and then another and another until they were face to face. Jamie tensed every muscle in his body, forcing himself not to flinch as James reached a hand out to cup the side of his face. He tried not to think about how close those rough fingers were to his pulse point, about the way his heart was hammering against the inside of his chest.
James glared down at him, his mouth twitching before he finally said, “Can’t even manage to take your own boots off?”
“W-what?”
The unexpected comment almost tore a nervous laugh out of his throat, but Jamie pushed it down just as quickly as it appeared. His eyes darted down to his highlighter-bright boots, unlaced but still sitting firmly on his feet. In his panic, he’d forgotten to actually take them off, although he had no idea why that seemed to bother James so much. He had no idea why it bothered him, except for the fact that Jamie knew his dad and he knew that the man loved to latch onto anything he could use to berate him.
He scrambled to pull the boots off then, ducking out of his dad’s grasp so he could reach his feet. He tugged them off and sat back up, both boots clenched between trembling hands. James hadn’t moved, although the darkness in his eyes had shifted into something dangerous. There was a razor-sharpness to his gaze and Jamie could feel it cutting into him as the silence stretched. His skin felt raw, as if his dad’s glare had cut him to the bone and his hands hadn’t been steady enough to put himself back together again.
“Give them to me then.”
James extended a hand, but Jamie just stared at it. It felt like someone had gripped his head between their hands and shaken it. His brain rattled around, unable to push the right words to his mouth or make his hands do what he wanted them to do.
“Give. Me. The. Boots.” James stepped closer, bringing a cloud of cheap beer and sweat with him. He grabbed Jamie’s face again and shook him, rough fingers pressed to the slope of his jaw. “Jamie!”
“Sorry! Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry,” Jamie breathed. “Here, you can have ‘em.”
The shaking didn’t help his rattled brain, but something hot and sharp like fear shot through him until he felt coherent again. He pushed the boots toward his dad who ripped them out of his grasp. The man stalked away from him then, muttering something under his breath that Jamie was sure he didn’t want to hear.
Jamie ducked his head, staring at a scuff mark on the floor and also nothing at all. He could hear his own breathing as it swelled in his chest, he could feel the curve of his own nails pressed into his palms, and he could sense the way his thoughts rattled around in his head. He could hear the thoughts that told him he didn’t want to be here, not in this room, not in this moment, not in this body. He wanted to be gone, to sink into the floor and disappear.
Smack!
Jamie jumped, his whole body jerking in a violent flinch as one of his boots hit the wall by his head. He stared at it, watched it tumble to the floor, and somehow forgot how to breathe.
“You! Do you really think I would’ve come all the way down to London to watch my son pass the ball?”
James bore down on him like a wild animal, his eyes burning with an anger that Jamie knew all too well. It was the type of anger that felt like a threat, like a promise of something worse to come. As that anger wrapped around Jamie in a vice, he realized that he couldn’t move. He felt trapped, frozen in place on the treatment table as James got in his face and screamed. His breath smelled like that awful beer he always drank and it clouded around Jamie, leaving him feeling wobbly and much younger than he was.
Jamie tried and failed to meet his dad’s eyes as the man started to raise one hand. In a flash, that rough hand was pressed against his skull. His head snapped sideways and a shocked breath clawed its way up his throat. It wasn’t quite a slap, but the shove had his whole body shifting away from James, away from the hands that threatened to grab him again.
Frantic eyes darted toward the door, not seeing much of anything as he struggled to clear away the fear-filled haze. When he finally blinked away the blur and locked eyes with the familiar face in the window, he could have sworn he felt a dull thud of pain in his chest. Ted was standing there, that familiar smile replaced by an expression of concern. He looked like he wanted to do something and Jamie felt a bubble of hope building in his chest.
Please, please, please, he thought, panicked breaths rattling in his lungs. Don’t give up on me, not again.
While Jamie was staring at the door, James had already stalked away again, his body twitching with something that could only be described as poorly contained rage. His voice filled the space, shaking with anger as his words started to beat against the walls. Jamie could hear as he screamed out profanities, but he was far too focused on Ted’s wavering figure in the window to spare his dad a second glance.
Ted held his gaze for one more moment, something soft and regretful filling his eyes before he finally turned away. Jamie’s heart clenched and he wanted to scream out Wait! but the word caught in his throat and left him feeling breathless.
Ted had left him behind, again.
A rough hand clamped down on the back of his neck, sending a shockwave of nerves down his spine and jolting him back to the present. He glanced sideways, watching his dad’s movements in his peripheral vision, but still unable to meet the man’s gaze. A silence had settled over the treatment room, heavy and unbearable, and Jamie simply sat there and let it drag him down.
“Who was that?” James’s voice shattered the stifling silence like glass.
His words were sharp, but the worst of his burning anger seemed to have passed. The appearance of a witness probably put a damper on his plans for the evening. Lucky me, Jamie thought bitterly as his eyes darted toward the door again. Ted hadn’t even done anything and the fucking gaffer had still managed to help.
Speaking of Ted, his dad had been asking about him, hadn’t he? Jamie blinked, eyes shifting in the man’s direction as he gave his best imitation of a lazy shrug. His body was still tightly wound with nerves, but he tried not to make it look as obvious as it felt.
“Well, he’s me old coach ain’t he,” Jamie replied.
“Aye, that’s right. He’s that American wanker.” He nodded and gave the back of Jamie’s neck a squeeze, fingernails pricking at his skin. “Coach Lasso, was it? Is he as useless as he seems?”
Jamie shrugged again, a sharp jolt of panic keeping him quiet until he finally managed to force out, “Nah, he’s not so bad, him.”
“Oi, give over. I know he’s shit, there’s no need to defend him.” James snorted and dropped his hand onto Jamie’s shoulder. The movement shook him, the force behind it far too rough to feel like the friendly gesture it was supposed to be.
Jamie glanced up at him, forcing himself to take a steadying breath before he let the lie slip past his lips. “Yeah, you’re right. He’s shit.”
James grinned at him, amusement chasing away the last of the anger in his eyes. The shift was so sudden that Jamie was surprised he didn’t have whiplash. James shook his shoulder again and then jostled him with a rough pat on the back. For a moment, a flash of something warm sparked in Jamie’s chest. The tiny, fragile thing that lived inside of him and sounded suspiciously similar to his younger self was just happy to have made his dad smile. He never did anything to make his dad proud and this, which was probably as close to pride as he could get, felt good. And then the logical part of Jamie’s brain stuttered back to life and reminded him that he’d had to insult Ted to do it. Guilt settled like a heavy stone in his stomach. He felt sick again.
Jamie tugged at his sleeves, fidgeting with the fabric as he pulled his gaze away from James. His dad still had one hand resting against his back and the pressure felt like a brand against his skin. He wanted to shrug out of the contact, but his stomach was still swirling and the thought of going against his dad tied all his insides in a knot. When that pressure shifted and James patted him on the back again, it took everything in him not to flinch.
“He’s probably why you’ve started playing like shit again,” James said, that low thrum of anger settling back into his tone before he shook his head and shook it away. “But don’t you worry, there’s time to whip you back into shape yet."
“Yeah, alright dad,” Jamie replied weakly.
“Good, good.” He nodded, gripping the back of Jamie’s neck and squeezing it before he finally moved away. He paused at the door, one hand on the handle as he added, “Glad we had this talk son, but I’ll let you get on with your celebrations. Not that there’s much to celebrate with the way you played.” He snorted, a short burst of laughter at his own words. “You’ll be in touch, yeah?”
Jamie wanted to say no. He wanted to shout at his dad that he’d prefer to never speak to him again, thank you very much. For once in his life, he wanted to not be a coward, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to do any of it and, in the end, the only thing that came out of his mouth was a shaky, “Sure dad.”
"Good," James repeated, finding himself incapable of dragging up any other response. He gave a stilted nod, opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, and then abruptly changed his mind as he pulled the door open. He disappeared into the hall without another word, leaving Jamie alone in the empty treatment room.
Jamie stared at the door, feeling equal parts relieved and ashamed as the reality of the moment settled over him. He was relieved that James had changed his mind before this turned into a real conflict, relieved that there wouldn’t be any new bruises to hide or pain to ignore. But he was also ashamed that he was acting like this, ashamed that his entire body was trembling when James hadn’t even done anything to him. He was too old to be scared of his dad, but here he was, shaking like a child just because he’d gotten yelled at. Jamie curled in on himself, his arms crossed tight against his stomach as residual panic brought waves of nausea with it. He dragged his legs onto the treatment table and dropped his head against his knees. It was like all the energy had suddenly been sucked out of him. Unable to think clearly, let alone move, he sat there trembling on the treatment table. He felt pathetic.
Settling into the silence, he tried to pull himself together. He had to get out of here. He had to leave before someone saw him like this. But, as hard as he tried, he couldn’t get himself to move. He was frozen in this empty treatment room. Curled in on himself as the world went on around him, he felt useless. He tried to focus on the way his lungs expanded with each measured breath, scrambling to latch onto anything besides the awful way his head was spinning, but that was something he failed at too. Guilt and shame sat heavy in his stomach, making him feel nauseous and unsteady all at once. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed the feeling to go away, but it didn’t quite work and his failure only made him feel worse than he had before.
The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway reached Jamie’s ears.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there shaking in silence, but the panic that he’d slowly been trying to push away came back with a vengeance. His body immediately snapped to attention, his muscles tensing and his pulse starting to beat a rushed pattern inside his chest. The careful breathing pattern that he’d desperately been trying to follow was broken, and his sternum spasmed around shallow breaths. He refused to move from his curled up position. In fact, as the footsteps grew closer, he tried to curl even tighter in on himself. His arms tightened around his midsection and he pressed his forehead against his knees. He couldn’t bring himself to look up, not even when the footsteps finally stopped in the open doorway.
“What do you want?” he snapped, his voice trembling almost as violently as he was. “I thought we were done ‘ere.”
“Well, I just wanted to see if I could have a little chat with ya,” an unexpected voice replied in a tone that was so gentle that it made Jamie’s chest ache. “And I’m thinking that I’m probably not who you were expecting, but I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
Jamie jerked his head up and glanced at the door. He blinked quickly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, and then gave a broken whisper, “Ted?”
“Heya Jamie,” Ted said with a smile. He shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the doorframe, far too casual for someone that had just walked in on a grown man on the verge of a breakdown. Jamie figured that was the point. Ted held his gaze, his smile unwavering as he asked, “Is it alright if I come in?”
Jamie jerked his head up and down in response, unable to make the movement anything less than frantic. If he had a touch less self-control, he might have even opened his mouth right then and said something pathetic like please. He might have looked at Ted, standing in the doorway with a smile on his face like he was actually happy to see Jamie, and he might have blurted out, Please, I thought you’d left me behind again, but now you’re here and I don’t know what that means. Please, I need to know that this is real. But Jamie wasn’t that far gone yet, so he simply gave a quick nod and stared at Ted with wide eyes and hoped that he would understand, even if Jamie never said anything at all.
Ted grinned and his expression grew softer as he started to take careful steps into the room. He kept looking at Jamie, watching for any reaction as he started to close the distance between them. Jamie wanted to be offended that Ted seemed to be treating him like some wounded animal, but the gesture only managed to make something warm and painful flutter in his chest. It was unnatural for someone to be treating Jamie like this—for someone to be so gentle with him—but that didn’t stop him from clinging to it. Suddenly, Ted’s presence in this room felt like the only thing keeping him steady. If the man changed his mind, if he turned around and never came back, Jamie wasn’t sure what he would do.
But everything that Jamie was dreading never happened. Ted just kept approaching him, his movements careful and his eyes shining with something that looked frighteningly close to affection. He just kept beaming at Jamie until he finally reached the treatment table where the younger man was still curled in on himself. Ted’s expression shifted into something different then, into something soft and contemplative. He hummed, a gentle acknowledgment, and planted himself in front of Jamie. He stood exactly where his dad had stood before, but the parallel didn’t bring a jolt of panic like Jamie expected it to.
Instead of wanting to pull himself away, Jamie was struck by the sudden desire to lean closer to Ted. He didn’t, because he wasn’t sure that he could survive the embarrassment, but the thought stubbornly remained. To distract from the way that this thought made him feel shaky and small, Jamie pressed his fingernails into his side. The gentle pressure and faint pinpricks of pain were grounding, and he finally managed to lift his eyes to meet Ted’s.
That warm smile appeared on Ted’s face again, a touch too proud for Jamie to comprehend, and he steadily and unflinchingly held Jamie’s gaze. His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to reach out, but he curled his fingers inward and finally settled for a simple question. In a voice that felt deceptively casual, he asked, “How ya doin’ Jamie?”
Jamie jerked one shoulder up in a half shrug, trying to hide his nerves and ultimately failing when all he could manage in reply was a wavering, “Alright.” The word felt fragile as it hung in the air, made unconvincing by the way his voice cracked halfway through. He cleared his throat, pulled his eyes away, and tried again. “Yeah, I’m alright.”
“Yeah?” Ted sounded unconvinced, but he didn’t push the subject. He just nodded and patted the empty space on the treatment table next to Jamie. “Well, I’m real happy to hear that. You mind if I sit? I was still hoping I could have that chat with ya.”
Jamie sucked in a breath, a warm gust of air that filled his lungs and made him feel better than he had all night. Or maybe it was just Ted's presence and the promise that he would stay, at least for a moment longer, that made him feel more stable. His knees were still pulled to his chest, but he managed to slowly unwind his arms from around his midsection. There was something about Ted being here, about Ted watching over him with so much care in his gaze, that made him feel safe enough to move. His posture was far from relaxed and he still felt brittle, like one wrong move might shatter him, but Ted being here helped.
As the silence stretched out for a few seconds longer than was comfortable, Jamie realized with a jolt that he'd never actually spoken and Ted was still waiting for an answer. Flushing in embarrassment, he gave a mumbled, “Uh, nah, I don't mind,” that did nothing to capture just how much he needed Ted to sit here with him.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Ted replied with a smile that was steadily becoming a permanent fixture on his face the longer he gazed at Jamie.
Ted shifted then, gave a slight nod, and climbed up onto the treatment table next to him. He bumped his shoulder against Jamie’s gently and, when the younger man didn’t pull away, he shifted so they were seated with their shoulders firmly pressed together. He could feel the way that faint tremors ran through Jamie’s body and his smile grew a touch smaller as he shifted his gaze sideways to scan the young man’s face. His head was bowed and his features were pinched like he was putting all his energy into holding himself together. He looked unlike any version of Jamie that Ted had ever seen before. He looked young.
And he was, wasn’t he? Ted was struck by the heartbreaking realization that this really was just a kid sitting next to him and shaking and trying his best to pretend that everything was okay. The thought shook Ted and, for a moment, all he felt capable of doing was stare at the side of Jamie’s face and press his shoulder closer to his trembling form.
Far too focused on his own inner turmoil, Jamie was oblivious to Ted’s concern. His thoughts had taken over his body again, leaving him feeling a bit like he wasn’t there at all. He barely felt the shoulder pressed against his own, although something deep inside his subconscious rumbled at the comforting pressure. Jamie had wanted Ted to stay so badly; he had needed Ted to sit next to him and be nauseatingly nice to him and tell him that everything was going to be okay. But now that it was actually happening? Now that it was real, and not just some fever dream his fear-addled brain produced? It felt dangerous. It felt capable of shattering. Ted’s unwavering attention was overwhelming and Jamie found himself unable to look him in the eye. He was afraid—terrified really—that Ted’s care would feel fake if he was forced to stare at it directly.
But Ted wasn’t willing to let Jamie avoid this. Whatever this was going to be. So, he gathered himself up and pushed away the image of a too-young Jamie that was starting to take form in his mind. He focused instead on the now-Jamie, on the Jamie that was sitting in this room with him and that he could actually do something to help. Taking a deep steadying breath and then one more for good measure, Ted reached out a hand and patted Jamie on the knee.
Jamie shuddered, his whole body tensing as the unexpected touch pulled him roughly back to the present. When the instinctual jolt of fear retreated and Jamie realized that it was still just Ted sitting there with him, he forced himself to relax. He rested his head against the wall behind him and let his eyes drift toward the ceiling. Then he sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself down and frowning when the air seemed to tremble as it flooded his chest. He tried taking another breath, still shaky but a touch steadier than the last. The third breath he took felt as close to steady as he was going to get and his lungs expanded as the static in his head started to clear. He forced himself to keep breathing just like that, a carefully measured inhale and exhale of air as he watched Ted in his periphery.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you there.” Ted’s voice was gentle as it pushed away the silence. He had since removed his hand from Jamie’s knee, but he kept their shoulders pressed together as he stared steadily at the side of the younger man’s face.
“S’alright,” Jamie mumbled, tipping his head forward so he could stare at his hands as he started to play with the bottom edge of his shirt. When it felt like the silence was starting to build again, he cleared his throat and glanced at Ted. “You said you wanted to talk to me?”
“That I did, Jamie. That I did.” Ted nodded, his expression warm and the corners of his eyes crinkling as his smile widened. “I just wanted to check in on ya. And, well, I wanted to tell you that I thought that was a hell of a pass.”
“Oh, uh…” Jamie blinked, his brain stuttering to a halt at the unexpected praise. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and gave a jerky nod. “Yeah, thanks coach. Or, uh… Ted, I mean.” And he wanted to leave it at that, but then the words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them and what he said was, “I was just doing what you taught me. Being one of eleven and all that,” but what he meant was, I listened. See? I can do as I’m told. Are you proud?
“Yeah, you were a real team player out there,” Ted agreed easily, somehow managing to answer both Jamie’s words and the questions beating inside his chest. Before he could stop himself, he placed a hand on the back of Jamie’s neck and gave it a gentle squeeze. For a split second, Ted could feel the muscles tensing under his hand, but then Jamie blew out a sigh and leaned closer to him. Ted kept his hand there, fingers spread over the vulnerable stretch of skin, and chuckled faintly. “Now, as happy as I am that my suggestions seem to work no matter where you’re playing, I’ve gotta admit, I was sorry to see you go.”
In an instant, the air turned sour and Jamie’s muscles pulled taut.
“Right, I’m sure you were dead sorry,” he scoffed, sarcasm dripping from each word. He shrugged out of Ted’s grip and hated himself for immediately missing the feeling. The warmth that had filled his body in response to Ted’s praise disappeared until he was left with nothing but anger. “Fuckin’ ridiculous. You’re the one that sent me away, ain’t you? And here you are, telling me you’re fucking sorry.”
“Whoa whoa whoa there, Jamie. Now, hold on a second.” Ted held up his hands, his expression full of concern and his tone placating. “I’m thinkin’ that maybe we’ve got some wires crossed here. I’m not the one that sent you away.”
“What?” Jamie jerked his head up, frantic eyes scanning Ted’s face for even the faintest trace of dishonesty. “What the hell are you saying, Ted? Don’t fuckin’ lie to me. I can’t deal with your damn mind games. Not today, not right now.”
“I’m not lying to you,” Ted insisted, desperately trying to get ahold of this situation that seemed to have spun out of control in an instant. “I’m not the one that sent you away.”
“You aren’t?” Jamie faltered, the anger draining from him just as quickly as it appeared. The day’s constant back and forth was taking a toll on him, and as much as he wanted to ask more, as much as he wanted to get Ted to say more, he couldn’t bring himself to. He simply leaned his elbows against his knees, pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, and muttered, “Fuck.”
Lucky for him, Ted didn’t seem to need the prompting. And, once again, Jamie found himself feeling immeasurably thankful that Ted was, well, Ted.
“No, of course I’m not. I did everything I could to keep ya on the team,” Ted said with a gentle shake of his head. He dropped his hand onto Jamie’s back, an impossibly kind imitation of the pat his dad had given him earlier. Jamie relaxed at the touch, his entire body slumping as Ted ran his hand across his shoulders in a comforting gesture. The words that followed hit the air in a tone that felt just as gentle. “I figured you knew that. Gosh, I’m real sorry Jamie.”
“No, you… you don’t have to apologize. Shit Ted, I shouldn’t have fuckin’ yelled at you. I just-” Jamie lifted his head and thumped it against the wall behind him, sending a dull thud of pain across the back of his skull. Ted hadn’t abandoned him. In fact, Ted had fought to keep him on the team and Jamie had still been nothing but a prick to him. The backs of his eyes burned furiously, tears that had been building all day still threatening to spill, and his voice wavered when he spoke. “I’m sorry Ted. I think I managed to fuck this all up too.”
“Oh hey, no need to beat yourself up over this. It was just a bit of a miscommunication is all.” Ted moved his hand up and placed it between Jamie’s head and the wall. With measured movements, he gently guided Jamie until the younger man sagged forward and pressed his forehead against his knees again. Ted watched, his smile growing sad around the edges as he ran his hand up and down Jamie’s back. “And you’re allowed to get upset Jamie, especially after the day you’ve had, so there’s no hard feelings here. I promise.”
“Thank you,” Jamie breathed as he squeezed his eyes shut and willed the tears away. He focused on the comforting pressure of Ted’s hand against his back and relied—as he seemed to be doing frequently these days—on Ted’s presence to ground him. Then, when his body finally started to feel more steady and his heart wasn’t pounding quite as hard against his ribs, the rest of Ted’s words seemed to register in his mind. He rolled his head sideways so that he could look the other man in the eye and asked, “Wait, what did you mean, after the day I’ve had?”
Instead of responding, Ted simply frowned and raised an eyebrow at him.
Jamie huffed and chuckled bitterly, but didn’t pull his gaze away. “Right, I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”
“I don’t think I would ever forget somethin’ like that, kid,” Ted said in a low voice, his hand never stopping in its gentle sweep up and down the length of Jamie’s spine. “Now, I know I’m not your coach anymore, so I hope I’m not overstepping here, but it sure looked like your dad was givin’ you a hard time. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, everything's fuckin’ great,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at the other man. Then Ted smiled at him, all compassionate-like, and Jamie’s own expression softened a fraction. He heaved a sigh and added, “It’s nowt I ain’t seen before.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring there, Jamie.”
Jamie simply shrugged and pulled his gaze away as Ted’s sincere attention started to grow overwhelming again. He tugged at his sleeve, fingernails skipping over the simple stitching, and tried not to think about how pathetic it was that he couldn’t even deal with someone being nice to him for too long without feeling like it was the end of the fucking world.
Ted nodded, more to himself than anything, and asked quietly, “So, your dad’s…”
“A dickhead, yeah. You can fuckin’ say it.”
“Well, that’s not quite the word I was lookin’ for, but sure, let’s go with that,” Ted said as he pulled his hand from Jamie’s back. He tugged open his jacket and dipped one hand into an inner pocket. From that pocket, he tugged a simple envelope free, but didn’t immediately hand it over. He simply held it in his hands and drew shapes against the paper with his finger. “And your dad being a… a dickhead, that’s pretty common?”
“Sure, yeah, I guess so,” Jamie answered in a clipped tone, like he didn’t really want to answer but couldn’t bring himself to lie to Ted either. He kept fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve, but he finally managed to lift his head and meet Ted’s eyes again. “He’s, uh, usually only like that when he’s upset.”
He didn’t have it in him to tell the other man that sometimes it felt like his dad was always upset.
“Well, I’m real sorry to hear that, Jamie,” Ted said as his smile turned sad.
Jamie shrugged again and gave the edge of his sleeve a violent tug that undid several stitches. He ran his thumb over the frayed thread, tugging at it as it started to unravel, and then finally mumbled, “Nah, there’s no need for apologies and all that. Sure, me old man can be a bit of a dickhead sometimes, but he’s not so bad. I’m, uh, I’m alright really.”
The lie throbbed painfully in time with his heartbeat, thumping against his rib cage with each false word. He didn’t know why he said that, just that it suddenly felt vitally important that Ted didn’t know the truth. Maybe it was his father’s voice shouting at him in his memories—a voice that was only ever full of threats—that made him lie. Or maybe it was fear, that awful white-hot flash of panic that told him Ted would just pity him if he knew the truth. Jamie didn’t think he could deal with pity, not for something like this, because pity wasn’t real; pity meant that Ted didn’t actually care about him, just that he felt bad. And Jamie really, really needed this to be real.
Jamie tried to smile at Ted and reassure him that everything was fine, but it came out more like a grimace in the end. It was clear that the other man didn’t believe him and Jamie tensed, ready for Ted to call him out on the lie, but it never came. Ted simply patted him on the shoulder and then lifted up the slightly crumpled envelope he’d been holding. Jamie’s eyes darted between the envelope and Ted’s face and he realized with a frown that Ted’s smile was still all sad around the edges. Something in Jamie’s chest twisted at that and he had to look back down at the envelope to keep himself from caving in. It was his fault, he realized, that Ted looked like that.
“Well, if you’re sure,” Ted said with an unconvincing nod. Then he cleared his throat and offered the envelope to Jamie. The younger man eyed it suspiciously, but still grabbed it and cradled it in his hands like it was something precious. Ted smiled and bumped their shoulders together in a teasing gesture. “That there’s a letter I wrote, just in case I didn’t catch ya on your way out. It’s no Hemingway, but I thought you’d like to hear it anyway. Oh, and there’s a little something in there for ya too.”
Jamie watched Ted reach out and tap the surface of the envelope where he could just barely see the imprint of something small inside. He pulled the letter to his chest, pressing it against his body so hard that the paper crinkled beneath his hands. His voice felt fragile when he croaked out, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Ted replied in a voice that felt impossibly gentle for someone to be using with Jamie. Then he heaved a sigh and placed his hand on the back of the younger man’s head. He ran his hand gently over Jamie’s hair for just a moment before he pulled back. “You need anything, and I mean anything at all, you let me know. Ya hear me, son?”
Before he was even aware of what he was doing, Jamie had his arms thrown around Ted’s shoulders. If the man was startled by it, he didn’t let it show, and he wasted no time in returning the impromptu hug. It was a short hug, only long enough for Jamie to mumble thank you into the front of Ted’s shirt before he was pulling away again. When the younger man turned away to collect himself, ducking his head to hide the embarrassed flush that had crept up into his cheeks, Ted obediently averted his gaze. He pretended not to see the way that Jamie curled in on himself and started to wipe at the tears dripping from his eyes. And when Jamie's shoulders hitched around shaky breaths, Ted ignored that too.
It wasn't until it seemed like Jamie had regained his bearings that Ted risked a glance in his direction. Jamie was still hunched over, but the tears had dried and his breathing wasn't quite as stuttered. Ted smiled as he threw an arm around his shoulders, shook him gently, and whispered, “It’ll be alright, son.”