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“Aunt Stinky, I know you’re killing it in the men’s league, but why doesn’t Richmond have a team in the WSL?”
It’s a question Nora asked offhandedly one night when she’s round for a film night, curled up on the sofa to watch her latest obsession Bend it like Beckham. The film came out when Rebecca was in her early twenties and had always been a guilty pleasure. At the time she was still scorned by her father’s betrayal and unwilling to admit she adored football, to the point she feigned nonchalance over the film, merely telling Sassy it was okay when they left the cinema.
Afterwards she sees it again. And again.
Every night for a week she’s sat in a screen at her local Cineworld watching Jess and Jules chase their dreams. Alone, she lets herself cry, a mixture of joy and melancholy for this fictional world. These girls who will travel any distance, overcome any obstacle to play the beautiful game she herself had to turn her back on. She attends a Richmond match one Saturday to try and replicate the feeling the film evoked in her, hidden in the anonymity of the crowd, her little secret. It’s not the same, barely even fits the bill, a mediocre team in the premier league doesn’t match the spirit of the Hounslow Harriers.
She moves on.
Hides her love as the years go on, marries Rupert and has to forget the film completely. She’s the owner's wife, a woman who can’t like football or wish for a woman’s team to be added to the AFC Richmond line up. “That’s ridiculous darling, a waste of time and money.”
It all adds up so it simply warms her heart to see the film loved so much all these years later by Nora, the teen makes note to share her one gripe with the film as soon as it’s over, which is a lack of female queer representation. (Since apparently it is clear to anyone that Jess had much better chemistry with Jas than the coach)
Whilst Rebecca manages to answer that issue, commending how the film was ahead of its time in its representation of queer men, and that labelling the women as queer at the time would have only cemented general homophobic perceptions of women’s football, Nora’s earlier question sticks with her. It lingers long after the credits roll and through the Greta Gerwig marathon that follows the film. In fact, it stays with her for days.
Her goddaughter returns home at the end of the week, and Rebecca is left pondering why even now she hadn’t even thought of setting up a women’s side at AFC Richmond.
When she took over the club, Rebecca never envisioned herself expanding the club in any capacity. Equipped with a well thought out master (terrible) plan to destroy the football team, she found that investing in any aspect of it, making it something greater than mediocre was never the plan.
Then Ted Lasso ruined it all. He changed her life for the better, but they were still relegated. After that, the priority was promotion, keeping the club afloat on a reduced budget. Nothing could distract them from that, so it was natural, any other ambitions for the club fell to the wayside despite the advent of women’s football following the 2019 World Cup.
She’s sat on a bench looking over the green, watching some of the kids have a kick about, when she makes the call to Leslie. After that call, the ball gets rolling quite quickly since Rebecca Welton is, if nothing else, determined. Mind you, being filthy rich also helps with everything.
Setting up the team it turns out is a godsend, since it distracts from the loneliness that’s settled in over the summer. She misses Biscuits with the Boss more than she’ll ever admit and with Keeley setting up KJPR, the office is a little too quiet for comfort. The new team is a challenge and constantly requires her attention, preventing her from ever so slightly spiralling over the Instagram posts of Ted and Michelle looking a little too close for comfort at one of Henry’s summer football tournaments.
He looks happy, free from the stress of Nate leaving and the burden of being the somewhat reluctant face of a new mental health campaign in football. Despite this lighter Ted, she knows he needs to be dragged back into the throws of football, and kept up to date with her new developments for the club in general so he’s not blindsided when he returns home.
“You’re replacing me?” He frowns, his moustache drooping a little sadly. “Is this because of what happened at the end of the season boss?”
“No, not at all,” She flounders a little, trying to ease the pain he’s failing spectacularly to hide. “Nora has been asking, well bugging me for a while about why we don’t have a women’s side especially now we’re back in the premier league. I have the money and the resources so I’m making it happen.”
“And you need a coach?”
“Of course,” she smiles, “You won’t possibly have the time to coach both teams Ted, I wouldn’t expect that of you. It’d be unfair on the players too, the men’s and the women’s sides need the complete undivided attention of their manager.”
“That’s right they do!” She can’t help but smile at his little cheer, the small reminder that perhaps she should have started on this venture before now. “And you know what, I don’t know this new me, but I think whoever they are would agree that this year we’re all gonna win the whole fuckin’ thing boss.”
“Well you’ll have a chance to talk to the new ‘you’ when you get back from Kansas in a few weeks,” she blushes, shuffling some of the papers littering her kitchen island. Everything is finally coming together and will be in place for the new season, yet between this and promotion, the work is never done. “Though I feel she’d be happier going by Rachel than Ted, she’s also got her own Beard so to speak and I’ve told her she can hire a Roy later in the season if she feels they’re needed.”
“Oooh you’ve already got me! Ain’t that exciting, have y’all been doing biscuits with the boss whilst I’ve been snoozin’ away in another time zone?” She swears his eyes dim just a little, but it’s likely just a trick of the light.
“No!” She snaps, “we’ve had tea and many meetings, both in person and on zoom to finalise the team, but there have been no biscuits with the boss.” She shifts a little, softening, sipping from a glass of sauvignon blanc. “There’s only one person I’d do that with.”
“Well that’s kind of you to say boss,” he smiles softly, the conversation shifting into more of the logistical side of things now she’s broken the news.
She explains how the women will be playing some games at Nelson Road, others elsewhere, reasoning in his protest that when their fixtures clash with the men’s, it’s the men’s side who’ll bring a greater profit. Meaning they get the stadium. Ted understands this explanation eventually even if he doesn’t necessarily agree with it, both teams should rightly get equal billing. In principle she does agree with him, but the reality is the profit margins are just too great to ignore. It was a struggle to get the board to agree to this eneavour in the first place since they’ll be maing a loss for the first year at least. Getting them to treat the women’s side equally would be a lost cause. They just have to accept the win of getting to set up the team in the first place.
They talk long into the night for her, the sun dipping for him, casting shadows across his face on her screen as the minutes stretch to hours while she irons out the details of how the women’s team will impact the men's. He listens intently, catching her after she tries to conceal a yawn for the third time.
“I think it’s time we called it a night, you’ll get a crick in your neck if you fall asleep on me like this,” he smiles gently.
She didn’t realise how late it had even gotten, the sun long set and her body beginning to ache for rest.
“No, I’m fine Ted honestly I just-“ she fails to suppress this yawn.
“Boss with all due respect, you’re tired and you ain’t gonna get one minute of work done tomorrow if you don’t get any shut eye.”
“Fine, but I’ll call you again later this week if that’s alright.” She shifts a little hesitantly, not wanting to let him go just yet.
“That’s more than okay boss,” I look forward to it. Can’t believe you wanna spend your evenings talking to little old me.”
“Of course Ted, I can’t think of anyone who’d be better company.”
“If you say so,” She’s getting ready to hang up, draw herself a bath to try and drown some of whatever is coiling in her stomach. “Oh boss, before you go can I ask a favour?”
Dread washes over her, it’s a sudden request and she’s confronted with the possibility he may want to extend his trip, is asking now to spare any conversation on the topic. “Yes of course, what can I do for you Ted?”
“Put aside one of the women’s team shirts when you decide on the uniform style, just a home kit would do the trick.”
“Ted you’ll probably get a shirt anyway as part of the promotional content Keeley puts together, there’s no need to ask for one to be supportive.”
“Oh it ain’t for me, it’s for Henry.”
She’s a little “You think Henry will want the women's kit too?”
“Course boss, he’s Richmond’s biggest fan. No reason why he won’t like the women’s team as much as he likes the men’s”
“So babe,” Keeley begins, scrolling through the notes on her iPad. “We’ve made the official press announcement that Richmond have set up a team, your new gaffer is gonna be revealed later and the actual players will be shown on friday. That all okay?”
“Yes.” Rebecca says, feeling ever so slightly proud of all that’s been achieved in such a short space of time. “I told Ted about the new hire yesterday, sent him over her details since he wanted to reach out ahead of the new season and before training starts back up.”
“And how’d he take it all?” Keeley says, her voice a little distracted. Without looking up Rebecca knows she’s no doubt planning something for one of her new clients or sorting out the last few finishing touches for her office. It will be strange not having her around as much over the next season, to have to schedule in impromptu girl talk sessions and gossiping in her office.
Rebecca clears her throat, pretending to twiddle an imaginary moustache. “Ooh boss that’s a mighty fine idea, and she’s American too? You got a taste for us now?”
“Well, do you?” Keeley smirks, setting the files on the desk. “I mean you like Ted, Rebecca.”
“No!” She scoffs, shuffling the contracts to busy her hands. “She’s just the best fit for the team, being an American has nothing to do with it.” It’s true, honestly. Last time, Ted was the best fit to tank the team, and this time Rachel Millers is the best fit to make them hopefully succeed. She’s assembled quite the side for the team, if the player contracts that have crossed Rebecca’s desk were anything to go by. Her being American has nothing to do with the appointment, it’s rather all about her previous win in the Bundesliga with FC Bayern Frauen and how she managed to take the Italians to the quarter finals in the 2019 World cup. Her nationality doesn’t have anything to do with it.
“Yeah course it doesn’t,” Keeley scoffs, packing up the rest of her things. “Babe denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, you hired her because she’s American.”
“No, Keeley I hired her because she is the best person for the job.”
“You’re blushing babe, if you didn’t hire her because she’s American then you’re blushing because you like Ted.” It’s all rather juvenile, Rebecca likes Ted plenty enough, they’re friends so it’s expected. She thinks Keeley would normally understand that if she hadn’t been pushed to the brink of sanity with her overfull schedule. Yes, that has to be the reason why her friend seems to be one step away from singing a chorus of Rebecca and Ted sitting in a tree.
“I am friends with Ted, of course, I fucking like him. Just like I’m friends with you,”
“You don’t just like me, you fucking love me!” Keeley cackles, leaning in for a final hug. “Fuck I better go or I’ll be late for my next meeting. This isn’t over though Rebecca, it doesn’t end until you admit you want to snog the silly moustache off his fucking fit face!”
“Of course,” she replies drily, praying it’ll be pushed to the back of her friend’s mind. She likes Ted, and now is not the time to be re-evaluating how much she likes him over brunch and cocktails.
She doesn’t like him in that way.
The little flips her stomach has been doing is just the usual nerves that accompany the start of the season. Worries he may not return from Kansas and has had enough of London once and for all. It’s crazy to consider. He’s contractually obligated to return, at least for another year. It’s horrible to think that’s the only thing keeping him here, it keeps her up at night often, wondering if there’s anything else that might keep him here besides that.
She busies herself to quell the doubts, fills her days with meetings which is easy enough when she has to set up the new team. The issue is, by week 3 of the off-season everything is finished. She’s awaiting the arrival of Rachel Miller, Coach Extraordinaire, a woman who won’t need as much hand holding as Ted did two years ago. (not that Rebecca actually gave him any real help.)
As someone who has worked in the sport for almost 15 years, Rachel adapts to Richmond easily. She’s more than capable of building the team on her own, handing Rebecca a roster of players to buy. She proves this upon arrival, midway through June, making a beeline for the club without an added detour of Tower Bridge.
This time Rebecca gives her coach the option of waiting to hold a press conference, allowing her a few weeks to get acclimatised and stuck in before the vultures descend. The woman refuses.
She handles them with a certain poise and grace that only comes from years of media training, living under the camera’s intense scrutiny both as a player and now a manager. Every question has an answer and hope blooms in Rebecca’s chest, she begins to believe perhaps Nora was right in pushing this venture.
This season Richmond won’t just have a chance at the Premiership, it’s about the Women’s Super League too, and Rachel seems just as determined as Ted to prove herself as manager.
To win the whole fucking thing.
Rebecca is aware of when Ted’s plane is supposed to land, knows the summer schedule by heart and has his flight marked on her calendar. At first she nearly didn’t note it just in case he changed his mind and bought out the rest of his contract She knows he’s due back in the training centre tomorrow so it’s a little bit of a surprise to have him bounding into her office like Tigger halfway through the morning.
“Knock a doodle doo, it’s biscuits o’clock.” Ted cheers, producing the little pink box with a rather elegant flourish.
“Ted!” Rebecca beams openly, trying not to snatch the treat she’s been missing ever so much for the past few weeks.
“This is Rachel Miller,” she gestures to the woman sat on the other side of the desk. “Rachel Miller, Ted Lasso.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m a big fan, Coach Lasso,” Rachel smiles, shaking his hand. “Your win with the Shockers was something else, and I gotta say getting the team promoted last year too after the tie streak? Amazing work.”
“Awh heck, thank ya kindly.” His smile is bashful and perhaps it’s the lighting of the early morning sun, or maybe a too brisk walk up the stairs but Rebecca swears her gaffer is blushing a little. “Your goal at the 2011 World Cup? Wowee, you could give any of our boys a run for their money with that kinda aim.”
She laughs, “Maybe back in the day, not now though. I’m just here to coach soccer.”
“Maybe I’m wrong but do I detect another good midwestern accent with you, joining the Kansas club with me an Beardo?”
“Not born and bred, I was born in California,” she explains, “but spending 5 years playing for Kansas City? The accent rubs off a little.”
It’s like Rebecca isn’t even there, they banter back and forth in the middle of her office, agreeing to discuss all things barbecue at a later date, both concluding quickly at least that Arthur Bryant is the best joint by far in Kansas City. She has nothing to add to the conversation having never been to Kansas herself, it would perhaps be nice to be included or even acknowledged by the pair. It’s brilliant to see them getting along so well, a surefire sign the coaching staff will get along in and out of the locker rooms, being this chummy so quickly is a little extreme though.
Rebecca clears her throat after a beat, a little sick of the y’alls and yeehaws being exchanged before her.
“Ooooh right,” Ted begins apologetically, holding out a familiar pink box. “Here you are boss, one order of biscuits coming right up.”
“Thank you Ted.”
“Look at this catching up with the coach already,” he grins, stuffing his hands into his pockets with a shrug, “This gonna be the new biscuits with the boss?”
“NO!” She reacts quickly, snapping to end any idea he could possibly be entertaining. Biscuits with the boss had accidentally been shared with Keeley and Higgins in the past, only on occassion, to have a regularly scheduled catch up involving both her coaches would be absurd. “I mean there’s no biscuits Ted and unlike you, Rachel seems to actually enjoy tea so maybe it’s just tea-m work?”
His shout of delight her more than it should, thigh slap sends a little thrill through her entire being. “Got me there, ooh boy maybe that’s better than a little biscuits with the boss.”
“It’s not!” She reacts quickly, at this point Rachel must think she’s grown another head or something with the looks she’s sending her. “I mean it’s good to chat with both my coaches, both together and separately to know how the teams are going.”
“You know, maybe you’re right boss?” He shrugs, stroking his moustache in thought, “we do a biscuits with the boss a couple times a week and then maybe I have a chat with the coach with Rachel. End of the week is tea-m work but I will not be partaking because eurgh we all know what I think of tea. Tea is just-“
Rachel cuts him off before he can continue, standing, hand outstretched for a shake of agreement. “I’d be up for that, I mean I can coach my team without your input but I’m sure you need all the help you can get Mr Lasso.”
“Well that’s mighty kind of you to offer, but I think Beardo, Royo and I will be just fine winning the whole thing for boss this season.” He teases, standing toe to toe with the shorter woman, he has to look down to meet her upturned glare.
“What a coincidence, because I plan on doing the same thing with the women’s team this year.”
Standing toe to toe, Rebecca can’t help but admire how well suited the pair seem to be, both sport matching Richmond training gear, Ted favouring his usual crew neck and polo whilst the new coach just has a training jacket. Rachel is a complimentary height to Ted, a little short for a professional footballer, (which she proved critics wrong about) but the right pint-size for the picture perfect ad package they’ve accidentally created. The only thing stopping them from leaning into one another in a cheesy enemies to lovers script would be how his visor and her cap would clash awkwardly and- God, Rebecca really needs to branch out from the early 2000s rom-com turn her movie nights with Nora have gone to.
Next film night they’re watching St Trinian’s or Charlie’s Angels, she needs a break from tall jocks and petite princesses.
“Oh-”
“Not that I don’t love my two coaches getting along, but I have work to do,” she waves a hand at the laptop resting on her desk, attempting a smile to avoid soundind so snippy with the pair. “And I believe if both of you plan to bring trophies home this season, so do you.”
She waits for them to leave before opening the box of biscuits, the risk of having to possibly share them with Rachel finally over. There were many things Rebecca would happily offer to help her new coach settle in at Nelson Road, however biscuits were not and would never be one of those things.
Over the next week Rebecca partakes in tea-mwork and biscuits with the boss as she’s always done, seemingly happy to transition into pre-season training ahead of both the Premier League and WSL. She’s pleased, nay ecstatic, both her coaching teams appear to be getting along swimmingly. They’re getting along so well in fact, apparently Ted and Rachel have actually decided to commute together, to and from work. Beard only tags along after night’s spent at his own flat or just away from Jane in general since she has attached herself to the poor man, like a barnacle over the course of the summer.
It’s great they’re getting along and Rachel’s corporate housing on Golden Court seems to have only encouraged this. Rebecca knew she could trust Leslie with sorting all the logistics out, really it couldn’t have turned out better. The coaching staff are happy, the players are happy and Rebecca truly is very happy.
This morning she couldn’t be in a better mood, her car pulling up just as the two coaches walk across the carpark, happily chatting away. No doubt they're finding out they have even more in common than previously thought as seems to be the case whenever she comes across the inseparable duo. A chorus of ‘Rebecca did you know’ chirps up whenever she enters a room they’re in together, their answers ranging from ‘Ted can play the drums’ and ‘Rachel can play the guitar’ have them giggling about starting a band she isn’t even invited to be a part of, when everyone knows Rebecca would be the best damn lead singer they could find. She also already knows most of the less anecdotal information they share since she had to read over job histories and CVs for her staff. (When she isn’t hiring them specifically to ruin the club.)
It’s fantastic, really. They truly are fantastic together.
Ted and Rachel are walking across the carpark, laughing and chatting breezily on their walk in and she’s not sure she can stomach the joviality. Rebecca hadn’t woken up on the wrong side of the bed that morning, in fact, she woke in quite a good mood, she just doesn’t want to be with them this early on.
She has to fight the urge to stay in the car, to tell Stephen she left something important at home and needs to return immediately to retrieve it. Meetings will need to be pushed back for such an immature decision and overall her good day could be ruined by the change in schedules. If Keeley were here she’d tell her to suck it up and just get out the car, she’d also needle her until she cracks and admits the reason she’s even bothered by Ted and Rachel in the first place.
Keeley isn’t here though, so Rebecca can be a coward. She can’t stay in the car due to the aforementioned tightly scheduled day, what she can do is thank the higher powers for sending a knight in shining armour to save her from the awkward small talk. Leslie Higgins is a beautiful man, stepping out of his Vauxhall Corsa and coming to her rescue without even knowing it.
“Hey Boss!” Ted calls as she nods goodbye to Stephen before he drives off, smoothing out the non-existent creases of her McQueen jacket.
“Morning, Rebecca,” Rachel smiles sweetly, waving cheerfully across the car park. They seem to have paused, clearly waiting for her to join them and she just can’t quite push through the petty annoyance she’s feeling towards the sunshine they’re exuding on such a grey day.
“Morning, sorry I can’t stop, I need to speak with Leslie about something.” she nods, walking a little faster to catch up with Leslie who’s just ahead of them, ready to duck into Nelson Road and avoid Laughing Liam who sounds like he’s positioned near the door.
“LESLIE!” Rebecca calls, speeding up a little to catch the Director of Communications. “How was your weekend? You went away with Julie didn’t you?”
“Oh we did,” he smiles serenely, slowing down his pace a little. “Stayed in a lovely little Bed and Breakfast in the Peak District just outside of Bakewell, popped by Chatsworth on the way back because neither of us can resist a bit of Pride and Prejudice.”
“Did I hear someone mention Pride and Prejudice?” Ted questions, catching up with them. Curse Leslie’s gelatinous L4 forever slowing them down, next time perhaps she should hedge the bets of a quick escape on Laughing Liam.
“Yes, I was just telling Rebecca how Julie and I went for a lovely long weekend to Bakewell and stopped off at Chatworth on the way back,” Leslie smiles wistfully, lost for a moment in the memories of an idyllic weekend spent perusing farmer’s markets and heading to National Trust properties. “It’s where they filmed Darcy’s home in the 2005 film and it is just beautiful there, so peaceful.”
“Oooh I bet, quick favourite Jane Austen? Everyone go! Rebecca, you first”
“Persuasion, there’s something about the letters and a lost love coming back into your life,” she smiles a little wistfully. “It’s just the right couple, but the wrong time until it suddenly isn’t. Sadly though, all of the adaptations of it have been incredibly shit.”
“That’s where I’m lucky with Pride and Prejudice being my favourite,” Higgins grins, at them. “The 2005 film is good and the 90s series, my word Colin Firth got Julie and me through the time Lindsey got chicken pox. We’d put him to bed and just curl up on the sofa after everything..”
Higgins is gone from that moment, lost to reminiscing over his perfect marriage and annoyingly beautiful family. Any topic or prompt has the ability to send Higgins off into a spiral that either ends with a dopey doe-eyed look plastered on his face for the rest of the day or a sudden need to contact Julie to just tell her he loves her. It’s a simple easy kind of love, something completely opposite to what Rebecca experienced in her own marriage, it’s taken the time and a few therapy sessions over the summer for her to realise perhaps her marriage was void of love altogether.
“If I had to pick then I’d say Emma,” Rachel’s answer shakes Rebecca from her musings, of course, she would pick Emma. “Clueless and the 2019 one? Insane.”
Yes, Emma is her favourite. Perhaps her life will play out a little like it, as their coach, she’s helping all of the new players reach their potential, and maybe that is the modern day equivalent of a good marriage. These women will earn enough to not need a job alongside football, they won’t ever have to marry well as the only viable option to get by in society. At that point perhaps Rachel can retire, realise that Ted is more than the man leading a neighbouring team from the office next to hers, pursue what would have been growing for months by that point. It’s a little nauseating, the though of Ted as Knightly, she’s not sure there’s ever been an adaptation of the character with a moustache but Ted would make it work. His compassion, his very being would carry him through as the hero in any tale.
“A good pick,” Rebecca manages, knowing if she continues this conversation any longer she’ll be late for her stupidly early shareholders meeting. “I’ll have to add those to the film night list I have with Nora, we can both read the book and then watch the adaptations.”
“Ooooh that’s thats a swell idea boss,” Ted smiles a little hopefully, “The movie, not the book club, I ain’t sure the boys’d be up for that. Hey maybe when y’all have finished the book, you and Nora could join the movie night I do with the boys?”
“Yes,” she nods in agreement. This will be good, he pushed for team bonding before they pushed each other away last season so it only makes sense he wants to try for the camaraderie again. “Maybe we try and schedule it on a weekend where the women aren’t playing and it can be a club wide thing? All coaching staff, Keeley, me. I’ll try to bring Sass and Nora if they come to the match too. Just a thought, really sorry though because we’ll have to discuss it at a later date since I am running late for my first meeting.”
She bids them all a quick goodbye, hurrying up the stairs and away from the group, barely hearing the other two ask which Austen Ted prefers.
She is genuinely busy, it isn’t a complete lie. Her morning would truly go to shit if she stays any later. Miss the pre-meeting cup of tea and daily rituals she has just to chat about nothing? No chance, definitely no other reason that had her darting for the stairs.
Nothing at all. Everything is perfect.
The small talk wastes too much of her time, she tells herself she can go without knowing. If she is maybe missing Ted professing his love for Emma and finding out yet another thing he has in common with Rachel, that would be brilliant. Yet another sign shes building a grey legacy, the best team Richmond has seen. Similarities can multiply cementing this fact, punching her in the gut, pointing out the stark differences between Ted and herself.
They’d never work. He’s likely never even read Persuasion, dividing them on the most basic of topics. She’ll never know what he says now, which is better, she doesn’t need any other reason to understand how perfect Ted and Rachel are for one another.
Armed with a wad of contracts in hand, much later in the day Rebecca ventures into the beating heart of Nelson road. It’s work Leslie could have really delivered, but she found her mind drifting, so she hopes the walk might help get everything back on track. Provide her with a much needed moment to breathe.
It’s a quieter than usual when she enters the women’s dressing room, the space empty since those who’ve found a home at Richmond are out training on one of the pitches. She takes a moment to take it all in, admire the newly named lockers and lack of the over pungent aroma of lynx bodyspray. It’s rather nice actually, and will definitely be far more appealing venue for post-match celebrations than the men’s dressing room is, she can already invision many a beer cheersed between the teams here. It’s a home. It fuels her gut feeling that she’s really turned things around since her divorce and betrayal fuelled plotting, Richmond is thriving.
She is not though, not now in the very least. Rebecca feels frustration bubbling up in her gut, a feeling she can’t shake the moment she spies the Richmond red and blue cardboard box on the desk.
A little rectangular box. It could easily be a sibling to her biscuit boxes, the thing is identical if not for the colour change.. Those are her biscuits.
She doesn’t want to round the desk. She can’t. The contracts need to be signed today but going round the desk means she’ll be closer to the fucking box. And honestly if that happens then said box may end up in the bin.
She can’t comprehend the presence of the biscuits in a place that isn’t her office, it’s silly, They aren’t hers, it’s his recipe. She doesn’t have a monopoly on shortbread gifts.
He’s baked them before for others, Trent Crimm’s daughter, yes they had added sprinkles and icing, but they just go to demonstrate the biscuits aren’t hers. They’re not.
She’s breathing deeply, trying to go through the exercises her therapist has given her. It’s all a fucking lie though because none of it seems to be working, she’s still pent up and just hurt by his assumed biscuit betrayal.
“Hey boss, is there anything I can help you with?” Ted asks, leaning in the empty doorway.
She swallows the retort burning in her throat, replying bluntly. “No I needed to get Rachel to sign these.” she gestures lamely to the documents in her hand.
“Oh she’s out on the third pitch, I can go grab her if you want?”
“It’s quite alright!” she replies quickly, not wanting there to be another reason for the coaches to spend even more time together. “I can leave them here with everything else, I’ll move these a little,” she grabs the biscuit box, shoving it rather aggressively towards the closed laptop. “And leave them here with a note for her to sign them as soon as possible.”
“Right, if you’re sure Julianne Moore!”
“Yes, yes I am.” She snaps, immediately regretting her tone at the look that crosses his face. Hurt, confusion - she really should leave it at that, leave him here with his kind gestures and well meaning gifts. The rest of her own biscuits are waiting upstairs, she can’t resist prodding further at her own pain. “Look at these, a little biscuit box like mine. I wonder where Rachel got these from.” She questions in a lighter tone.
“Oh I baked them for her boss,” he replies simply, falling into her trap. “Just some gocciole, she played a little in Italy a few years back and got a taste for the cookies, oh sorry biscuits I know.”
“You made her biscuits?” she asks slowly, swallowing the hurt.
“Just a little cookies with the coach action boss, getting to know her like I do in our tea-mwork sessions or y’know at Biscuits with the Boss,” he shrugs as if it’s nothing like he’s unaware of how much the biscuits mean to her. She’s never actually told him explicitly, he should still know from her reactions and actions if they say anything.
“Well isn’t that just wonderful,” She quips, sarcasm laced in her voice. She’ll have to get over, and get used to sharing this with someone else. It’s pathetic, laughable how attached she’s let herself get to their little ritual, that it’s become an integral part of her day.
“Yeah, ain’t it just?” The coach continues, unaware. “I’m glad I caught ya boss, was on my way up to your office to ask if you wanted to join me tonight at the Crown & Anchor. Mae has just started a Monday quiz and I thought it’d be good to get a team together, see if we can win the whole thing here first?”
“Sorry Ted, I have far too much work to do,” She replies flatly. It’s ridiculous how much there is still to be done ahead of both leagues starting, shareholder meetings are an endless slog and she’s barely been able to start going through the new Bantr contracts since she’s been sorting the women’s sponsors out. This time his face falling does hit her squarely prompting involuntary hope to spill from her lip. “But maybe next week?”
“I’ll hold you to that,” She recognises his disappointment despite her suggestion, he masks it well behind concern and cheer, it’s still there lingering though.They were so distant last year and things still haven’t returned to what they were before Christmas. “Don’t work yourself into the ground though boss, yeah?”
“I won’t,” she nods, turning to leave through the dressing room, nearly crashing into the coach she was looking for in the first place.
“Oh Ms Welton, hi,” Rachel waves, throwing her clipboard on the desk. “Are you coming to the pub tonight? Bookies are apparently predicting the Greyhounds to win Mae’s drinks vouchers and the league this year.”
“No,” She shakes her head, “I just told Ted I can’t make it tonight, but I will try and come to the next one. Go Greyhounds!” Perhaps the mock cheer was a little too much, they seem to buy it though, chatting amongst themselves about team names and subject strengths.
Rebecca leaves them to it, ducking out of the room with a quick goodbye. She’s not part of this team tonight. She has far too much work to consider slacking the night off, and if her tasks take longer than usual because of a certain tradition she now apparently has to reluctantly share, that’s her knowledge and hers alone.
Over the next few days Rebecca tries not to think about the biscuits. They’re not her biscuits. He isn’t baking Rachel shortbread, neither she nor Rachel are the first people he’s made things for in the past and they certainly won’t be the last so it isn’t a problem. The cookies mean nothing.
At least until she’s pondering the final shortbread in the box whilst Keeley types away on the sofa. “Has Ted ever baked anything for you?” She blurts out out of nowhere, breaking the peace of work that had settled after Keeley charged in declaring a need to change her scenery.
Her tiny friend closes her laptop for a moment in thought, and Rebecca finds herself wishing she was a little less reactive, that she could have restrained herself from asking since there isn’t a doubt this question won’t prompt at least 50 follow up questions from Keeley. “He made me a birthday cake a few months ago, tasted fucking unreal, babes you had some of it remember? You did a little sexy moan and everything, the best fucking birthday present you could have given me. Why?”
“Oh nothing,” she really should have thought of a lie before addressing the topic at all. “I was just wondering if he might make a cake for Nora? Her birthday is coming up,”
“Her Birthday is in November babes, I know it’s the 5th since she always says she was born to hate the government.” She frowns crossing her arms, “it’s September, and I love you, you’re the most fucking organised person I know but even you ain’t planning anything that far away.”
“Yes, you’re quite right there. It is a little too early to plan even if a girl only does turn 14 once.”
“Babe, what’s up? She frowns “You’re silly and I love it but this is weirder than normal.”
“Ted is making cookies for Rachel,” Rebecca whispers quietly, “her favourites, gocciole,”
She doesn’t expect to be met with silence and a blank stare, her admission falling completely flat.
“Fuck,” she mutters, turning away from her friend and getting up to busy herself with a cup of tea she doesn’t really want. “You think I’m insane, don’t you.”
“No I don’t think you’re insane babes, you’re crazy hot but not crazy.” Keeley says, giving her arm a squeeze when her friend finally returns to the sofa. “I think you’re a little stressed like this new team ain’t an easy thing to sort, so maybe you’re a bit more protective than usual of the things that help you stay sane.”
“What do you mean, help me stay sane?” She asks indignantly, shaking the moment off and smiling sweetly. “I was simply asking about baked goods and my biscuits.”
“Rebecca, babes you are grouchier than Roy on days when Ted is late with the biscuits, I think you’d go fucking mental if he was ever off sick and didn’t bring them in.”
“I’m not!” She protests weakly.
“You are, and it’s fine, you love those like I love Roy’s pancakes or his cock,” she says breezily. “Start your day with something that makes you smile or it’ll be fucking hell waking up in the morning at all.”
It’s not the first time Keeley has somewhat insinuated the biscuits have a more phallic undertone than face value suggests, it’s more of a joke now shared over a few too many margaritas rather than anything serious. As amusing as the running joke is, the humour is lost in the wider implications of the sentence, what if in the coming months he does forget to bring her biscuits? It’s easier to deliver cookies to a coach in an office next door to yours and cooking two separate bakes a week will just get tiring. Maybe she should start weaning herself off the biscuits as a precaution.
–
She’s restless after their conversation, a little untethered when she leaves the club that night, her mind and body already almost preparing for the withdrawal she’ll face over the coming weeks as she cuts down on the biscuits in her life. It’s her own fault really, she’s always been prone to overindulgence in some capacity and parting from the biscuits will be her punishment for this.
They don’t see her when she exits the training centre, stood across the car park, watching them walk into the August sunset, so close that they’d be shoulder to shoulder if Rachel was a little taller. It’s perfect really, she’ll watch their love bloom from afar, both teams flourishing as the seasons transition.
She tells herself it’s fine, it’s good; after whatever Ted was going through last season he is finally letting himself be happy, he didn’t need her then and he certainly won’t need her now. It’ll simply make giving up the biscuits that little bit easier, already they hold less appeal in her mind, the thought of eating them alone too pathetic to handle.
This will be a start, it has to be.
She tells herself this in the days following so much, it could be a mantra, and every morning, overloading her time with meetings to avoid biscuits with the boss and numerous attempts at tea-mwork. (Except if anyone questions as to why her morning schedule is suddenly busier than ever she blames it on shareholders and Bantr apparently only having small windows available in their own calendars)
She stays late to avoid them, holed up in her office, waiting until she’s one of the last in the building before she ventures home to nurse feelings she still refuses to try to understand. In true Ted fashion though, he seeks her out, goes looking and finds her in an office lit only by candles and a single lamp.
“Hey boss, feel like I haven’t seen much of ya lately.” He sits down in front of her desk, waiting patiently for an answer in an eerily reminiscent fashion to when he invited her to Sam’s birthday party just after he first started.
The difference is this time there’s no Higgins with her, and she’s not quite sure of what to say or how to voice what she means without entirely brushing him off. “Busy,” she mutters, picking at the half a biscuit that remains on a little saucer in front of her. She’s yet to wean herself from them completely, managing just about to make them last the day. “Meetings ahead of the season starting.”
“Gee you’d really think shareholders would share you with the rest of us, but I guess not.” he smiles, cracking the joke in an effort to make her smile.
She smiles tightly, knows instantly the moment he sees how it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “No, you’re quite right. Their parents really should have taught them the art of sharing.” She finishes the final bite of biscuit to give herself something to do, feed her body the kindness it begs her to let in.
There’s a beat of silence whilst she chews the biscuit, candlelight flickering across his face and fuck does he look delicious.
It’s the withdrawal kicking in, this is Ted. Her Ted, the club’s Ted, he’s been good looking but never delicious before.
“Gotta ask, did the biscuits taste bad or something boss? I made the gocciole at the same time last night and I mean you ain’t finished these yet? Maybe I mixed the two recipes?”
He made their biscuits at the same time. Of course, he did.
“They were fine Ted,” she says curtly, trying to hold tight the mess of emotions mixing with the final remnant of her biscuits. “I was just too busy with meetings this morning and not quite in the mood for them after lunch, made them last throughout the day for once.”
“Okay,” he smiles with a nod, picking up his backpack. His bag is a shield, a barrier between them, protecting him from how much of a snippy bitch she’s being. She wants to apologise, to fix his smile, but it’s not her place…he has someone else to do that now, Rachel. He makes their biscuits at the same time and they…he, he is with her now or if not, he will be soon. She will be the one to make him smile.
Rebecca will settle fo being his boss and sometimes friend.
It’s fine. Truly.
“Boss, did you hear me?” he says, frowning, twiddling nervously with the straps of his backpack.
Fuck she had no idea he was still speaking. “Sorry, what did you say Ted?”
“I was wondering if y’know I could sit with you up in the owners box this saturday at the women’s match?” He shifts his feet a little, “I wanna support the team and we obviously can’t sit on the bench, maybe you could teach me a little about the offside rule whilst I’m up there with you.”
“Of course you can, anyone is welcome up there,” she says, the joy in her voice rather hollow and lifeless. “Well not anyone, but any of the coaching staff and their guests or family. Perhaps not Jane though as I don’t wish to tell her for the fiftieth time that I have not and will never be interested in Coach Beard.”
“Well that’s great to hear, would have joined y’all up there sooner if I’d known there was a free pass,” he beams happily, “and of course if I didn’t have a job to do down on the bench with Beardo and Roy”
“Yes quite,” she breathes, it makes sense for him to be so excited to watch the match, he’s not this happy because of a certain coach, he’d be this way for their under 16’s academy. “Well I usually get to the stadium about half an hour before the match starts, if you get there around then.”
“Sounds great,” he says. A touch of amusement in his voice comes with an added rhyme. “It’s a date, I’ll bring the chips. Crisps I mean, pickled onion monster munch I know already boss.”
The way her heart swells at how well he knows everything about her. He knows her so well and yet she can’t ignore the reasoning in her head, the realistic voices pointing out that him knowing her favourite things isn’t of note. He knows these things about everyone. He’s bringing the monster munch for her and likely roast chicken Walkers for Higgins.
This isn’t special. It’s not a date no matter how much she wants it to be. It’s a football match, very much not a date. Nothing is a date when you’re effectively being chaperoned by Leslie Higgins.
She straightens in her chair, “Yes, can’t wait.”
He nods to himself, something changing in his features, a dark flicker she can’t quite recognise crossing his face for just a moment. “Woo! Go Greyhounds! Catch ya on the pitchside boss!”
He does catch her on the pitchside. He catches her off guard rather, arriving earlier than she stated, a selection of crisps and drinks in hand, sporting an AFC Richmond shirt under his usual puffer. It’s not long into the first half when he shrugs it off, the rather mild August day proving a little too warm for the numerous layers he’s sporting to reveal a Richmond shirt with Miller emblazoned on the back of it.
“You know you could have worn your Lasso shirt today, no one would have minded.” She remarks, watching Bethany Steed take a corner, wincing slightly at how easily Arsenal take possession.
“When I come out to support the women’s team I wanna show I’m supporting them,” he’s clapping along with her, a little delayed in his response since he likely doesn’t know why the ref just made the call she did. “And that means wearing their kit, it’s like when a girl goes to watch her guy play, no one knows which team she’s there for so she wears his jersey. I’m doing that for the coach.”
Her chest suddenly feels hot and tight, like the summer sun was baking from the inside out. Of all the analogies to use, he went with that one. She focuses more intently on the game, watching Steed fumble a pass to Agosta, she needs to think of anything but him. Them.
“That’s rather kind, I’m sure as the men’s manager, people would know you weren’t coming out here today to support Arsenal,” she replies a little stiffly.
“I know I know, I wanna show I’m here for more than the team. Matches for the manager before I gotta miss all the games cos y’all have the leagues at the same time.”
She manages to watch the rest of the match quietly, entertaining the few questions Ted asks about calls made without any issue, he doesn’t even question her sudden lack of interest in conversation beyond this. She nods along with his anecdotes, eats her crisps and sighs dejectedly at the rather painful full time result. It was expected since more established teams have always faired better in this league, it doesn’t stop the pain of a 4-0 kicking.
“They’ll turn this around boss, I mean we did last year so I have no doubt about it that Rach can do it too.”
She gives him a tight smile as they leave the box, supressing the sudden urge she has to take his hand when they fall into step alongside each other. “Yes, I’m sure of that. Arsenal have always been a strong side, they were an unfortunate team for us to start this season on.”
“Yeah yeah, you’re right there,” he pauses at the foot of the stairs. “I’m gonna go see how Rachel is, if you wanna come with boss? I know she’s supporting the team and all but she shouldn’t be alone after they go. Ain’t nothing worse when you’re sad.”
“Nothing worse than being alone and sad,” she smiles wistfully, thinking back over the last year and the many times the pair of them were just that because they couldn’t be enough for one another. If he’s there for Rachel today, then maybe she’ll do the same for him, be waiting in the dressing room or back at his flat after a particularly painful game.
“You go ahead Ted, I have some work to do. Need to reassure the shareholders this venture was a worthy investment and will pay off in due course.”
“Well if you’re sure, I mean heck you give the best pep talks. I ain’t got any Dutch sayings in my arsenal,” he hisses, “probably not the best time to use that word round any of y’all”
They both wince at his choice in words prodding the fresh wound of defeat. “You don’t need a Dutch saying to cheer her up Ted, just be you.”
She can’t be certain, but she almost swears his eyes dart down to her lips the moment the compliment is said, his tongue swiping down absently wetting his bottom lip. It’s her mind playing tricks no doubt, she’s losing the plot quicker than she’s losing him to Rachel Miller.
Not that Ted was hers to lose in the first place.
She can’t stop thinking about them in the weeks that follow, the pit in her stomach growing heavier every time she spots them leaving together. Really she shouldn’t begrudge their budding romance or be upset with Ted over this - it’s just the way she feels about him.
Weekends, evenings are spent moping over losing something she never really had and frankly she has no right to feel this strongly over any of it. One Sunday after Ted accompanies her to yet another fixture (the boys are playing mid week) she actually finds herself alone with a bottle of sauvingnon blanc, flicking through Rachel’s paperwork to see if it’s at all financially viable for her to buy out the rest of her contract. The sudden dismissal can be blamed on the team’s ongoing terrible performance and Rebecca will be free of the peppy little blonde, she can send her somewhere far away, somewhere Ted can’t console her and walk back to the green hand in hand.
It’s all too easy.
A quick glance in the mirror halts her thoughts, instantly stopping all the plotting and scheming. It isn’t her anymore, perhaps a year ago she would have gone through with the whole endeavour, she can’t now. There’s no need to inflict pain on others simply because she can’t live with the prospect of being rejected again.
In that spirit of things she tries to overcome her heartache with a vigour as the season unfolds, August sunshine becomes grey September rain, the last glimpses of warmth trickling away with her happy feelings. Rebecca throws her all into both leagues allowing little time for personal pain and suffering, last season she had been too focussed on her heart and gut so it feels rather wonderful to give her all back to the beautiful game. It feels even better seeing all the hard work pay off for the men, the women in contrast seem to flounder, fish out of water struggling to breathe at the bottom of the league.
It’s still early days so theoretically anything could still happen, with a measly 22 matches played in the league compared to the men’s 32 this is a little more difficult, everyone still has belief at least. They’re managing as best as they can.and whenever he can, Ted is there to console Rachel, provide much needed comfort to his equal wherever and whenever possible. It’s sweet to see him throw himself into this budding romance in a similar way he’s heading into the league, he’s giving it his all and Rachel seems to be accepting with open arms anytime he’s near. The first few times Rebecca found herself hiding away, leaving the stadium the moment the final whistle blows to avoid seeing the couple reunite, supporting one another. Watching him duck away down the corridor to the women’s dressing room pains her deeply, a ritual that never gets easier - he’s always equipped with a sympathetic smile and surpise box of biscuits to cheer up the coach (Rebecca can’t be jealous this week since he presented her with her own at the final whistle). It’s the first time she thinks he’s considered her in this equation thus far this season, too transfixed on wooing his equal to have a single thought about her, the boss turned friend.
She’s empty with longing for something similar herself, something or rather someone wonderful like this man - not like this man, it’s only in the early pre-dawn darkness of her room she’ll admit this to herself. Here, now? She stays rooted to the spot whilst he walks away towards his future, a future she can only co-exist with as his boss and friend, never his equal or companion. Rebecca can lick her wounds alone in the darkness of her room, at the club she can’t give into these yet surrounded by her employees can’t even bring herself to be remotely jealous of whatever they are, not when she’s curious as to how this beautiful man could ever have been too much for his ex-wife, no one can be enough for him. Well no one until now.
The next match Rebecca attends alone, no Keeley or Ted to accompany her to a dreary Reading fixture. Nora was supposed to join her since it isn’t too far to travel to from London, unfortunately the poor girl comes down with a bout of summer flu. It can’t be helped, Rebecca knows her goddaughter will be around for the next fixture with how much she adores the team - Sam Obisanya will always be her first crush but it’s Greta Shaw and Adrianna Franch who are her first loves.
The team is the best thing to happen to their relationship, it’s one of the many reasons she feels no glee watching Rachel and the players suffer loss after loss and why she lingers in the doorway of an empty dressing room after the Reading match. The team have already bundled onto the coach back to the hotel to wallow, assistant coaching staff joining them, Rachel is the only person left, gone is the bravado and belief she embodied for the sake of the team in a post-match speech Rebecca caught the tailend of, her shoulders are hunched, shaking from the weight of her emotions.
She winces slightly at the way her heels announce her presence, the Louboutins echoing around the empty room. Rachel’s body freezes at the noise, her sleeves hastily pulled over her hands to wipe at the tear tracks marring her cheeks.
“Boss, what-” she breathes shakily, “what are you doing down here? You should be back to the hotel right now or on your way up to Newcastle for the men’s match tomorrow. Not here.”
“We’re a new team Rachel,” Rebecca sighs, ignoring the question. “Losses are expected, we simply need to find our footing in the league.”
“I’ve been distracted, it’s not good enough.”
The words are a punch to the stomach. It’s understandable that she’s been distracted, who doesn’t get swept up in the honeymoon phase every once in a while, lose focus on what matters outside their romance? She waits for the coach to continue, ignoring the jealousy licking at her heart
“My divorce is hitting me harder than I thought.” The admission confuses her, she’d assumed the woman was single with how she’d requested a one bedroom flat and never mentioned a spouse or family back home. Perhaps Rebecca would have known about the issue if she’d bothered to get to know the coach a little better instead of icing her out for the sake of jealousy.
“Divorce is always hard,” she murmurs quietly, thinking back to her own fiery rage and scorched landscape not so long ago. “No matter the circumstances, whether you’re the person leaving or the one who’s being left.”
“We’ve signed the papers boss. It’s fine, what’s done is done, I’m already moving on. Over it.”
It pains her truly, she’s more than aware of how Rachel is moving on, that the rebound is sure to be the perfect shot she missed with her marriage. “The papers are signed but that’s never the fucking end of it, the ink drying doesn’t make the pain go away Rachel. Look, why don’t you take some time away from the pitch, focus on your-”
“I don’t need time away from the pitch boss. My divorce isn’t an excuse for my shit coaching, you get that right,” Rachel sniffs angrily, looking up at Rebecca from the bench. “I can promise you that, I leave everything like that behind when I’m out on the pitch, if the papers ever care they’ll say I’m emotional b-but it isn’t true.”
“Look, I know better than most the papers can be fucking awful. Especially to women,” she breathes, wringing her hands together. “And if they get wind of this, print your personal life then just fuck it. Fuck the haters, we both know you’re working your fucking arse off to coach this team and you’re doing a good job of it. We’re a new team and sometimes it takes time to find your footing.”
“I’m distracted though and I shouldn’t be, I’ve signed the papers so that should be the end of it all. They’ve moved on, I will too.”She nods resolutely, the tiniest tremble in her lip being the only sign that perhaps the ink drying on the dotted line isn’t as simple as she wants it to be. It never is. “I will focus solely on the team from now on, that part of my life is over. Doneso, we are over.”
“You don’t need to pretend that you’re okay Rachel,” she walks over to the coach, gently lowering herself to the bench to deliver a speech she received a lifetime ago from someone else in a coach’s office back home at the racetrack. “Divorce is hard, as I said - it doesn’t matter if you are leaving or the one who’s being left, it’s fucking painful either way. We all deal with it in our own ways, some better than others, all that matters, in the end, is we get through it with the help of those around us. And you getting through your divorce is more important than winning a few matches,”
“I didn’t think owners tend to like losses.”
“Wins, draws, losses? It’s all complete bollocks if your heart isn’t in it and with everything yours is going through I can imagine it’s been hard to devote it solely to the game.”
“You’re right there boss, Lady Football has been suffering.”
“Exactly,” she smirks teasingly, “And with everything you are going through coach, you shouldn’t be the one to completely take on her pain.”
“That’s not the truth, I can take it. I have to I’m the coach”
“You don’t, and as your boss I am telling you not to take the pain of the losses, just try your best. If we go down then so be it. There’s always next season to gain promotion, though if you tell any of the shareholders I told you this then I’ll deny it.”
“We’re gonna try our best to stay up, but I gotta tell you there’s nothing I like more sometimes than going down.”
“With going down the only way is up, and no one plays an underdog better than the greyhounds.”
She does her best to be the supportive owner and friend, looking out for Rachel in the days that follow, bringing her along to Newcastle so she can support Ted and distract herself from the awful Reading loss. The moment they enter the dressing room after the 3-2 win she swears for a second there’s a level of deflation to Ted’s joy at the prospect of them joining him, perhaps he’s feeding off Rachel’s anguish in the only way an empath can, who knows.
Throughout the course of the celebrations she watches them dance and drink the night away, the alcohol and festivities are barely distracting her away from them. She’s completely unaware of what time it is when she decides to throw in the towel for the night - she doesn’t register what song is playing (it’s a cruel irony she realises later when she’s informed by Keeley it was Dancing on my own, an apparent bop but one she will happily avoid until it doesn’t quite so painfully reflect her own predicament).
“Heading out without saying goodbye boss?” She was always terrible at Dutch exits, and tonight doesn’t seem to be improving her skills.
She silently curses herself, willing the driver to hurry up an somehow outpace Ted’s approaching footsteps. “You all looked like you were having so much fun, I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“You could never disturb anyone Rebecca, especially me!” He smiles, sidling up to her, bathed in the white glow of the lamposts.
“Well good to know, again congratulations on the win Ted,” she salutes with a smile.
“Thanks Rebecca,”I know you’re leaving now, but think I’ll see you before the gala on Tuesday?”
She’s oblivious to the hope in his question, too fixated on the appeal of a warm bath to drown her misery back at the hotel. “I doubt it, unfortunately I have meetings all day Monday and I’ll be down at the venue on Tuesday.”
“Oh, well if you need a helping hand to pick out a dress then you know where to find me boss.” He smiles once more, before ducking away. “And can you text me when you get back to the hotel? I know you’ve called a driver to come get you, but I just wanna make sure y’all are safe.”
“Will do,” she nods, ducking in the car. Once again she is blind though and fails to see how he waits until the car disappears in the distance, watching longingly after her.
It’s a whirlwind, the final days before a gala have always been hell. Back when she was married to Rupert it was a little easier as the gala was all she was permitted to have control over at AFC Richmond, and naturally now as she has control over everything concerning the club, the run up to the fundraiser is pure insanity. Naturally, as it is such a stressful thing to deal with, she should feel relieved to see Keeley walk into the venue on the morning of the event, happy to have more hands on deck in the final stages of preparation.
Instead, Rebecca is on high alert, Defcon 5, because whilst it is natural for her friend to come down and help out, what is unnatural is the giant to-go cup in her hand likely filled with an English breakfast tea and a box of cinnamon social slices from Ole & Steen. Especially when she knows today isn’t a day to indulge since they all have to get into evening gowns in a handful of hours.
“What’s Rupert done now?” Rebecca asks, taking the cup of tea. “Just tell me quickly what fucking awful thing he or the Sun have said about me now so we can get on with the fucking day.”
“It’s not that bad, really,” Keeley doesn’t even look as if she believes the lie she’s trying to tell her friend, her voice wobbling as she holds out the box of pastries, offering one to Rebecca. “Well it isn’t Rupert, or it probably is but he hasn’t said anything explicitly about you.”
“Keeley,” she sighs, taking a large bite of the pastry. “I love you, but evasion isn’t your strong suit. Just tell me.”
“It’s probably better if I show you.” Pulling out her phone, she pulls up the tabloids to show her friend the headlines.
Rebecca gives herself a moment, pausing to read the words, process what the vultures are implying.
IS TED ABOUT TO GET WED?
She flinches the moment they sink in, the phone nearly falling from her grasp.
Fuck, fucking hell, she had a fucking handle on this. Her feelings were unrequited and that’s okay, or at least it was supposed to be.
The tabloids have to take a shot at her carefully crafted defences, landing blow after blow against her walls without featuring her in the article. Icarus flew too close to the Sun and she can’t resist looking into it, blinded by the fire it spews, scorching her burned heart in the process.
“Rebecca, babe it’s not that bad, all a bunch of fucking lies-” She can tell by the way her friend trails off that her face must be a picture, she hasn’t had time to school her features, her mascara no doubt smudged by the stray tears she’s shed already. “It’s bollocks, it’s the fucking Sun they chat so much shit that it’s like all fucking fake news.”
“It’s not just the Sun Keeley,” she whispers, admitting to herself what she’s been hiding from for days now. “The Mail has been running stories for the past month online, too.”
She takes Rebecca’s hands in hers, thumbs stroking comforting motions to quell rising anxieties. “And that’s all they are, just stories. You’ll see that tonight when Ted’s eyes fucking pop out of his skull like some cartoon character because of how fucking insane you’re gonna look in your dress.”
Fuck. Fucking fuck, how had she forgotten about tonight. They were stood in the middle of the theatre, staff rushing about with flowers, table clothes to dress the theatre for the evening, she’s in the heart of the action yet all of it had gone unnoticed in the sea of tabloid fodder.
“I don’t know if I will,” she whispers barely audibly.
“What do you mean Rebecca?” Keeley’s confusion is sweet, frown marring her brow.
“I’m not sure I’ll be attending tonight Keeley.” Saying the words takes it out of her, admitting the truth she’s been holding in for what feels like weeks now.
“You have to Rebecca, it’s your thing. You started this like over 10 years ago and you can’t stop now.”
Keeley opens her mouth to speak, convince her otherwise. Rebecca is nothing if not stubborn though, and she’s made her decision.“No Keeley, I know it’s selfish but I can’t do it,” Rebecca shakes her head, turning to leave the venue. If she goes now her absence can go undetected until the red carpet, leaving this early simply suggests she’s happy with how everything is unfolding so is going home to change into what will no doubt be an exquisite gown.
It’s unlikely the press will miss her later anyway, she’s old news, old Rebecca.
Keeley will lie for her and everyone else can go along with it, believing she’s come down with a migraine or an ill timed flu. She’s had plenty of years to rehearse this role, and with a weekend to herself she will have another role nailed: the supportive best friend who is definitely not in love with Ted.
“Rebecca, if you just listen babes-” Her friend pleads a little.
“I think I need some time, I’ll wallow this evening and then tomorrow too, I might take a break. Leslie is more than capable of taking charge for a bit,” she babbles, packing away her laptop and bag. “I can go to Mallorca for a week or two, give myself some fucking peace away from everything.”
“But what about the gala?”
“You’re doing the auction, and everything else is planned to perfection, Adele hasn’t dropped out, she’s much less flaky than Robbie. It’s all set.” She gestures to the nearly decorated room with a swallow. “I’m not needed, if there is an emergency Higgins can deal with it, and you know where I live if something makes it all a complete shit show.”
“What about Ted, Rebecca?” Keeley blurts out, making her pause in her escape from the venue.
“Ted,” she swallows, trying not to let the tears overflow, the emotions to overwhelm her yet again, she’s cried more over him in recent months than she did over Rupert in the entire dissolution of her marriage. “Ted will be fine, he’s coming with Rachel tonight and they’re happy. They’re fucking great together and I won’t stand in their way, not that I ever did. I need some time away from their joy so I can come back and be the bigger person. Be better than the shitty friend I’ve been to all of you in the last few months.”
“Babe, please.” Keeley wraps her in a fierce hug, squeezing the last ounce of her reservation, tears falling freely as she cries silently into the shorter woman’s shoulder.
“I promise you I’ll be okay,” she hiccups, “I just need a chance to fucking fix whatever it is that needs fixing in me. I’ll be back soon, I’ll text you when I get home.”
She doesn’t look back, can’t face turning with a final wave to see Keeley’s worried face. Ted isn’t the first man to let her down and he certainly won’t be the last.
His new relationship status isn’t a betrayal, the man deserves to be happy especially after all he’s been through, it That’s the funny thing though, somehow despite not even betraying her, he’s hurt her more than both her father and Rupert ever did.
The gala should be in full swing right now, and whilst she’s not in attendance, Keeley is making sure to text through live updates of every part of the evening so she knows everything is running smoothly. It’s the best way to keep up to date with everything, especially since she’s already tortured herself enough seeing glimpses of him, of them, standing on the edge of the red carpet together in the background of some of the boy’s instagram stories.
A small hitch had gone off in her absence, the weather being disobedient as usual, drowning what should have been an outdoor carpet in a sea of London rain. It was all easily rectified with the foyer instead being used for photos and a marquee erected outside the venue to double as a waiting area for those in line for the paparazzi and later a smoking area.
Everything was going swimmingly. Literally, people were swimming in the streets with the rate the rain was falling from the sky, the water doing wonders to wash away everything of note from the green outside. The glass of malbec she’d poured herself the moment she got in from the gala was having the same impact, washing away her feelings and memories, cleansing her soul of whatever the Sun were reporting now. She considers briefly texting Luca to see if he’s up for resurrecting their old arrangement, fucking the pain away when the doorbell sounds. For a moment she debates ignoring it, hoping the person will give up and go home to shelter from the storm when it rings again. And again. The rather incessant shrill tone resonating throughout her downstairs, a persisting sound that likely won’t let up until she tells whoever is bothering to fuck off.
The person begins frantically knocking before she even makes it from the kitchen the hallway, the short walk apparently miles long if their impatience is anything to go by. Phone in hand she’s ready to call Roy or perhaps Higgins for reinforcement until a familiar voice rings out.
“Rebecca, boss, it's me. Sorry to bother but it’s raining and-”
She opens the door before he can even finish, wrapping her fluffy dressing gown around herself tightly to protect herself, both from him and the chill of the evening.
“Ted, what the fuck are you doing here?” She shouts a little to be heard against the stormy weather. “You should be at the gala.”
“So should you,” he replies, “but you ain’t there, you’re here and you forgot something.”
“I didn’t forget anything Ted, everything is planned to the finest detail. Keeley and Leslie are more than capable of running the event in my absence and will sort whatever it is you’re convinced I’ve forgotten.”
“You did forget something Rebecca.”
“I didn’t forget-” she begins, her sentence cut off by Ted leaning forward, pulling her into him, and capturing her lips in a searing kiss.
“What are you doing?” She flounders for a moment, a little breathless when they part. He can’t be doing this, he’s with someone else, she’s not going to be the other woman. “You’re with someone Ted, you can’t just do this with me.”
“Oh shoot, was that too forward?” He frowns, stepping back out of her arms. “You can call Liam if you wanna file a complaint, I completely deserve it for just assuming. You know what they say about assuming, you make an-”
She cuts him off, confused and without the faintest idea of what he’s talking about. “Ted I’m not filing a complaint about you to Laughing Liam, I mean I liked it. Well I did and I didn’t because you can’t just fucking kiss someone when you are already dating another fucking person. It isn’t fair to anyone.”
He blinks at her, shaking his head in confusion. “I’m not with anyone, well I’m with you now, here I mean but I’m not with with anyone.”
Her mouth parts in shock, she opens and shuts it a few times, processing the information. “B-but you and Rachel, you’re-”
“We’re friends, co-workers. Fellow lovers of Kansas City and barbecue but just friends.”
“You are?”
“Yes.”
She’s such a fucking idiot.
“You have so much in common though,” she insists weakly, “and you walk home together all the time.”
“Because she lives a stone’s throw from my appartment,” he explains. “And I have a heck of a lot in common with Beard too boss, but we ain’t trying anything, well there was that one time we kissed in college but that was a weird initiation dare Beard had to do to join the chess team.”
“So you don’t want to be with her? Or you didn’t before now at least, if I have helped you realise your feelings for her then,” she swallows, avoiding his gaze and not trusting her heart to lead this conversation as much as she wants to give in and let it. “I know we just kissed but it can mean nothing if you want to go back to the gala to be with her now. You may want to dry off a little first.”
“There’s someone I want to be with Rebecca, it isn’t Rachel before you ask again. It won’t ever be her and not just cos I don’t like her. I know she told you she’s gettin’ a divorce, it ain’t from a guy though so not even she likes me.”
“Oh.” She’s a massive fucking moron, hopefully, Ted will leave soon to find whoever he is talking about, giving her an opportunity to drown her embarassment in a vat of malbec.
“Hey don’t go saying that about yourself, you could never be a moron Becca.” God, and the night really can’t get anymore mortifying.
He leans back against the doorway, huffing out a nervous laugh. “I’d think kissing someone you love is a great way to tell them how you feel, I guess not if they question you about it after. Maybe that’s their way of telling you to get the heck outta dodge because they don’t feel the same way.”
She’s royally misjudged this entire situation and now, shit. He can’t go, well he can if he wants to but she doesn’t want that, and if she’s not mistaken, Rebecca doesn’t think he wants that either.
“No, dont leave Ted. It doesn’t mean that at all, perhaps we could kiss again to-”
He steps forward across the hallway, his hands falling to her hips tenderly pulling her into his arms. His lips brush over hers and her tongue darts out to taste him, if this is the only kiss they have then she needs to savour it. She hears herself sigh as he deepens the kiss, his own hum vibrating against her tongue, it’s a careful movement slow and easy, both of them scared that if they break for any moment they’ll realise it’s a dream. “Is that proof enough?” he says, thumbs brushing at the soft cotton of her robe.
She nods slowly, her thumb caressing his cheek. They kiss again, it’s a little more heated than their first two, an intense warmth sending heat trickling through her bloodstream. He wants her, Ted Lasso loves her. She pulls back suddenly, her own feelings bubbling free in the moment. “I love you too.”
That’s all the confirmation her needs, a beaming grin splitting his face in two. He kisses hrt again, something slow and soft, his tongue exploring, the little presses making her shiver in anticipation for the future. He pulls her in closer, his hands tightening on his waist, her own fingers reaching, running through his sopping wet hair - he’ll catch a cold if he doesn’t dry off soon, neither of them caring, too warmed by the embers of their love, the fire that’s sparked from their shared lightning gently warming them.
Ted shivers involuntarily against her, chilled by a gust of wind blowing through her still open door. “Let me get that,” he murmurs, making no movement to shut the door behind him. Rebecca reaches blindly to shut the door herself, taking what is probably too many attempts to close the damn thing simply because she can’t take her eyes off him.
“I guess I’ll get it later,” he teases when she finally manages it, kissing her brow sweetly. She’s not sure what later means, whether it’s to tip the delivery guy after they order a pizza later from Franco Manca or he’s looking further into their future, getting the door for Henry as he runs out to play with Phoebe. It’s a gesture loaded with everything and nothing and she cannot wait to see what’s in store for them.
For now, she’ll settle in his arms, wrapped in the sweetest embrace at the foot of the stairs. “Not for a while I hope, you need to dry off.” She hums, sliding her hands up and down his torso. “And maybe have a shower first to warm up.” She’s pulling him towards the stairs, mentally noting to give Meena a hefty tip for having to deal with whatever state the floors will be in tomorrow, rain be damned.
“Would you be joining me in that shower?” He grins, following a step behind her as they venture upstairs.
She turns to him in the doorway of her room, leaning up, giving him a firm kiss, taking a moment to savour his taste, the feel of his lips moving under hers. Her fingers curl around the back of his head, tangling in his damp locks. “There’s no one else I’d rather shower with.”
“Well that’s mighty fine to hear,” he hums, pressing a kiss to one cheek, then the other, enjoying how she whines under his touch as he kisses every part of her face except her lips. “Because I feel the same. There’s no one I’d rather shower with Becca, there ain’t anyone or anywhere I’d rather be with than with you right now.”
“There isn’t anywhere I’d rather be Becca.”
They have plenty more to talk about, and laugh about when she realises how many signals and signs she has been missing from both coaches. She’ll find herself unbearable whilst he’ll find the obliviousness adorable, that’s all waiting for them. For now, she’ll settle for shooing him into the shower.
They really do have all the time in the world.