Chapter Text
Phoebe finally falls asleep in an unpleasant mood after throwing a tantrum about not wanting to sleep untill her mother come back home, and then getting exhausted by her own emotional outburst. What a level of self-entertainment. Irritated but impressed, Roy thought he wouldn't have minded having this superpower too – letting emotions drag him to the edge and than fucking sleep, cause apparently sleeping at your near forty isn't the simplest thing to do. Especially sleeping on your own.
Back in the days, his younger and much more aggressive version would've killed himself if he knew what he'd become in the future. Despite of what it may look like, Roy wasn't as aggressive anymore. Now he was just grumpy and softened like a fucking marshmallow and the saddest part was that he hadn't enough anger in him to even hate himself for it. Like he just... excepted it.
Yeah.
Getting old sucks. Breaking news.
On the bright side, football was his one true love and passion most of his life and now he has time to do things. Time to care more about people he loves without it affecting his performance. And he actually loves watching Phoebe grow, loves doing her breakfasts at nights when she falls asleep, so his sister wouldn't bother herself with this after the tough night shift, loves to make her laugh, though it's not that hard, cause she's fucking eight years old, you ain't got to be a fucking comedian to make an eight year old laugh, but still he kinda loves the fact that it's not hard. That means she's just a happy little girl, living her happy wholesome eight year old life.
She knows just exactly what she wants for Christmas. Adults don't know what they actually want for Christmas. They know what they need as Christmas presents, they may think they want all of it, but no, they don't fucking do. Dreaming is a privilege of the youth.
Roy was in kitchen when he got a phone call, louder than the bloody siren. He should've turned the sound off, or at least put down the volume with Phoebe sleeping not so far away, but it was almost 00:30 on the clock, no one calls him this late usually. Roy doesn't like surprises and he pray to all gods he doesn't really believe in for that not be an emergency. But at the same time if it's not an emergency, he might possibly kill the midnight caller.
As Roy quickly dries the water off his hands, he takes a look at the screen with a big 'Shithead' and a middle finger emoji on it. The fuck? He frowns and finally picks up, but doesn't get to say a thing before Tartt's smug voice comes through.
"Heeey, beautiful." The fuck? "It's me, Jamie. I know it's kinda late but I thought maybe you're just as sleepless romantic as m'self" The f u c k ? "...aaand maybe your offer's still on? Like I can bring you some fine wine. I mean it's pretty cheap actually, but kind of brilliant. You'll know when you taste it. And then you can... y'know, taste me afterwards."
Okay, that was ugliest pick up line Roy didn't even need to hear. But it was rather satisfying (not that Roy ever going to admit he sometimes worries about Jamie Tartt) to know Jamie's not in trouble or shit like that. For now, at least. He sounds... definitely not sober. And judging by the background noise, he's somewhere on the streets.
"I'd fucking prefer not to."
There is a long pause on the line, and then Jamie goes, "You're not Catherine with a 'C'."
"Good fucking point."
"Shit. I didn't mean to call you."
"I figured. Tartt, why the fuck are you up and drunk at almost one in the morning with a fucking game you have to play tomorrow..?"
Or was it today? Doesn't fucking matter.
"Ugh, no lectures, please. I was heading home."
"No, you weren't. You were heading to some random bird to get laid."
"You got me here."
Roy sighs and places himself in a chair.
"She's not random though", Jamie suddenly adds, kind of serious. "We've dated. For a while. Now we keep in good fuck." He pauses and Roy could swear he hears Jamie's brain creak. "I mean now we keep in touch for a good fuck. Time to time."
"Sleepless romantic as you are."
That made Jamie snort with laughter a little bit. "You don't sound awakened either."
"Well I don't get to fucking play tomorrow. I've already played my dues."
"Yeah", Jamie hummed something inaudible. "What would you say if... I hang up and we just... pretend like it never happened and never mention it like... ever again?"
Roy really wants to say yes. But he knows the second he hangs up Jamie would be at Catherine's with a 'C' doors, drinking more, sleeping less and whatever the fuck. Any day but this one, Roy wouldn't care less. But not with the game ahead. He wants to know Jamie's safe and sound at his place and resting. For game's sake, of course.
"Turn your camera on."
"What, did you miss m-"
"Turn it on, prick, don't fucking test me."
Jamie's clicks his tongue irritatedly, moves away from the phone and aggressively tapes on the screen for quite a moment before he finds camera and his face showed up.
"Bossy bastard." Jamie spits, not as hateful, though. He doesn't look his best, he probably knows it himself, judging from the way he tries not to hold camera right in front of him, as he would usually do to capture all of this magnificent god-given beauty (Tartt's words, not Roy's). He looks... tired. Not the horny-drunk type he tried to make himself sound like. Just... tired. And kind of sad. "So what do you need to see me for? Desperate for a good-night wank, need someone to dream of?"
"You're going home, Tartt. I'm watching to be sure you reach your destination."
"Or what?" Jamie challenges and finally look straight into the camera.
"Or you're not playing tomorrow."
"You won't do it. Lasso won't let you."
"Want to bet on it?"
"...No. No, okay, fucking fine, going home."
This new Jamie, Roy must admit, was kind of likeable. The one that finally fears to lose something important, the one that choose not to mess up with good chances when he has ones. There was something real and honest about those sides of Tartt. He still was a backtalking twat, but that was no news.
"Do you fucking cook there or something?" Apparently, Jamie doesn't like silence. Roy indeed headed back to the kitchen to finish up Phoebe's breakfast, because he didn't know how far away from home Tartt was and how long it would take for him to get there.
"Does your mouth ever shut?"
"Oh come on, you've fucked up my plans. You owe me a few lines at least."
"I owe you nothing."
"Turn your camera on then too."
"Not happening."
"I don't fancy feeling like I'm being watched, you creep. Either you talk to me or turn your camera on."
"Okay. How the hell do you miss-tap Roy Kent and fucking Catherine with a 'C'?"
"Easy, I don't use your actual name with this number, so you're kind of neighbouring Catherine"
"And how did you name me?"
"Coach."
"Eh?" Roy stopped cooking to take a look at Jamie, but he didn't flinch. Well, why would he? That's what Roy is, his coach, but... Okay, maybe Roy just didn't expect something... normal like this. "Then what Lasso is?"
"Yankee."
"And Beard?"
Jamie grimaces in front of the camera, as if Roy asked something incredibly stupid. "Yankee 2." Then his face expression changes back to its natural smugness, Roy wants to punch him right in his bloody meerkat smile. "What, you're shocked I didn't write you as 'grandpa' or something?"
"No, I'm still on a 'Catherine with a 'C' thing." Roy lies, moving on to the dishes. "Is there Katherine with a 'K' or you broke up cause you're just unable to remember your girlfriend's name correctly?"
"There is Katherine with a 'K'. She's my cousin, so I always check by voicing the name out loud and spelling it. So I won't send a dickpic to my cousin by any chance."
Let's skip the last sentence. "Didn't know you have a cousin."
"Yeah, we don't speak often. She's older, she has her own family and she doesn't live anywhere near here. Her son loves football though, and Katherine usually just congrats me via texts when I win and asks to send something football-relevant for the boy. The last thing I sent to him was a ManCity shirt with my name on it and signed by every teammate." Jamie smirks a little. "Now he asks for a signed Richmond shirt. Didn't even care when we were failing. Kids, eh." He shuts up, and then asks quietly, unimpressed by following silence. "Too much info?"
"No, just... Trying to fathom the thought of you as an uncle."
"I wouldn't call myself that. Like I said, we don't talk that much. He just likes the idea of me, and I happen to think kids are alright."
"Well, you better start fucking scoring then, cause I'm not letting you send out a shirt to the kid with some loser's name on it."
"I didn't say I was gonna write 'Roy Kent' all over it."
"Don't fuck with me. I'm your coach now."
"Riiight..." Jamie stops, considering whether or not he should say what he was about to say and giving up eventually. "Coach Kent. Hate to say it, but it does sound good with your name."
Roy can feel a smirk creeping up to his lips, because this is the closest Tartt could've reach with complimenting him, and yet, he did it. Good thing he's heading home, he's drunk just fucking enough.
"So. Do coaches have their favourites? I mean, they do, Sam's obviously Lasso's pet. But what about the rest of you?"
"Maybe take a fucking cab? Where do you live, Narnia?"
"Shh, I'm in a mood for walk. So favourites — yes or no?"
"Why? You're desperate to be someone's pet?"
"Ain't I already yours?"
"You fucking wish."
Jamie responds with just a half-smile, but Roy could see change in his look, tired again, uncommonly thoughtful.
"You okay?" He's no good with... well, talking, but as a coach he had to know, what messes with Tartt's mind.
"I'm good."
"You don't look good."
"Cheers, mate. You don't look good yourself either."
"You really wanna be bloody princess about it?"
No answer followed. Not that Roy was expecting otherwise. Little shit never wants to share with class anything other than his smart-ass commentary. Lasso would've find a way to talk him out a bit anyway. He always has This Story™ that gets to the team every fucking time, making someone realise something. Well maybe Roy wasn't a fucking child tv-show character that reads out the moral of the story at the end of sketch, but he can deal with Jamie "Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo" Tartt.
Jamie flinches as Roy turns his camera on, appearing on the screen with his 'I'm tired of your shit' best look just out of nowhere and extremely unexpected. Before he could say anything, Roy takes the word.
"I know you longer than I'd like to and I have to tell you that when you feel like shit, you tend to treat yourself like shit. And when you treat yourself like shit, you hate yourself and then start extrapolate this hate on everyone around you. And then it's just all collapse in a massive shit, none of us have time to deal with. So if you... Why in the bloody hell are you laughing?"
The question got Jamie laughing even harder, as he pointed with his finger at the screen. "You have a... oh fuck, how it's called... a scrunchy. In your fucking hair."
Shit. Phoebe. Roy doesn't even look at himself, taking this thing off right away with the most murderous look.
"M'sorry, mate, that's just..." Tartt continues. "You're saying some serious stuff and then again you have this in your hair like who's the fucking princess now?"
"Why do I even bother?"
"No! No, wait. Shit. I heard you, okay? I appreciate your... well, concern. I'm not certain where does it come from, but I do appreciate it. Just... you won't understand."
"Fucking try me."
"No. Really. You won't, cause I don't know how to explain it properly. I've been saving myself from drama this whole day, avoiding myself and... thoughts. And I don't want to fall into this rabbit hole now. It's not gonna affect tomorrow game, promise."
That was the answer Roy needed, but still it wasn't as enjoyable.
"You need to learn to talk the shit out, even if you don't have enough words. Do it like a child, fucking point fingers at things that disturbs you, throw them and angrily name them, just don't keep it inside."
"Yeah. Right. Funny, I once knew a football captain that was following the exact same strategy..."
"Oh shut up."
Jamie laughed a little more and it was oddly satisfying to see him laugh like a real fucking person, not a media image. They walk like this some more, Roy doesn't turn his camera off, even though Jamie didn't ask for it to stay on. At 1:00 AM Roy stops counting minutes, he hardly notices the moment Jamie comes home, cause that block talks a lot, but it's... soothing in a certain way. Plus Jamie can actually be funny, when he's not trying too hard.
After some awkward goodbyeing, Roy yawns, noticing that they'd talked for almost one hour straight and this is the longest the two of them ever spent together. Was it weird it didn't feel weird at all? Or was it just the fact Roy didn't spend too much time outside his family lately and it was quite nice to listen to something else rather than school, child games, cartoons and job complaints?
He tries not to give this too much attention. There were things stranger in his life. Besides, Roy finally got sleepy listening to Tartt's bullshit, and he could use some fucking sleep.
Phone beeps one more time before Roy goes to bed.
[Shithead🖕, 01:34]:
im feeling better now btw
thx for, you know
you being you ig
im still tipsy i know im gonna regret it eventually so dont reply
just ty
or whatevs
Okay, so maybe it was weird after all. But... not exactly bad kind of weird?
[Coach, 01:37]:
Score a fucking goal for me then today.
First half ends with a goal from Brighton straight into fucking locker room and this is just one goal against them, not the end of the world yet, but the whole situation within team was far from confident. Whenever Richmond's forwards rushed their way through, Brighton's players pushed them in the back again, keeping game on Richmond's side of the field most of the time, so the goal was inevitable even in Ted's boogie wonderland perspective.
"What in the bloody hell is going on with you?!" Roy tries his best to get them in the mood, cause apparently Isaac is having too much thoughts and just got lost in them on the half way. And that's not what Roy wants from captain, they definitely have the talk later. "My niece's dollhouse is harder to break then this mess you call defence. This doesn't even look like an equal competition, that's just Brighton visits fucking school P.E. lesson and beats the shit out of bunch of teenagers. Don't look at the bloody score, that's not 1 to 0, that is 10 to 0, you just have Thierry for the best fucking goalkeeper that you should pray on, but he ain't a fucking magician. I know that everyone have their lives to focus on, but do it outside the field. Whenever you're putting on a Richmond shirt you fold and put away your outer drama like your casual clothes. Now sober. The fuck. Up."
With this final word Roy heads back to the office, nodding to Lasso and Beard that team's theirs now, if they want to discuss change of tactics or whatsoever. He couldn't rate how much of a fucking disappointment this game was. It seemed like team just started to keep up the pace, and then the fucking spell was casted.
Same thing for Roy's life - he stepped out of a rollercoaster to feel steady ground beneath his feet, and when he actually fucking do, it slides away. He's not even falling, he stays like this, levitating in the air, not able to move either forward or backward. Helpless. It burns Roy's tongue and he's not even thinking about saying it out loud.
"Oi, uh..." Jamie appears in the doorway, his stare anywhere but Roy's eyes. "Time to go back. You coming, coach?"
"Yeah. Go ahead, I'll be there in a second."
Jamie gives him a hesitant nod, but isn't moving.
"Words, Tartt, use them, if you have something to say. You have to be on field in thirty seconds. Talk or get your ass out of here."
Jamie nods again, then storms out to join the team. Right. Right, there's no time to deal with personal bullshit. They have a game to finish and if there's a bloody miracle somewhere around the corner, they could use it.
And there it was, a bloody miracle with a Jamie Tartt's name on the back. Or at least that's how it seemed to be at the beginning of another forty five minutes. Without a warning or any discussion Jamie switched to his 'the world's biggest prick strategy', he provoked and was a total twat, taking the piss out of rival team players like a real pro.
With an accurate through pass from Dani, he finally got his one-on-one with Brighton's goalkeeper and didn't hesitate a moment to hammer in goal at '54 minute. Everyone gone mad happy, and that was promising. Dani almost jumped on Tartt's back, while others were chanting along with the crowd. Well, if this won't shake things up, today's just not their day.
For some unknown reason Jamie didn't seem too happy though. Masking it behind a smile, he walked back to his position with the most complicated fucking look Roy ever saw on him. Maybe if not for a midnight call, he wouldn't catch any of this, but something just wasn't right. Ten minutes later Jamie still sticked to the same tactics, but in a much more aggressive way, which... wasn't him at all. He could be pain in the ass, but he usually wasn't the first to pick up a fight. Gladly, referee wasn't too harsh on him, or else he would've got a yellow card.
"We have one more replacement, correct?" Roy asks Ted, leaning closer.
"Yep. Just one. Just one, Coach?"
"Just one", Beard nods.
"Just one! Any thoughts?"
"Replace Tartt."
Both of them, Beard and Lasso, looked at him like he was an enemy of some sort. Roy could understand it, he just asked to replace the only notable figure of this match, but this disturbing fucking feeling grabbed Roy by the throat.
"I fucking know what I say, I don't want to do it, but we have to. He's not all there today, don't you fucking see it?"
"I mean- Yeah, I know what you're talking about and I don't exactly advocate it, but- Well, we can't do it." Ted raises his hand in defence, when Roy growls. "Jamie's now the closest them guys have to the leader. I wanna believe he knows what he's doing."
"He doesn't. If you want something to believe, believe me on that. Jamie's not okay. He's a self-destructive mess, blinded by whatever the shit that goes on through his mind and who'll end up getting his ass in trouble. If we lose, fuck it, blame it on me; if he's mad at you for taking him out again, just blame it on me too."
It doesn't seem like Ted have a lot to argue with. Lasso's just looking for lame excuses to keep the game on and Roy gets it. Analytics will fucking eat them alive and nobody wants to deal with what press have to ask and say about it, but Lasso knows what is a right thing to do.
Before they could manage something, Beard warns them of a sudden fierce counterattack from Brighton's side. A long pass on the center forward, leaving him almost in the same situation Tartt put the goal in earlier, and then...
"What- What's happening?" Ted asks, his glance flies worryingly from Beard to Roy.
Game was paused, Dani and Colin help Jamie to get up on his feet, the last one shrinks with pain, it seems like Brighton's forward hurt Jamie's ribs with his elbow, when they both fell to the ground. Some of Brighton footballers helped their own forward too, others jumped on referee, actively gesturing towards the scene and demanding justice.
"Jamie did the professional foul", Roy says.
"That means he aimed for this big guy's foot..."
"On purpose. It's a straightaway red card."
"Oh shoot."
Yeah. A massive fucking piece of shoot is what it was. However, Roy doesn't now why it takes so long for referee to kick this foul-playing shithead out of the field. For a spare minute, he worries there's something really serious about this hit in the ribs and Jamie needs medical attention first, but then he sees referee heading to the VAR monitor.
"Fuck yes", Roy whispers. "They think there was an offside."
"That's- That's a good thing, right?" Ted checks carefully.
"If there really was an offside, Jamie might not get a red card." Beard stands still like a statue with his arms crossed, holding his breath for the decision. So does Ted. And secretly Roy does too. This is what he feared would happen, he didn't have to be a psych to forsee it. He regretted not demanding Jamie's replacement a bit earlier to prevent all this shit, and if it is the red card after all, fucker deserved it.
But in the same time, Roy prayed it to be an offside.
It takes a minute or two more before referee returns back to players with his final word.
"It's an offside", Beard announces, while Ted finally breathes and Roy nods as if it doesn't really matter. Well, in that case it doesn't matter for real. The fact that technically Jamie's action wasn't considered as foul in this particular moment didn't mean it could be ignored. He didn't know that there was an offside when he did it. He still fouled, he still could've get red card. Brighton players are pissed off for obvious reasons.
Before game start again, Ted replaces Jamie, unhesitatingly now and probably regretting doctor Sharon isn't here anymore. Jamie doesn't even blink, when he goes back to them. He shares a hug with substitute, even though his left side hurts, and then sits his ass on a bench, looking away from coaches like a resentful kid.
"Your ribs okay?"
Jamie finally looks up to see Roy's indifferent face and arms crossed. "Nothing's broken."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. It takes more to break me." That was said in unnecessarily defensive manner. All Roy could hope for is that this comes from Tartt's recognition that he did bad. "We'll lose this game", he adds with bitterness and dramatic fatalism.
And all Roy can say is, "I know."
Eventually Brighton shows up at Richmond's side with an attack at last added minutes. Even though Thierry successfully protects them, Brighton score another goal from a corner.
They lose.
It wasn't a long talk with the team after the match. Truth be told, it couldn't be considered as a talk at all. It was balancing between Ted's goldfish fairytales and Roy's harsh verbal attempt to spread every teammate brains on the walls. When it was clear that this talk went extremely unproductive, they decided to deal with it tomorrow before the training.
Jamie was the last one to stay in, not really wanted to talk or hear anything from anyone, so he just meditated in shower, listening to the crowd sound goes lower and lower, until there was silence. He plugs in earbuds, fits himself in casual, and checks his sport bag once more before heading out of here and swears loudly, taking a wide step back, when he turns around to see Roy near him.
"Mate, what the fuck?! I thought I'm the only one left!"
Roy takes Jamie's earbud, music that comes from it could be heard from another corner of the room. Sudden brush of fingers on his ear makes Tartt take another step back. "I didn't mean to sneak up. It's not my problem you don't hear a thing."
"I'm not in a mood for chit chat, so if you'll excuse me..." Jamie takes his earbud from Roy's and goes straight to the exit, only to be stopped by the tight grip on the shoulder. Tartt shakes the grip off, like it burns him. "Don't touch me, leave me the fuck alone!"
"Not before you explain yourself."
"Explain myself? I could've win this fucking game or at least leave it on a tie, and you guys just wrote me off the story, so we fucked up. Explained enough?"
"From my point of view, you could've get the fucking red card by the end of the game. Your goal was brilliant, but everything that came after? Are you out of your bloody mind? You fouled on purpose!"
Jamie rolls his eyes.
"It was an offside."
"A goddamn miracle is what it was. What if it wasn't a fucking offside?"
"Well, it fucking was. Let this go, mate. I'm exhausted. I wanna go home." Jamie goes past Roy to exit.
"Does all of this attitude have something to deal with your midnight shit?"
He freezes, turning aroung with unreadable glance and Roy knows he's near the truth.
"I was a bit drunk, tired and had a bad day. You shouldn't have known any of this, so don't bring it up, it's not fair."
"You wanna talk about what's fair and what's not? I believed you, when you promised whatever the fuck it was it won't affect your performance."
"It didn't!"
"You literally threw yourself on troubles. What if this-" Roy tugged up Jamie's shirt a little, showing a big bruise on his left side. Jamie slapped his hand off immediately. "What if this would've ended worse."
"It wouldn't have."
"He could've broke your ribs, or a little less luck and your leg's fucked. Do you know how it's easy to lose everything in this fucking sport?"
"I was in control of situation."
"You somehow managed to get hurt, it's not what people call 'to be in control'".
"Fuck, Roy! Brighton lad didn't hit me! It..."
Their eyes meet. Roy just stand there silently, waiting for him to continue, to explain in properly, cause he didn't want to jump to conclusions - Roy's very quick with jumping to conclusions and getting himself all worked up within seconds, but Jamie already looked defeated as if he said something he really shouldn't have, Roy didn't want to say or do something that would scare him away completely.
"I got it yesterday. And before you say anything, it's really nothing that serious. When I fell to the ground today it just hurt like hell."
"You got it yesterday when? How? Where?" From the small look on Jamie's face Roy felt uncomfortable and angry. "Who did that?"
"No one."
"Jamie."
"Got it m'self, fell off the bed, wasn't fucking careful, will be next time. Go mother hen someone else, will you?"
"It was your father?"
Tartt looks away and goes to exit again. "Conversation's over."
"Fuck. He did it, didn't he?" Roy follows him.
"Conversation's over!"
Can Roy just go back in time when he didn't even care for this little stubborn shit? That was so much fucking easier, when they never really even nodded to one another in the corridor. That changed quickly, maybe it was Lasso, maybe it was sorry for a douchebag he has for the father, maybe it was simple coach responsibility. No matter what started those protective feelings towards Total Twat Tartt, Roy somehow caught them.
And that fucking sucked. Jamie was so easy to hate and - well - too hard to like, even through his best moments. When he's down, he tries to drag his whole world down with him, he lies to himself, justifying his own behaviour. And Roy thinks maybe that is the problem, maybe he needs someone who's not tiptoeing around his little comfortable bubble of lies.
"I don't know how your fucking head works." Roy stops him again by the car and even though Jamie's frustrated, he waits. "But damaging your own career isn't worth it."
"What're you talking about? I never-"
"You gave up on football once. When you left ManCity for a tv-show you gave zero fucks about. And you regretted it. Today you nearly sabotaged yourself for the same fucking reason."
"Sabotaged?"
"Yes, sabotaged. Do you want to admit it yourself or to hear me say it?"
Jamie is silent for a moment. "Well. Surprise me, I guess."
"You're pissed off not cause we lost, you just wanted to get red card."
"Wha- You- That's-" Jamie tries to keep up with Roy's straight-in-the-eye look, but utterly fails. "Ridiculous. Why would I?"
"You get red card, you get disqualified for one game. Next week we play against Manchester. So my guess, you wanted to have a reason to miss out on this match, cause you have problems with recognising trouble when you see one and running away is easier."
Jamie's glance is blank, as if he's not here at all, and that's not a good sign, but he has to know he won't get away with his bullshit.
"I haven't talked with Ted and Beard about it yet, but you better know I fucking will, if you don't pull your shit together. I saw enough blokes ruining their lives with one bad decision, and sadly or not, I don't fancy the thought of you being one of them." Roy lands his hand on Tartt's shoulder just for it to be thrown away right away.
"I did what I did", he starts quietly, "to save the game. Think what you want to think and say what you want to say. But don't act like you fucking know me!" Jamie pushes Roy abruptly with his both hands, not painful or anything, a bit unexpected, that's all. He hides his glance, as he turns to the car and adds, "Or fucking care."
There was no need in repeating yourself with Roy, he didn't ask twice and didn't expect that from others. So if Tartt wants Roy to leave him alone, that's okay. Until he remembers that he's not the only one on the field and football is not some bloody reality show with plot-twists and other shit, that's totally fucking okay. He's got better shit to do anyway.
But clearly not today. Today was horrendous, and Phoebe stays with her mom tonight, that means Roy has evening all to himself, which has to be a good thing, and he really tries to see it as something positive, but the truth is he doesn't like being alone, actually he doesn't like anything remotely related to being alone. He hates silence, hates cooking something just for himself, hates falling asleep while rewatching 'Black Books' and then trying to figure out, which exact episode he had slept in, hates waking up on the couch with every back and leg muscle twisted and sore.
Roy wasn't just made to be single and it was fucking with his mind for a while now. So pizza, beer and some shitty stand up show to criticize out loud was his choice of activities for the rest of the day. And well- it could be worse.
The show turns out to be boring as fuck even for criticizing it and Roy ends it halfway to get himself a book, but stops in the doorway when the phone suddenly rings. He checks time, grunts at whoever this is and just pray for it to be some bank operator or scammer he can just ignore.
Incoming call: 'Shithead🖕'
Well, it's not a scammer, but Roy feels like he has every right to ignore it anyway. Little shit probably wants to set up a date with that bird he talked about, regarding he missed this opportunity the night before. He would call half of minute more and then he'd finally take a fucking look at his screen to see he's calling the wrong person, is what Roy thought to himself, yet he picked up the phone and swiped to answer the call, because fuck it, Roy isn't going to feel guilty, if something's really happened to this prick and he decided to ignore. Someone's got to be adult here.
"Still not Catherine." He grunts coldly instead of a greeting, taking Jamie by surprise for a second, and then this fucker just titters. He may not have enough brains, but he surely has some guts.
"I, uh-" Jamie stutters quietly. "I know. I called to talk to you."
"Are you hurt?"
"...No?"
"Are you in danger?"
"Well, no-"
"Then you're very welcome to leave your message after the signal. Fucking beep."
"Roy, no! Fuck! Don't hang up on me."
This outcry sounded so blissfully desperate, Roy decides taking a few moments to savour it won't actually hurt.
"You have sixty seconds."
"Sixty seconds? Like figural sixty seconds or did you put me on timer?"
"Forty."
"Fuck, no, wait! Ugh." Jamie paused to breath in slowly, getting his thoughts together. "I'm sorry, 'lright? And that's not this case when I say I'm sorry, just cause I feel obliged to say it in order to keep things working, yet I ain't actually feeling it, no. It's, uh- It's my truly... madly... deeply I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked to you the way I did or act the way I did. The truth is I was already mad at m'self and you just caught me by surprise and you weren't there to suppress me, you were just - well - for me. Like uh-, like yesterday. Actually, like every fucking day since I returned to Richmond, whether or not I deserved it. I guess this just added fuel to the fire, and I know that ain't quite logical, but anyway. I'm sorry. And I know my sixty seconds are over, so please give me some added time."
Roy wasn't mentally ready to hear Jamie Tartt fucking apologize. Not in a mocking 'I know better' kind of way, but in a very serious one, with lots of casual 'sorries' in one messy speech, like he wasn't allergic to these type of words. And he didn't try to put the blame off himself, not finding someone or something else around to blame. It was... impressing in a way.
"Well?" Jamie calls impatiently. "Can I- Can I get some extra time?"
"Anything for you to not quote Savage Garden again." Roy gives up. "This shit was awful."
"Oh. Uh. Actually I thought of the film."
"There was a film?"
"Yeah. It has nothing to do with the song. It's, well- You know, nineties. Alan Rickman. And this scene when they're like 'truly, madly, deeply, passionately, remarkably'... Whatever. You're the grandpa, you're supposed to know old films, I'm not supposed explaining them to you."
"Nineties films aren't old."
"Mate, nineties were thirty years ago."
"...Well, fuck."
Jamie cackles and roughly stops himself from laughing, probably wondering if it was too much. It's kind of funny how scared to do wrong he is now, remembering today's game and all that came after. But if there is something Roy's definitely too old for, it's fighting someone who had already raised the white flag. Doesn't mean he's gonna let him get away with his shit though.
"I heard you, with this apology stuff. But what you did today was unacceptable. If you don't want to talk to me about it, you better talk to someone you trust..."
"I talked to Keeley."
To think, this wasn't some brand new information that Jamie still have connections with Keeley, she always cared for this little shit. But hearing her name now for the first time in weeks was rather hard. And the fact it was Jamie who brought it up didn't make it any way easier.
"Good. What did she said?"
"That I should stop being an ass and come to you, cause despite of what I think, you want the best for me."
"And you think what? I secretly want to destroy your life?"
"No! No. You're a decent coach. And pretty much good person as well. I guess I didn't think you really tolerate me 'cause you want the best for me, and not for the sake of the team overall. We're too different, and you - well - you don't understand me, you said that yourself once."
"No shit, you don't fucking tell me anything, when I ask."
"There's just things in your life you don't talk about. It's too personal. I mean- you didn't tell anyone you and Keeley broke up for a reason, did you?"
Of course, she spoked to him about it too. Well that wasn't a big secret either. Especially with Keeley telling Rebecca and Rebecca telling Ted and Ted calling a Diamond Dogs shitty meeting, which meant Beard found out too, no, that wasn't a secret at all.
But words 'break up' sound too real now. They've both saw it coming, it was mutual decision to spend some time by themselves, it wasn't easy for both of them, fuck, that was an awfully hard decision to make, but that was a necessary evil. Keeley needed space and time for her business projects, for the first time in her life she was her own woman, not someone's girlfriend, she wanted to find out who she really is when she is alone. Roy respected that.
And he was in a completely different place, wanting different things. He wanted someone by his side to talk to, someone to spend the most of his free time with. He knew what he was when he is alone and he had time to get tired of it. Ever since Phoebe was born Roy started to realise there's more to this world, than football games and meaningless one night stands. He knew he would end the whole fucking world for Phoebe, and at some point he started feeling the same way over Keeley. Loving someone feels like the greatest shit you ever had in life, no matter how much of a fucking trophies and recognition you got. But this also means loving someone strong enough to not keep them from leaving. That's what Roy did, despite of what the ideology of Lasso's rom-communism says about it. He let her go.
Yet some part of Roy hoped this isn't for long. He thought they'd get together again eventually, so clearly there was nothing to tell about the leaving each other. Now months went by, and Keeley looked genuinely happy. Without him. Naming them things Roy was kind of scared to use with their situation. They really broke up. So that was the end.
"Well, that's a bit different." Roy says finally to avoid more of awkward silence and to prove Jamie he doesn't care much about it now. "We're not fucking Brangelina, what did we have to do, shoot a fucking documentary? Someone knew and talked to me about it. Someone noticed, but didn't tell me anything. Keeley knows she can still count on me, and I know it works both ways. We still love each other, just... very separately. And life just goes on."
Roy wasn't quite sure why did he put on the whole speech he had with Phoebe, explaining to her why Keeley won't be around her as often as she was when they were together. He didn't wanted to avoid the talk and had her thinking that maybe there's something wrong with her, and moreover, he wanted to show her that sometimes people just go out of your life and while it's okay to be sad about it, you should respect their decision, if it was properly talked out. Roy also made sure Phoebe understands that if some fucker in her future decides to mess everything up for her, playing fucking mindgames, he would kill this piece of shit without a hint of hesitation.
Avoiding silence clearly gone wrong, Jamie is uncomfortably quiet after Roy's words, as if he has something in his mind, but is second thinking about whether or not he should talk about it. Roy takes a deep breath in and let it out slowly, trying to convince himself he's okay with what he's about to say.
"You can go for it."
"Huh?" Tartt asked, sounding puzzled.
"If you still love her, you can go for it. I'm not sure she's open for any relationship right now, but if you want to try, I'm not gonna treat you like shit for that."
"Huh." He thought a few seconds more before adding, "No! No, I fucking didn't even think about it, God. I mean, yeah, I love her, but... well, as a friend. She was the first person that was kind to me at times when I didn't even deserve it, but I know she doesn't love me that way too. If I seriously fell for every person who's kind to me, I would've been fucking head over heels for Lasso."
Roy barked a laugh a bit too loud and heard Jamie's there laughing quietly too.
"You're a master of turning conversation away from you. As much as turning it back to you."
"Yeah I know. It's a gift." Jamie says proudly.
"Where are you now?"
Roy heard Jamie move away from his phone. In less then a half-minute Jamie's face appeared on the screen and he traced the place with camera. It was dim lit, but Roy understood that was some kind of children playground and Tarrt was sitting on a swing.
"Isn't it a little too late?" Roy asks. "And by 'too late' I mean both you being too old for swings and that it is late in the evening."
"Escort me back to my house again?"
Roy be damned if Jamie didn't sound extremely hopeful saying this. And how can Roy say 'no'?
"I'm not turning my fucking camera on."
"You don't need to if you don't want to." He says softly, but adds mockinly, "You only have few programmed emotions that changes one another, I know them all."
"Didn't sound like a punchline, just creepy."
"Oh I have enough time to practice. You don't know how far away from my house I am."
"I always knew you're gonna be the death of me."
Jamie smiles at this like it's the best compliment he has ever heard and starts his way home. And there is no fucking chance Roy admit he kinda likes to see him smile.
It's just that with some kind of smiles Jamie's face looks a little less punchable.
That's all.