its-time-to-write

[its-time-to-write]

don’t be fooled, I’m not actually alive

make me breathe easy

It’s a simple enough call, if you’re being honest. 

And you are- being honest, that is. 

Honesty is why you’re ringing Jamie up right now with your cycle tracker pulled up on your computer screen. It’s a bit nerve-wracking, sure, but that’s just because he’s the first and only person you’re going to tell. 

Well, maybe not the only person. You’re going to have to tell Noah because there’s no way you’re doing this next part alone, and she always knows what to do when you don’t. 

But Jamie deserves to know first. So you press the call button and wait for him to pick up. 

You’re in your bedroom right now. Jamie’s probably in his and he should be asleep but instead he’s awake and waiting for you.

He picks up at the first ring.

“What’s wrong?” he asks right away, and the knot in your chest begins to loosen.

“Nothing,” you reply automatically. “I mean- not nothing. It’s not wrong, I just- how are you?”

You hear him laugh through the phone. “I’m good, babe. You’re not though, so what’s up?”

You look at the cycle tracker again. Two and a half months- no. Closer to three. 

You take a breath. “Remember Christmas?”

Jamie swallows another laugh. Of course he does. 

“Right. Stupid question,” you say. “I think- you’re the only person I’m telling, but- I might be pregnant.”

The words vomit from your mouth and you immediately want to take them back. You want to take them back even more when your phone lights up with Jamie’s request to FaceTime.

You press accept before you have a chance to chicken out and Jamie’s face fills your screen.

“You okay?” he asks first thing, and the knot in your chest unravels most of the way.

A year ago he would have been angry straight away. Probably would’ve yelled and told you it couldn’t be his, it was someone else’s, he can’t have a kid right now, he’s in the prime of his career.

But that was a year ago, and this is today.

And today, he just needs you to know it’s okay.

“You want me to come over?” he asks and you smile despite yourself. You want me to come over? he asks, as if it’s a quick drive instead of a flight to another continent.

You shake your head, unable to speak.

Jamie scratches the side of his face. This wasn’t the plan at all. Not really. It’s speeding things up by about a decade, that’s for sure, and hell he has no idea what to say but that’s never stopped him before so he opens his mouth and just starts talking.

“Right, yeah, fuck, okay. Right. I’m assuming you’ve got a plan all worked out, yeah?”

You nod and he grins a bit. Of course you do. You’ve got a plan for everything and he just likes to watch and follow along.

“Right,” he says for probably the billionth time. “Right. Let me guess: Slow down work to just be online and pass off all the twats to fuckin’ Samantha. Keep the ones you like for as long as fucking possible, then take holiday for at least a year. Knowing you, you’ll want to go back at some point so you’ll’ve been looking for help for a while. I can be there as early as…” he blows out a breath, “fucking… June? Finish post-season then make the switch to a club near you, there’s two, yeah? Mum and Simon won’t make the move I don’t think, but they’ll want to be here for a while so I can get them a house. She’ll be great, swear down, won’t fucking hover unless you want her to. And babe, don’t fucking tell Keeley. I know you love her to bits but she’s shit at keeping things private, like.”

You wish he weren’t so far away because you desperately want to kiss him.

“Jamie, you can’t move here,” you say. 

“The fuck I can,” he replies.

“You don’t want kids,” you remind him. “I’m telling you because it’s like, common fucking courtesy. And you’d be a big fish in a small pond here. You can’t- they can’t accommodate you. Your career would just kind of- well, you know.”

Jamie squints and looks away. You’re right, to a point. His whole life is in England, in Europe. 

“You can’t stop me,” he says finally and you roll your eyes.

“I can. And I will. I’ve stopped you from other things before.”

“Name one,” he challenges.

“House,” you say ticking it off on your fingers. “Car, extended vacation in Spain, Bottega Veneta, multiple concert tickets, fucking wire transfers, shall I go on?”

“No,” he says, and you’re both smiling. Strange. You’d thought this conversation would have been a lot colder. A lot angrier.

“I’ll visit soon,” he promises.

You wrinkle your nose. “Let’s get this confirmed first, okay? Don’t book any flights just yet.”

“I’ll visit anyway.”

You chuckle. He says it all the time, but never does. He can’t, really. Neither of you have the time for it- not till the summer. It isn’t unusual either. Half of his team are in long-term long-distance relationships. It’s just how it goes, apparently. 

But it’s nice to pretend, at least. And you’re grateful everyone thinks Jamie’s dating someone else, a model from Germany who he’s always spotted with, and who you may (or may not) have known for years and is always willing to make a public scene to allow you your privacy.

So the conversation devolves from there, into arguments about visits and who’s going to win the Prem and the Champion’s League. He stays on the phone until Isaac’s automated nightly threat comes through, and Jamie panics about the fact that he’s awake long past his prescribed bed time. You make a crack at that, he laughs, and you whisper, “I love you.” Jamie could pretend he didn’t hear it but he doesn’t, he holds the phone two millimeters from his face and whispers it back before you hang up on him.

And everything’s okay.

You don’t end up telling Noah. So she’s none the wiser to the four tests discarded in your bathroom trash, each negative. You vaguely chalk the missed periods up to stress which is far more than a likely explanation. And Jamie’s relieved but when you call to tell him there’s a faint flicker of disappointment lacing his words.

Still.

It’s not the right time, but you wonder if maybe someday there will be a right time. 

Maybe.

[its-time-to-write]

Valentine’s Day is cool and all until your valentine is halfway across the world and you don’t get to see each other until July. then it sucks.

[its-time-to-write]

Do you guys know Jamie is just a person I project the person I’m in love with onto? And that’s why sometimes you get random posts? I feel like this is important for you to know. I’m not necessarily a great writer, but I’m good at telling our story.

Are you still actively posting Jamie tartt fics? I rewatched recently and I'm back in it hard core. Need more things to read 😭

I mean… kinda? I’m definitely still writing. If you have any requests feel free to let me know. I can’t guarantee I’ll write it but who knows🤷‍♀️

[its-time-to-write]

Are you still actively posting Jamie tartt fics? I rewatched recently and I'm back in it hard core. Need more things to read 😭

I mean… kinda? I’m definitely still writing. If you have any requests feel free to let me know. I can’t guarantee I’ll write it but who knows🤷‍♀️

[its-time-to-write]

the tags on this fic are KILLING me, you all have no idea😭😭😭

yeah I’d like them to be together forever too but they’re both idiots who are scared to commit. and who live in two different countries🥸

happy new year, ig

don’t hold me like you know me

“Remember when you broke up with me and suddenly my instagram feed was all about how you fucked a model?”

Jamie grimaces. “Do you have to bring that up every fucking time we’re together?”

“Yes,” you reply. “It’s funny to me. And it’s my revenge for you being stupid.”

“Pretty sure you and mum are the only two who find it funny,” he grumbles.

You snuggle closer to him. It’s cold outside, but you’re both bundled up and under two blankets. Plus there’s a fire going and sure, it’s warmer inside where your families are, but it’s quieter out here.

You say, “Nah, Simon thinks it’s hilarious too,” and Jamie groans. 

“I’m a fucking idiot, okay? I get it.”

Your mum looks out the window and you pretend like you don’t notice. Yeah, you probably shouldn’t be out here with him. But she’s the one whose friends with Georgie and she’s the one who made the plans to spend Christmas together knowing full well what you and Jamie had been up to for the past year.

So she can’t really say anything.

It’s stupid. 

It’s so, so stupid. You swore off situationships but apparently Jamie is the exception and you rationalize it by saying you know exactly what you’re doing so it’s fine.

It’s fine.

You’re only here a few days and then Jamie’s going back to training and you’re going back to work.

“Got any plans for the year?” you ask. Jamie shrugs and it moves you around.

“Nah, got some brand deal shit Keeley’s set up but mostly just keep training. Got the fuckin’ World Cup this summer, so…” he trails off.

What he doesn’t say is, so I’ll be near you. You let it hang in the air.

Instead he says, “What about you?”

You watch the flames from the fire curl into the sky. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot going on, I guess. Mostly work. And I’m moving to London in the fall.”

Jamie makes a noise. “Don’t read into it,” you warn before he can say anything. “It’s not for you.”

He sighs. “The fuck are we doing? Shouldn’t be this hard. We both fucking like each other. What if we tried again?”

You laugh. “Jamieee. Absolutely not. We barely made it out last time. I’m actually not sure we did, to be honest. And our mums would be fucking pissed if we messed it up again.”

He’s quiet at that. Too quiet.

“How’s Roy Kent?” you ask in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Hairy old prick,” Jamie mutters out of habit. “Wants us to fucking win the Prem and the Champions League, like we ain’t fuckin’ trying.”

You laugh. “I’m assuming he’s also thinking about the World Cup?”

Jamie groans. “Don’t fucking remind me. I want to win all that shit too, but Royo’s sadistic. Got us training extra. Beard isn’t any better, either. Always got his nose in some fucking book.”

He’s complaining, but you know he doesn’t mean it. He loves this shit. And you’re glad the team’s stable from Ted’s move back to America.

“Got you something,” he says after a few more minutes of silence. He gently pushes you off him so he can reach into his pocket. 

You take the box from his hand and open it. It’s surprising. You’d already finished opening gifts, nothing particularly extravagant, and you certainly hadn’t expected anything else from Jamie. And definitely not as direct as this.

“Jamie,” you breathe, “how did you know?”

He grins as you look up to meet his eyes. “Asked around,” he replies. “Knew you’ve been wanting that bracelet forever and you’re too fucking stubborn to get it for yourself, so.”

He motions for you to hand it back to him, and you do. He takes it out and you extend your wrist. He fastens it gently. “You’ve gotta do more shit for yourself, yeah? Promise me.”

“Maybe,” you whisper, and he gives you a look. “Fine. But Jamie-”

“Kid,” he sighs.

“Don’t call me kid,” you warn. “You’re younger than me.”

“That’s why it’s fucking hilarious.”

“Jamie,” you try again. “Do you actually want to keep doing this? We see each other at the most random, inopportune times then we… you know…” you trail off.

“Fuck,” he interjects and you smack his arm. 

Ow, he mouths.

“Look. You never date anyone. Everyone’s always speculating about it, and you never do. And I just wonder- I mean, I don’t want to presume but it seems like-”

“It is,” he says. “Can’t fucking be with someone else when I think about you all the time, can I?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Jamie Tartt. That is the stupidest line you’ve ever pulled.”

He’s already shaking his head before you’re done speaking. “Ain’t a line.”

Georgie looks through the window and smiles at the pair of you. It’s getting colder, and you’ll have to go inside soon, but you want to finish this conversation. You aren’t sure when you’ll have Jamie like this again.

“Why did you break up with me?”

He looks away at the fire, the sky, anything that isn’t your face. “Dunno.”

“Liar.”

He looks back. “You need someone better. I got scared. Same shit as always.”

You wrinkle your nose again. “That’s shit. Try again.”

Jamie toys with the bracelet on your wrist. You should slap him away, you should.

You don’t.

“I did get scared,” he says again. “Fucking… terrified. Been in love with you since I were eight and following you around, weren’t I? Everyone says shit like I don’t know what I’m doing, I fucking need to play the field or what fucking ever, and I guess I… listened. Then felt fucking guilty as shit.” 

Neither of you are crying. It’s not that type of conversation.

“So.”

“So,” he echoes.

“We’re getting married,” he comments when you don’t say anything more, and that makes you laugh.

You push yourself out of Jamie’s arms and head to the door. “That’s ridiculous of you to say. And I’m cold. I’m changing and then I’m going out, want to come? Luiza texted.”

Jamie looks at you, and you can tell he’s debating his options carefully.

“Sure,” he finally says, the words puffing out of his mouth into the freezing air. “Sure.”

[its-time-to-write]

i’ve been rewatching ted lasso so obvs i’m back in my jamie tartt/ roy kent era so THANK YOU because when i tell you i can never find any ted lasso fics but now i found your page and i have a whole master list to work thru!! i loved everything i read so far (a lot) so great job!

I’m glad to hear that!!! Yeah I hyper fixated HARD lol😅

thank you for your kind words🩵🩵

[its-time-to-write]

happy new year, ig

don’t hold me like you know me

“Remember when you broke up with me and suddenly my instagram feed was all about how you fucked a model?”

Jamie grimaces. “Do you have to bring that up every fucking time we’re together?”

“Yes,” you reply. “It’s funny to me. And it’s my revenge for you being stupid.”

“Pretty sure you and mum are the only two who find it funny,” he grumbles.

You snuggle closer to him. It’s cold outside, but you’re both bundled up and under two blankets. Plus there’s a fire going and sure, it’s warmer inside where your families are, but it’s quieter out here.

You say, “Nah, Simon thinks it’s hilarious too,” and Jamie groans. 

“I’m a fucking idiot, okay? I get it.”

Your mum looks out the window and you pretend like you don’t notice. Yeah, you probably shouldn’t be out here with him. But she’s the one whose friends with Georgie and she’s the one who made the plans to spend Christmas together knowing full well what you and Jamie had been up to for the past year.

So she can’t really say anything.

It’s stupid. 

It’s so, so stupid. You swore off situationships but apparently Jamie is the exception and you rationalize it by saying you know exactly what you’re doing so it’s fine.

It’s fine.

You’re only here a few days and then Jamie’s going back to training and you’re going back to work.

“Got any plans for the year?” you ask. Jamie shrugs and it moves you around.

“Nah, got some brand deal shit Keeley’s set up but mostly just keep training. Got the fuckin’ World Cup this summer, so…” he trails off.

What he doesn’t say is, so I’ll be near you. You let it hang in the air.

Instead he says, “What about you?”

You watch the flames from the fire curl into the sky. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot going on, I guess. Mostly work. And I’m moving to London in the fall.”

Jamie makes a noise. “Don’t read into it,” you warn before he can say anything. “It’s not for you.”

He sighs. “The fuck are we doing? Shouldn’t be this hard. We both fucking like each other. What if we tried again?”

You laugh. “Jamieee. Absolutely not. We barely made it out last time. I’m actually not sure we did, to be honest. And our mums would be fucking pissed if we messed it up again.”

He’s quiet at that. Too quiet.

“How’s Roy Kent?” you ask in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Hairy old prick,” Jamie mutters out of habit. “Wants us to fucking win the Prem and the Champions League, like we ain’t fuckin’ trying.”

You laugh. “I’m assuming he’s also thinking about the World Cup?”

Jamie groans. “Don’t fucking remind me. I want to win all that shit too, but Royo’s sadistic. Got us training extra. Beard isn’t any better, either. Always got his nose in some fucking book.”

He’s complaining, but you know he doesn’t mean it. He loves this shit. And you’re glad the team’s stable from Ted’s move back to America.

“Got you something,” he says after a few more minutes of silence. He gently pushes you off him so he can reach into his pocket. 

You take the box from his hand and open it. It’s surprising. You’d already finished opening gifts, nothing particularly extravagant, and you certainly hadn’t expected anything else from Jamie. And definitely not as direct as this.

“Jamie,” you breathe, “how did you know?”

He grins as you look up to meet his eyes. “Asked around,” he replies. “Knew you’ve been wanting that bracelet forever and you’re too fucking stubborn to get it for yourself, so.”

He motions for you to hand it back to him, and you do. He takes it out and you extend your wrist. He fastens it gently. “You’ve gotta do more shit for yourself, yeah? Promise me.”

“Maybe,” you whisper, and he gives you a look. “Fine. But Jamie-”

“Kid,” he sighs.

“Don’t call me kid,” you warn. “You’re younger than me.”

“That’s why it’s fucking hilarious.”

“Jamie,” you try again. “Do you actually want to keep doing this? We see each other at the most random, inopportune times then we… you know…” you trail off.

“Fuck,” he interjects and you smack his arm. 

Ow, he mouths.

“Look. You never date anyone. Everyone’s always speculating about it, and you never do. And I just wonder- I mean, I don’t want to presume but it seems like-”

“It is,” he says. “Can’t fucking be with someone else when I think about you all the time, can I?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Jamie Tartt. That is the stupidest line you’ve ever pulled.”

He’s already shaking his head before you’re done speaking. “Ain’t a line.”

Georgie looks through the window and smiles at the pair of you. It’s getting colder, and you’ll have to go inside soon, but you want to finish this conversation. You aren’t sure when you’ll have Jamie like this again.

“Why did you break up with me?”

He looks away at the fire, the sky, anything that isn’t your face. “Dunno.”

“Liar.”

He looks back. “You need someone better. I got scared. Same shit as always.”

You wrinkle your nose again. “That’s shit. Try again.”

Jamie toys with the bracelet on your wrist. You should slap him away, you should.

You don’t.

“I did get scared,” he says again. “Fucking… terrified. Been in love with you since I were eight and following you around, weren’t I? Everyone says shit like I don’t know what I’m doing, I fucking need to play the field or what fucking ever, and I guess I… listened. Then felt fucking guilty as shit.” 

Neither of you are crying. It’s not that type of conversation.

“So.”

“So,” he echoes.

“We’re getting married,” he comments when you don’t say anything more, and that makes you laugh.

You push yourself out of Jamie’s arms and head to the door. “That’s ridiculous of you to say. And I’m cold. I’m changing and then I’m going out, want to come? Luiza texted.”

Jamie looks at you, and you can tell he’s debating his options carefully.

“Sure,” he finally says, the words puffing out of his mouth into the freezing air. “Sure.”

[its-time-to-write]

2024 - my review you didn’t ask for

heyya! i didn’t post as much as I did in 2023, and here’s why! for those of you who may not know, I’m a private practice therapist or a shrink as my cousin calls it. I learned a lot this year, especially how to balance my professional self with my personal self because often I become a workaholic and obsessed with being perceived correctly. Which is why I like this blog because none of you know me, so I can be who I want! Anyway, this year I:

spent 1/3 of my year out of the country

got accepted into 4 PhD programs

built my client base almost up to full time (big deal for me!)

went through an awful breakup

kind of got back together with said breakup

split again (being a young therapist means the “I can fix him” mentality goes hard)

spent Christmas with said breakup bc his dad and mine are besties

was told by my supervisor she’d like to start training me for my own practice in 2025

started + collaborated on a specialized curriculum for special needs kids

began facilitating bi-weekly group therapy for a marginalized community

had a massive depressive episode from like august-november

fell back into binge-eating then pulled myself out of it

cried almost every day

NEXT year, I plan on:

moving semi-permanently out of country (most of my job is remote)

get funding for my PhD

expand my client base to full time

let people take care of me

remember that it is not my job to fix people outside of regularly scheduled hours

fix my sleep schedule

begin the build to own my own private practice

pass over all special needs work to other colleagues

ask for help when I start seeing signs of depression

continue to heal my relationship with food

laugh more

to be honest, this is more for me to remember than anyone else. hopefully you can see that the good and bad were intermixed with each other, and life is neither perfect nor linear. if I do not reach my 2025 goals, it does not mean I am a failure; it means I planned so big that I ran out of time to do it all. Here’s to a brand new year and a fresh start. I hope you all remember that you are special, you are loved, and you have a purpose. If you feel none of those things, don’t worry! They are still true and one day your emotions will line up with reality. Keep moving forward 🍊

[its-time-to-write]

chapter 8

I wish I could explain to you the absolute feat it was to complete these chapters. I’ve been having a TIME lol but like,,, not a bad time? Just a busy one. I’ll probably be gone for a bit (but who actually knows) since I’ve got a few end-of-year projects that have been taking up my time and brain. And I don’t recall if I mentioned before, but I’m on a 2-year medication that causes SUCH bad brain fog. anyway. That’s enough over sharing. Here’s the rest of were you sent by someone?

table of contents

i’m not pretending in the way you are

It becomes a routine, Jamie coming over. It doesn’t help that Madeline (the fucking traitor) vaguely endorses the whole thing after girl’s night at Keeley’s. 

“I genuinely think he’s trying,” she says. “He goes to therapy, for fuck’s sake. That’s got to mean something.”

“Fuck you,” you reply good-naturedly and Madeline just poses for another selfie with Clare. 

But she’s right. He is trying, trying in a way he didn’t when you were together. He’s almost reliable, although you’d never say it to his face. He shows up with flowers, doesn’t push boundaries, and more often than not he makes dinner. 

And he’s fucking brilliant with Clare. It’s almost unfair how good he is, with no practice whatsoever. She loves him, smiles whenever she can see him and giggles when he holds her.

You take her to a game, once. Madeline comes too, wearing an oversized Rojas kit and a miniskirt. You just wear a red shirt and jeans, but Bean has a Tartt onesie. You see Keeley Jones from afar and barely dodge having to talk to her. Jamie finds you after the match and Madeline takes a picture of the three of you. Jamie has his arms wrapped around you and you’re smiling. It’s a real smile too, and the picture ends up on your fridge. You’re not sure how because you definitely didn’t put it there, but Madeline and Jamie are there often enough that it could have been either one of them. 

Most dinners devolve into fierce arguments between Jamie and Madeline about who love Clare the most, but you aren’t complaining. She’s sleeping through the night now, so you let them argue while glued to your computer.

Jamie has taken to holding your hand whenever he can manage it. He always was one for physical touch, and it’s nice. He hasn’t made a move beyond that and you’re not ready for that but whatever you have right now is working.

Georgie visits, and that’s strange. You’d only met her twice before, and now she’s in your house holding Clare while Jamie sits on the couch next to them. It feels like intruding almost, the way they all have the same face and the same smile, so you disappear upstairs. They won’t notice, you’re positive, but there’s a tap on the door to your room and instead of looking up to see Jamie, it’s Georgie. She comes in and sits at the end of your bed at your invitation and says, “Are you all right, love?”

You smile, the one you use for photographs. Not fake, but not real either. “Of course,” you reply. “I’m glad you could come meet Clare. You’re welcome back any time.”

Georgie squints. “It must be strange for you,” she says, “going from being all alone to having the other side of Clare’s family. It was hard enough for me when Simon came ‘round, much less Jamie. And Jamie was older, too, so the poor baby was always worried Simon was going to leave.”

You nod. You’re quite familiar with the story. You still aren’t sure Jamie trusts Simon, but maybe he wouldn’t trust anyone with his mum.

Which begs the question, do you really trust anyone with Clare? Jamie’s been lovely for a whole month, but a month isn’t long enough to really tell. You wonder if the threat of him leaving will always loom over your head.

“Jamie called me, you know,” Georgie says. “It was right after he met Clare. He wanted to know how to un-fuck up everything and I told him he might not be able to. He was a right little shit, I heard. I just told him what I would have liked when I was in your shoes, but I know it doesn’t magically fix everything.”

And that… that makes sense. Not that Jamie couldn’t have figured out how to make things better on his own, but he did it almost perfectly. It makes sense why everything he did seemed to anticipate all your needs. He’d asked someone who’d been in your shoes, and hadn’t gotten the help she might have wanted. 

“He loves you, you know,” Georgie continues. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to pressure you to speak, which is good because you don’t have much to say. “I mean, he really, truly, spectacularly loves you. He speaks about you in all of our conversations, always going on about how amazing you are at your job and as a mum.” That’s interesting. You hadn’t known Jamie spoke to Georgie about you, much less what he might have said. You know Georgie can be many things, but she isn’t a liar. 

She hesitates for a moment. “You don’t have to treat me like your mum, but I’d like to treat you as my daughter. I always hoped Jamie would choose someone who’d make him want to be better. He’s a sweet thing, he is, but he gets funny in the head sometimes, you know what I mean?”

You smile. “Jamie? Funny in the head? Say it isn’t so.”

Georgie laughs. “Ah, that Clare is going to have quite the sense humor between the two of you I’m sure. You’ll have to come ‘round up north when you can manage it. I know Simon would be absolutely delighted to meet you both.”

Your eyes flicker. That’s a big step. A very permanent, potentially painful step.

Georgie catches it and leans forward. “Love, I’m not just here because of the baby. I’m here because you’re someone Jamie cares about. Simon and I want to be a support system for you.” She smiles. “And of course, we don’t want to step on your toes. James’s parents were always trying to take Jamie, and I fucking hated it.”

You hear footsteps on the stairs and Jamie appears with Clare. “Oi,” he says, “you lot having a chat about me?”

“No,” you and Georgie chorus and Jamie just squints. “Fucking lying, you are. Can always tell.”

You hold your arms out for Clare. At this rate, the kid won’t be on the floor long enough to learn how to crawl.

“Cruel,” Jamie continues, and you roll your eyes. So dramatic, he is. “Anyway, came up to see if you’d like to go out to eat tonight. I can’t do the fuckin’ dishes. I need a break.”

“Lazybones,” Georgie says, and it’s different now than it was downstairs. It feels like family.

—

Georgie’s been gone a week and you’ve been roped into dinner at Jamie’s with Roy Kent and Keeley fucking Jones.

Thank fucking god Madeline’s there as well with her on-again off-again boy toy who’s probably her soulmate and who she will most likely marry when she’s in her forties because otherwise you’d lose your fucking shit.

It’s a strange dinner without the fact that you can’t stomach Keeley, because Roy fucking hates Jamie.

You’re pretty sure he tolerates you, and he definitely likes Clare because he holds her most of the night before you put her down in her room to sleep. 

The feeling’s mutual, because she cries the moment you take her from him.

You say, “You’re good with kids,” and Roy just shrugs.

Back at the dinner table, Madeline’s had to dig her nails into your thigh. She’s definitely going to leave crescent fingernail marks, but if it stops you from being rude, you won’t wiggle away.

Jamie’s oblivious. He just seems happy not to be alone in his giant, far too quiet house. It’s a relatively uneventful evening, although you’re not the biggest fan of the way Keeley tells stories about Jamie like he belongs to her, somehow. Or like you don’t exist.

By the time she and Roy leave, you’re exhausted. The last thing you want to do is wake Clare, drive her home, and try to get her to sleep again.

Madeline and Isaiah (aforementioned boy toy) leave soon after, and you call, “Use protection!” as they walk down the steps.

“Worked well for you, did it?” Isaiah asks and you flip him off, but you aren’t mad. Like you said, you’re relatively certain he’s Madeline’s soulmate and he’s been around long enough that he’s allowed to joke like that.

The door finally closes behind them and you’re ready to collapse. You turn to find Jamie with a similar expression and without conscious effort, you make your way into his arms.

You close your eyes and sigh as you rest your cheek on his chest.

He asks, “You tired?” and you nod. “Want to spend the night? Can make up the room next to Clare’s. Won’t take long.”

You shake your head, and you feel him deflate a little. “I don’t want the room next to Clare’s.”

Jamie pulls away a bit to gauge your expression. “You mean-?”

You nod. “I hate sleeping alone. It’s cold and stupid.”

Jamie says, “Hm,” and uses one hand to brush hair away from your face. Your gaze flicks to his lips for a moment, but he definitely sees it. You have just enough time to say, “We’re not having sex,” before he’s kissing you, and you think that maybe forgiving him isn’t such a terrible idea after all. 

But you’re too tired to explore that idea further so when he breaks away to get some air, you pull him upstairs and to his room where you both collapse on the bed and fall asleep intertwined.

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chapter 7

y’all I am SO SORRY this is so late. I’ve been caught up with end-of-year stuff at work and planning for next year. but I’m posting the last two chapters now🙃

I’m not sure how active I’ll be moving forward lol, 2025 is shaping up to be a pretty big year for me, professionally speaking, and that either means I’ll have more free time or less. Idk. But thank you for supporting my writing!!! You guys make me happy🩵🩵🩵

table of contents

found god at your ex’s house

To be entirely honest, the longest and only conversation you’ve ever had with goddamn Keeley Jones was at the Prada show right before you found out about Bean’s existence. 

You’d prefer to keep it that way but fucking Madeline is friends with her so now you’re headed to a stupid, awful, horrible girls’ night at her house and you’d rather fucking die.

Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. But your experiences concerning Keeley have been unpleasant at best. 

She first caught your notice in a tabloid on a yacht with Jamie and a screaming headline to match your screaming mind. It was two weeks after Jamie came over for the last time and apparently not enough time to get over him.

You’d gone straight to Madeline’s to scream into a pillow.

Then she was in your instagram, and when you had blocked her she appeared in fan edits and fucking WAG accounts. Then she was at the Prada show and in magazines and on the telly. It felt like no matter how much you tried to shut her out, Keeley fucking Jones remained as a painful reminder.

It wasn’t her fault per se, but you hated the role she played in Jamie’s deterioration. 

And now Madeline is fucking friends with her.

“What the actual hell, Madeline,” you groan. “Keeley fucking Jones? Are you serious? She’s the fucking worst. AND she’s not to be trusted! The girl hardly has two braincells to rub together.”

Madeline rolls her eyes. “I understand that you hate her. But she’s kind and sweet and actually a bit brilliant. I’m not going to tell her about you or Bean, but she’s not some vile, boyfriend-stealing bitch.”

“I’m not saying that,” you reply as you try to get Clare to burp. “I’m just saying that the girl could stand to grow up a little.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She has. I think you’d like her.”

“Fuck off,” you scoff right as Clare burps. “See? Clare agrees.”

Madeline shrugs. “Clare is three months old. She doesn’t get a vote.”

You wrinkle your nose and say, “You mean unless she agrees with you, right?” and Madeline smiles her most angelic smile. 

“All I’m saying is you’re more than welcome to come with me tonight.”

“I’d rather die,” you inform her.

—

Jamie has the day off. They won against Aston Villa on Sunday so he’s supposed to be resting, but he’s never been very good at that.

So he does what any self-respecting person would do and goes to his ex’s house.

He forgets Roy fucking Kent is going to be there until the man himself has opened the door but Jamie musters up some arrogance and breezes right by him. Keeley knows he’s coming anyway, so he’s not going to be harassed by some grumpy old twat.

Roy must be sick or something because he doesn’t say anything. If Jamie weren’t so consumed with his own worries he might actually be concerned.

But he’s not so he sits on Keeley’s couch like he belongs there and lets her hand him a cup of tea before she sits down next to him.

Roy isn’t far off, pretending to read a book but Jamie is abso-fucking-lutely positive he hasn’t turned a single page yet.

But absolutely FUCK it because he needs Keeley’s professional, girl opinion.

“I’ve got a kid,” he says, and both Keeley and Roy do absolutely horrible jobs at pretending they’re shocked.

“Fuck off, how the fuck did you know?” he protests. “Was it Ted?”

Roy and Keeley exchange a Look and it just makes Jamie madder.

“Technically it was Coach Beard,” Keeley says in a mousy voice. “We figured you’d tell us when you were ready, Jamie.”

That’s just confusing. “How the fuck did Beard know?” he asks.

“Kid looks just fucking like you,” Roy says and that makes Jamie mad too because when the fuck did Roy see Clare?

“I saw them on the green when I was with Phoebe,” Roy clarifies and Jamie takes a minute to file that away as Roy Kent’s first-ever non-swearing sentence.

He says, “fucking hell,” because really, fucking hell. He went from not knowing he had a baby to knowing to apparently the whole Richmond coaching staff knowing (and apparently meeting) her.

Keeley asks, “Is that why you’re here, babes?” and her gentle voice actually makes him want to fucking cry so he just nods and puts his head in his hands.

“Don’t know shit about being a dad,” he says, voice muffled, and Roy slams his book shut because apparently he has shit to say.

“Fuck off, Tartt,” he says. “Stop being a little bitch.”

Keeley exclaims, “Roy!” but she’s also curious about what he has to say because she doesn’t do anything else to stop him.

“I fucking mean it,” he continues. “You fucking come here expecting to fucking cry on the couch and be told you’re fucking shit at something and throw a fucking pity party, so fuck off. You might be a shit father, you don’t fucking know, but that girl doesn’t fucking think so and if I were her, I’d hate your fucking guts. So untwist your fucking pants and stop being a fucking whiny little bitch. Go fucking be a dad and if you��re shit, you’re shit. But stop looking for fucking sympathy for something you’ve made up in your stupid fucking twat brain.”

With that he pushes himself out of his chair, swears at his knee, and disappears into the kitchen, presumably to remain silent for the next year since he’s met his word quota.

Jamie looks at Keeley as if to say, Are you hearing this prick? but Keeley just lifts a shoulder and says, “He’s right, babe. You’ve got to actually go do something about it.”

So Jamie pinches the bridge of his nose and recounts everything his mum told him over the phone for some extra review.

—

Clare is easy, as far as babies go, but for some reason tonight she’s decided to be an absolute terror. She won’t eat, won’t go to sleep, won’t calm down. She just cries and cries and no matter how many times you check her temperature or her diaper, she cannot get it back together.

It doesn’t help that you’re tired, either. Like, newborn-level tired. And hungry, too. You’d order in but Clare hasn’t even allowed that so you open the fridge as best you can while bouncing Clare up and down. All you can see is a jar of gherkins, a can of soda, and some lemons. 

And a fucking banana which must be Madeline’s because you’d rather die of starvation than eat that shit.

Fucking hell.

I am not going to cry you tell yourself sternly, except that doesn’t do anything except allow tears to well up faster than if you’d just let it alone.

You can’t call Madeline because she’s at Keeley’s and you’ll be damned if you interrupt her girls’ night. Madeline didn’t sign up to be tied down and she deserves a non-parent friend, so she’s not an option.

For a split second, you debate calling Jamie. But that’s a level of desperation you haven’t quite reached. You close the fridge and are saved from deciding what to do next by a knock on the door.

Clare wails like she’s being murdered, so you hope it isn’t the police but it isn’t, it’s just Jamie with a bag of groceries. He’s in the house setting up in the kitchen before your brain catches up with your eyes and Clare just cries the whole time. 

You know exactly what he’s making before he’s even pulled out half the ingredients. It’s chicken pesto risotto, the dish you always begged him to make whenever he had a moment of free time. Jamie can cook maybe four things in total, but damn he can cook them well. He slices some bread, puts it on a plate with some butter and hands it to you, swapping the plate for Clare so easily that if you didn’t know better you’d think he’s been doing it his whole life. She stops crying the moment she’s in his arms and honestly, you’re too tired to worry about it. You crash on the couch and fall asleep after two bites.

It’s dark out when you wake up, but the lights are on in the house and it’s warm. Someone’s gently caressing the top of your head and saying your name, so you open your eyes to Jamie standing over you.

He’s looking at you with a soft expression, and your heart aches. It all feels too painfully normal.

He says, “Food’s ready,” and holds out a hand for you to grab.

You hesitate for the barest fraction of a moment before taking it. “Little Bean’s asleep in her bed,” he continues. “You hungry? Figured we could eat then you can go back to sleep.”

You nod. “Smells good, J. Are you planning on spending the night, then?”

Jamie shrugs. “I thought- I don’t know, I thought maybe you could use a break.”

He sits next to you at the table. The food’s been set out, and it’s still warm. It’s also the first meal you haven’t been responsible for in a good long while.

“So you’re just here now,” you say. “You’re the kind of person who shows up, cooks dinner, puts the baby to bed and watches telly in the evenings? You could barely handle a relationship, and now you want a fucking family? You can leave me all you want, but I swear to God, Jamie, I will murder you if you hurt Clare.”

It’s frustrating because it feels like you’re at an impasse. Jamie can come back once he’s shown he’s changed, but he can’t really show he’s changed if he can’t fucking come back, can he?

It doesn’t matter that he probably has changed and you know deep down that even he isn’t a big enough dick to abandon his daughter.

Jamie says, “I am. I mean, I won’t. I mean, fucking hell, you don’t have to fucking murder me, yeah? Just give me a chance, like.”

You snort. “Do you even know how to change a diaper?”

Jamie says, “Googled it, didn’t I?” and that makes you genuinely laugh. Of course he did. But you laugh too loud and it wakes up Clare, who lets you know she’s irritated with a shriek. You knock your head lightly against the table and whisper, “Fuck,” before putting down your fork. You push your chair out and Jamie stands, lightning-fast.

“I got it,” he tells you, and you raise an eyebrow.

You reply, “Okay,” because if he’s going to act like a father, he’s going to have to put in the work. And you’re hungry and this is your favorite meal. Besides, what’s the worst that’s going to happen?

So Jamie goes to Clare’s room where she’s sobbing like there’s no tomorrow and you continue to eat while straining your ears to make sure Jamie isn’t panicking.

Unfortunately, you didn’t account for the fact that the worst thing that could happen is Jamie comes back out after ten minutes with a sleeping Clare on his chest and he looks so fucking hot that you want to jump his bones then and there. 

Jamie is thankfully oblivious. He sits back down and pats Clare on the back so she doesn’t wake up again.

“How’s the food?” he whispers. “Haven’t cooked in fuckin’ ages.”

“Good,” you whisper back and then you lapse into silence. 

 “I can stay the night, if you want,” Jamie offers after a bit, and you glare.

“Not like that,” he hastily amends, “I mean if you want to sleep. I can feed Clare and whatever.”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Jamie. What the fuck do you want from me? You can’t fucking come back here and play house when you want, and I get it, your dad’s a piece of shit and you don’t want to be like him. But you’re in the fucking Prem, Jamie.”

(“Got relegated,”) he mouths, but you just keep talking. “Fine. You’re in the Championship but everyone knows you at least are making it back to the Premier League and someday you’ll be with a team in the Champion’s League and that’s a lot of travel. It’s a lot of nights alone, and you’re not exactly the kind of person who likes sleeping alone.

Jamie looks offended at that, but it’s true. He’s twenty-six and in his prime.

This whole thing is just one giant circle with no solution. 

“Oi,” he says, and he’s got his serious expression on. “I don’t want anything from you. I want you. Not even because of Clare, but she’s mint. I was coming to find you the other night because I wanted to fix things. I told you that. I meant it, I want to get back together. I know I’m hard to love sometimes but swear down, I want to make it work. Keeley’s on me about commitment and shit and I dunno, it sounds nice. I’m fucking tired of fucking around. That shit’s exhausting.”

“Yeah, because a baby and a girlfriend isn’t fucking exhausting as well.”

Jamie wrinkles his nose. “Fucking Garnacho’s having a kid. If that little shit can handle it, I can too.”

You concede. He has a point. “Fine. You can spend the night. I’m going to shower and then pass out, which means you’ve got the dishes and Clare. You can sleep in the guest room, yeah? I’ll set up the baby monitor.”

Jamie smiles, and before you can really think it through, you lean over to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you,” you say softly before heading upstairs. You’re going to get an earful from Madeline later, but for now you’re going to get good sleep for the first night in a long while.

next chapter

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i don't see a boop button for you, so just wanted to show some appreciation for your wonderful talent - boop! ♡

that’s so sweet! Thank you! To be honest I have no idea how boops work. I’m not very tech-savvy haha. Sending you love🩵🩵

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chapter 6

table of contents i love you still

You’re no stranger to Jamie’s internet presence, extensive as it is. But even though you know what comes up when you type jamie tartt babies you still think it should have come with a warning. 

There’s picture after picture of him meeting toddlers, holding babies, signing tiny footballs and just generally being great with kids. 

It’s complete shit. 

He looks so natural with all of them, making them laugh as he smiles for the camera.

You’re tired. You should be asleep so you can be rested for the next day but you just can’t. You move from the chair in Clare’s room to your room, where you push open the doors to the balcony. You prop her monitor up on a chair just in case and take a deep breath. You’re playing a dangerous game, you know that, and the stakes are higher now. But the more you think about it, the more you convince yourself it could work if only you could absolutely trust that Jamie wouldn’t leave again.

“Damn it,” you whisper. You’ve already let him back in.

You sit and watch the mist roll in for another hour before doing your best to fall asleep.

Clare wakes up just before seven so you’re out the door for coffee by 8:30. You’re rushing for no particular reason, but everything feels urgent now. You walk to get coffee for you and Madeline, still feeling the need to look over your shoulder. You can’t shake the idea that someone’s looking at you until you spot a man across the way, staring. 

It takes you all of two seconds to recognize Roy Kent. 

You smile, nod, and turn away but the hairs on the back of your neck prickle. He knows, a voice whispers, but there’s no way he does because no one knows. No one knows except Madeline and Jamie and your parents who live all the way in Spain because they can, so there’s no way Roy Kent also knows that the baby you’ve wrapped to your chest is actually a mini Tartt, despite the fact that she does not have his last name. Just his whole face structure, apparently.

The walk to Madeline’s feels slower than normal but you finally let yourself into her flat and onto her couch.

She’s scrolling on her phone while a woman does her hair and another does her makeup.

“Madeline,” you say, no preamble, “I need you to tell me I’m an absolute idiot.”

“No,” she says without looking up from her phone. “I’m not psychic. Do something stupid and then I’ll reconsider but everyone knows you’re the one with the braincells in this relationship.”

“Madeline,” you plead, and she finally looks up.

“Babe. We both know you’ve already taken him back in your head. And we’ve never spoken about it because I was giving you your space to come to terms with the fact that you’re fucking hung up on him and most likely will be until the end of time. I can’t entirely blame you because he can be amazing. But when he’s shit, he’s shit. It’s just a matter of time before you’re back together and if he knows what’s good for him, he won’t fuck up this time, but...” she trails off.

“But he doesn’t always know what’s good for him,” you finish. “Fuck. I’m so fucked.”

Madeline shrugs. “Maybe.”

“The fuck do you mean, ‘maybe’?”

“Hold still,” whispers the makeup artist so there’s a moment of silence before Madeline says, “It’s entirely within the realm of possibilities that he is turning himself around from grimy little footballer to respectable athlete. Don’t you think it’s at least worth noticing that his ex-girlfriend vouches for him?”

“Mads, what the fuck,” you groan. “You’re supposed to tell me to date a rapper. Or move to Milan. Or marry a millionaire. Not say that there’s a chance this will work.”

Clare fusses in your arms so you stand up and start swaying her back and forth. “Bean, give me your thoughts on this look,” Madeline says, so you walk over and hold Clare up. She sneezes, and you laugh.

“That means she likes it,” Madeline says. “Look, Bean is so little she won’t even remember if her dad leaves again. Then at least you’ll know, you know what I mean? You’re going to give him a chance anyway, so might as well do it while she’s small and has no sense of object permanence.”

You laugh with a bit of resignation. Madeline’s right, as per usual. “I promise I won’t be overbearing when he leaves.”

Madeline grins. “You can be as overbearing as you like as long as you keep bringing me coffee. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Funny,” you reply, “I was going to say the exact same about you.”

Madeline smiles her most angelic smile. “I’m a fucking saint,” she says. “Hey, are you staying for the interview? Bean can nap upstairs if you like.”

You shake your head. “No, she’s been waking up crying and you don’t need that in the background. I think we’ll walk around for a bit, the fresh air’s good for her and I really want some tea.”

Madeline says, “I have tea,” and you amend, “I’m going to want tea that I don’t have to make.”

Madeline snorts, and the two of you lapse into silence. You’re quiet for the rest of the time it takes for her to finish getting ready (twenty minutes), help her choose which outfit (the dark grey one), and then pass her Clare for some photos before heading out the door. The day feels less ominous after seeing her, so you head home to get Clare’s pram in hopes she’ll fall asleep.

You almost don’t want to go out again by the time you’ve changed and fed her, eaten lunch, and re-bundled the both of you up but Clare seems like she’s not going to sleep without a fight, so you sigh and head out the door again.

You head to the Richmond green, thankful that the sun is shining despite the brisk air. Clare’s passed out after one lap so you look for a bench in the sun. You sit and watch as people jog by and kids kick a ball around.  It’s a nice day. Maybe you’ll call Madeline and see if she wants to come over for dinner once she’s done working.

No, she has a dinner with some of her collaborators. You’re on your own tonight, unless you call Jamie. Your nose wrinkles involuntarily at the thought. He might not even want that, so you’ll let it alone.

A man walks along the path with a little blonde-haired girl. No- it’s Roy Kent. You didn’t know he had a daughter but then again, he certainly wouldn’t be the first in that situation. 

She clearly likes him by the way she’s bouncing up and down as she pulls on his arm. It seems despite his reputation as Chelsea’s hard man he has a soft spot for whoever this child is. You duck your head as if he’ll recognize you, even though you know he won’t.

“Uncle Roy, when are we going to Keeley’s?” you here the girl say as they get closer and you file that away. So it’s Uncle Roy, then. You miss his answer as Clare fusses so you gently push her pram back and forth and murmur, “Go back to sleep, Bean.”

Roy and the girl’s footsteps stop. Right in front of you.

Roy looks into the pram and then at you. You have no choice but to meet his gaze and fuck, he definitely knows. But how the actual fuck did he find out?

“Nice baby,” he finally says and you don’t reply.

“I’m Phoebe,” says Phoebe, in an apparent attempt to dispel the tension. She’s a smart kid, you can tell, and the last thing you need is some random child blabbing your business all around London.

You say, “I think your Uncle Roy already knows who I am,” you say, and Roy doesn’t even look a little fucking guilty.

Of course he knows, Keeley had all but put together a Powerpoint presentation by the morning.

“Your friend knows my girlfriend,” he says, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Keeley fucking Jones has struck again. She always was a bit too nosy for your taste.

You frown, sigh, and say, “Why don’t you have a seat?”

Roy sits on the far end of the bench with Phoebe in the middle. You’re both watching each other carefully, as though one of you could snap at any moment.

“What do you want?” you ask, voice sharp. “It can’t be money, I can’t imagine you’re hard up. Are you misguided enough to ask me to disappear before I ruin your golden boy’s career? Because believe me, I’m not trying to start anything. He’s the one who came looking for me, for your information.”

You don’t stop rocking Clare’s pram. It’s a calming motion for both you and for her because unfortunately, there’s no easy escape route here. 

Roy asks, “You worried he’s going to end up like his fucking dick of a father?” and Phoebe (who has been pretending like she isn’t listening) scribbles furiously in her notebook.

That is not even close to what you expected him to say. You just look at him, eyes wide. “I-” you start, then stop. What the hell are you supposed to say to that?

You’re no stranger to James Tartt. Jamie had come home more times than you’d care to count with a bruised eye or a split lip, and it wasn’t until the third time you were putting ice on his face that he finally told you why. 

“Jamie isn’t like that,” you tell Roy. He has to know Jamie isn’t like that. He works with him. He has to.

“How the fuck do you know?” Roy asks, but it’s more bemused than anything. 

“He’s never done anything even close to what James has done,” you say, and it’s true. It’s not even a stretch of the imagination, Jamie never raised his voice or his hand at you.

It didn’t stop him from breaking your heart, but that’s neither here nor there. 

Roy shrugs. “You never fucking know, do you? Who’s to say it’s not fucking genetics or some shit?”

That pisses you the fuck off. Jamie’s no saint, but you believe that deep down he’s good. You believe he wants to be good.

So you smile, look Roy directly in the eyes over Phoebe’s head, and say as cold as you can, “Fuck you. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You stand. “We’re leaving.”

Roy says, “Oi,” but it’s softer than the horrible things he’s been insinuating about Jamie so you turn back to him. 

“He’s not fucking horrible,” Roy says quietly, and almost as though it pains him to get the words out. “He’s a right little shit, but the prick’s had a rough fucking time of it lately. Go fucking easy on him, because no one else fucking does.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I’m not fucking saying he doesn’t fucking deserve it, but I am fucking saying he’s not a world-class prick and if you fucking were going to give him a fucking chance, it’s not the fucking stupidest thing I’ve fucking seen.” 

Roy seems as though he’s hit his limit for both speech and sentimentality, and you’re no stranger to his rivalry (hatred?) with Jamie so you take his words for what they are. 

You nod. “Don’t tell him you saw me,” you say and Roy almost smiles. 

“Fucking don’t like to fucking talk to Tartt more than I fucking have to,” he replies. You smile back at him and as you leave he says, “She really fucking looks like him,” and you nod. 

Fuck.

next chapter

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WHEN I TELL YOU I LITERALLY GASPED WHEN I SAW YOUD POSTED

I just posted the next chapter!! It’s nice to be back on this site, even for a little bit. I miss hearing from you all🥺🫶

[its-time-to-write]

chapter 5

guys I got confused and apparently I’ve had chapter five done for a while and the chapter I’ve been stressing over is actually chapter six??? I’m so terribly sorry! But here it is lol, I’m still a bit concerned I’ve written myself into a corner but I’ll post chapter six on Monday if not sooner.

table of contents

at least I’m trying

Jamie’s the one driving the car, but he’s actually worried that he’s about to be a murder victim. He’s never been a big fan of true crime, so he’s not entirely fucking thrilled that he’s going to be come one but he supposes he probably deserves it and anyway, maybe death isn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things.

Except he wants to actually hold Clare and buy her things and tell her he loves her and never leave her ever.

So maybe death-by-Madeline is actually so bad in the grand scheme of things.

“What the HELL is your problem?” she asks, and she’s actually expecting an answer so Jamie has to think fast. What the hell is his problem? No- what has he done in the present for Madeline to come straight from Milan to chew him out?

“What exactly do you mean?” he asks carefully. He needs to make sure Madeline knows he isn’t fucking hostile or some shit, and that maybe if he handles this right she can put a good word in with you.

He knows he’s reaching, but hey. He’s made it this far in life.

Madeline glares at him. “I mean, where the fuck do you get off showing up like this? Are you trying to take Bean? Because let me tell you, only one of us was at the birth and that shit was fucking gross. But the ones who showed up are the ones who get to take care of her, not some deadbeat father who’s too busy kicking a ball and fucking models to actually care about anything.”

That offends Jamie, but it terrifies him more than anything else. Because yes, he wasn’t around, but he didn’t know. And now he does fucking know and he has to actually see if he’s a good father or if being a piece of shit truly is genetic. 

But he can’t imagine treating Clare even a fraction of the way his father treated him, so he’s hopeful.

He says, “I just want them to be taken care of,” and Madeline sighs.

“You can’t keep dragging her around, Tartt,” she reminds him as if he didn’t remind himself a year ago before thinking fuck it and calling you. It was supposed to go different. He was supposed to tell you he loved you and wanted you back and was done being a fucking idiot, except he got freaked out so he clammed up and left. And maybe that’s the strongest evidence as to why he should just leave the whole thing alone.

Jamie says, “I’m not,” but it feels like he’s trying to convince himself at this point.

“Being a parent is a lot of responsibility,” Madeline says.

He says, “I know,” then realizes he’s driven them to your street. He parks where he knows you can’t see him and waits for whatever Madeline has to say next.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “She still loves you a little bit, you know. That’s why this whole thing is such shit. I truly think she’d take you back if she could trust the fact that you wouldn’t leave her, and I actually fucking think it would be good for her. But you’re the fucking worst so it isn’t going to happen, obviously.”

“I’m not leaving,” Jamie says. “I wouldn’t do that to Clare.”

Madeline says, “You’ve met her twice,” and Jamie gets her point. Because yeah, he’s met her twice and he loves her but that’s not really a reason to try to patch things up with you, and that’s what Madeline’s really saying, so Jamie says, “It’s not because she has our baby.” 

“Oh, is it not?” Madeline asks in her most sarcastic posh voice. “Then by all means, enlighten me as to what you think you’re doing with my best friend other than re-fucking her up.”

She’s got bags under her eyes, partially from Milan and partially because she’s just tired too. It’s her firmly-held opinion that you deserve the whole entire world and nothing less, but there isn’t much she can do to give it to you. She can try to protect you, she can threaten Jamie and torment him and bring you coffee and help put Bean down for naps but she can’t take the entire weight of it off of you. 

And she was being completely fucking honest when she said she thought Jamie would be good for you. He was the best when you were together, always taking care of you when no one else would, and Madeline worries sometimes that you’ll never let that happen again. 

“You don’t NEED a man,” she’d said more than once, “but if you wanted one just to take your mind off things or to buy your dinner I have a whole list.”

“I’m pregnant, Madeline,” you’d reminded her to which she’d just grinned and said, “Babe, there are real men out that who love that shit.”

You’d never taken her up on her offer because she knew, down in her core, that you were waiting for Jamie. She never, ever brought it up because she also knew you would be mortified to admit it. And that even though you wished for it deep in your soul, you also knew it would never happen.

“I’m not going to re-fuck her up,” Jamie says firmly, and if this were less serious of a situation he sees at least three ways he could turn that sentence into something dirty. “I have a plan.”

Madeline raises an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe,” she says. She reaches for the door and shoulders her away bag. Jamie watches her walk up the street and to your house without looking back once.

—

The first thing Jamie does is call Georgie because he actually does not have a plan. He has a vague idea of sweeping you in his arms and kissing you and that’s about it. He just can’t for the life of him figure out how to get there.

But his mum’s been on the other end of this, so she’s got to have some wisdom for him which is why Jamie calls her before he’s even out of your neighborhood.

He starts talking before Georgie can even say hello. He tells her the whole thing and about the fact that he’s an entire father out of nowhere and he has no idea what he’s even doing but there’s a part of him that wants to quit football and yes mum, he knows he’s being fuckin’ dramatic but he just wants to get his point across yeah? And by the time he’s done explaining that he just wants to make things right and permanent, he’s back inside his big empty house and wishing he were over at yours instead.

Georgie sighs and says, “I love you darling, but you’ve really fucked it,” and Jamie feels awful.

“I just don’t want to be like Dad,” he says quietly and Georgie says, “Jamie Tartt, you are nothing like that man. You’re my sweet, sexy little baby and you’ve grown up so much since you’ve been away. Don’t you ever think you’re like him.”

She’s right, Jamie knows that, but still. “So what do I do?” he asks.

Georgie’s silent on the other end of the line for a moment. Jamie doesn’t know if she’s hesitating or thinking but she says, “Now Jamie, I can’t promise this will work for you. And you need to make sure you’re listening to what that poor girl wants every step of the way. But I can tell you what I used to wish your father would do for me back in the day.”

Jamie digs around his house for a pen and paper because what’s the good in being England’s best striker if you can’t go for a long shot?

—

You’re not surprised Madeline is at your door, but you are surprised that she hasn’t been back to her flat yet.

“Your flight got back hours ago,” you say, baffled. She just shrugs. “Customs was an absolute nightmare,” she responds and you know she’s lying but you don’t question it. You just wave your hand vaguely to the guest shower that doubles as Mads’ second home and pull out a takeout menu. 

Clare is on the brink of sleeping through the night, but she still isn’t quite there so you just do not have the brain space to cook a real dinner. It’s not like Madeline cares, anyway.

By the time the food arrives, Madeline is out of the shower and laying on the couch with Clare as she recounts her trip, carefully omitting how much time she spent with Keeley fucking Jones. You know you shouldn’t hate her, but god, every time you see or hear her she just says one insensitive thing after another. So you don’t pry when Mads clearly skips over something; you only press when you know it’s about whoever her mystery fling was, which she is less tight-lipped about.

It’s only after you’ve both eaten and Clare is (mostly) asleep for the night that she asks far too casually, “You’re not thinking of getting back together with Jamie, are you?” and you nearly choke.

“I beg your fucking pardon?” you laugh and she lifts a shoulder in a shrug.

“I think he’s going to try something,” she says. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again. Just because he wants you back doesn’t mean he’s going to fucking change. It’s really not the same shit, you know.”

You say, “Yeah, I know,” because you do. But if he’s going to volunteer to be awake late at night so you don’t have to, you might just take him up on it. Especially because you think it would be a much-needed humbling experience for him.

“What if I did?” you ask while Madeline sips her wine. “What if I did take him back?”

Madeline sets down her glass with a clink. “Then I think you’d need a plan,” she says seriously.

—

Madeline’s plan consists of specifically detailed criteria Jamie must meet before he’s redeemed as a trustworthy person. It includes signifiers of emotional intelligence, maturity, and a general sense of stability that has been previously dispelled. She writes everything down and sticks it to the fridge with a magnet, right under Clare’s ultrasound photos. 

“If he can well and truly change, then he’s allowed back,” she says, and you agree. 

And for the first time, you allow your hope to come to the surface.

Meanwhile, Jamie’s finished his own list. Everything his mum would’ve like to see his dad do and everything Simon actually did do to win her over. It’s a wide range, that’s for sure, from flowers to grocery shopping to fucking cooking which he definitely hasn’t done since he was twenty-one but he knows how to fucking read, doesn’t he? Cooking’s just following instructions and he can do that pretty well on the pitch, so it probably is the same thing. 

He’s awake all night. All he can think about is how much he misses you in the bed next to him, and then around four in the morning he gets really fucking worried that all of this is just selfish and he should actually just leave you alone.

So instead of trying to sleep (because apparently it’s useless) he makes a cup of coffee and goes for a walk. 

He walks all the way to the green in the dark and goes to sit on a bench, except it’s already occupied.

“Mornin’ Jamie,” says Ted. “Bit early for a walk, ain’t it?”

Jamie just looks at him. “You’re awake too,” he points out, and Ted shrugs.

“Just a little jet lagged,” he replies.

Jamie knows that’s bullshit, and he says it. “You’ve been here long enough, coach.“

Ted shrugs again. “Guess it never really leaves you.”

He doesn’t say anything else but he doesn’t seem like he’s trying to get rid of Jamie, so Jamie sits down. A few minutes pass before Ted says, “Henry wanted to talk, so I woke up to FaceTime him. Then I couldn’t go back to sleep because I just miss him so dang much.”

Jamie says, “Same coach,” without thinking, and now it’s Ted’s turn to give him a look. Jamie ignores it and says, “I got a kid. Couldn’t fucking sleep thinking about her and her mum, you know? I just want to be fucking… involved but it’s all weird, like.”

“Weird how?” Ted prompts. He has enough questions to fill a black hole but he’s sure it’ll come out sooner or later so for now he’s just going to listen. 

Jamie leans back and stares at the sky as it begins to lighten. “Pretty sure I’m still in love with her. I sort of fucking suspected when I were with Keeley, but it weren’t till I saw her again that I knew for sure. But I don’t want to be fucking selfish and shit, so now I think I should just leave them alone.”

“Is that what she wants?” Ted asks as if he hasn’t had this conversation with himself a million times and moved to stinkin’ London to try to prove that he wasn’t selfish himself.

Jamie lifts a shoulder. “She doesn’t want me to leave again.”

Ted says, “Then don’t.”

next chapter

[its-time-to-write]

Sat (not) patiently waiting for chapter 5….. 😁

I knowwww I’m sorry! I hit a block in the plot which is why I haven’t released it BUT it will be out on Saturday at the latest!!

[its-time-to-write]

chapter 4

table of contents

we know the steps anyway

Jamie might have stretched the truth. He has an appointment, yes, but not a medical one, like. There’s enough doctors and shit on staff at Richmond. But no one there has fucking critical thinking or whatever, so he’s able to go early. He goes to the shops and doesn’t pray he remembers what you like, instead he prays that it hasn’t changed.

He gets recognized but he hopes the flowers in his hand don’t signal anything to the fans. If anyone asks he can just say they’re for his mum or something, it’s not totally fucking unrealistic, but his lying’s gotten progressively worse recently. Probably because he’s out of practice, but he doesn’t actually want to get back in practice, if you know what he means.

He also prays that your address is the same. You loved that house and he’d be surprised if you moved but it’s almost a year since he last saw you and much longer than that since you were actually together.

Maybe he should have become Catholic so he could say a proper Hail Mary. But he isn’t one, so instead he just hopes harder than he has in a while and knocks on the door. The doorbell’s taped off with a note that says, baby sleeping so he thinks he probably has the right house after all 

He hears footsteps, has the quickest panic attack known to man, then the door opens to reveal you.

Jamie has never wanted to make a baby more than this moment, if he’s being honest. He can tell you’re in the middle of work but the way it takes a split second too long to figure out what’s happening and the pen behind your ear. You look the same, but assured and he knows it’s because you don’t need him. He wants to unbutton your shirt and also tell you that he loves you more than he’s ever loved anyone in his whole entire life and he knows he’s a fucking idiot but his thoughts have never been good at finding their way to his mouth so instead he just says, “Hey,” and pulls the flowers from behind his back.

Jamie doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen in what he can only construe as fear at the sight of him. It subsides into wariness when he hands you the flowers, but he doesn’t like that the fear was there in the first place. He understands you want to be cautious, but fear?

That’s not good at all.

So he telegraphs all his movements as best he can. Shoulders down, hands at his sides and unclenched. He takes half a step back but asks, “Can we talk?” and watches you play a million outcomes in your head at once.

You don’t want to let him in, but Clare’s asleep in the living room. And the flowers are an indicator that he’s here for some positive reason so you step aside and say, “You can come to the kitchen.”

Jamie knows he’s on thin ice so he barely looks any other direction than straight to where you direct him. He doesn’t sit. He stands in the middle of the kitchen and awkwardly holds the flowers before you take them from him and set them on the counter. He opens his mouth to say something (he’s not quite sure what yet) and is saved by the baby crying in the other room. 

The baby. 

You sigh and go to get her and he scans the room as best he can for any indicator as to her name. He doesn’t see anything but photos stuck to the fridge. You come back into the room before he can move to look closer. 

“Her name’s Clare,” you say offhandedly. “You’re not on the birth certificate. You’ve always said you didn’t want to have kids, and I’m pretty fucking sure you wouldn’t want them with me. And-” you pause. Clare’s awake and staring right at your face. She really does look like Jamie.

“And,” you continue, “I didn’t really want you to come back just to fuck off again. Clare doesn’t deserve that. And you’ve been acting like a right fucking idiot all over national television, so.”

Jamie nods. “Makes sense.” 

You wait for him to say something else but he doesn’t, just looks so uncharacteristically lost that you sigh.

“You’re not here about custody, are you,” you. Jamie’s eyes widen.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s what you thought this was about? I’m not- I wouldn’t- I’ve been to going therapy.”

You raise an eyebrow. That’s new. Maybe that’s what fucking Keeley Jones meant about decent. But he’s not getting off so fucking easy, if at all. 

“So what, you go to therapy a couple times and now you’re fixed? And you want a family? Or to apologize? You haven’t made it entirely clear why you’re here.”

Jamie says, “I’m here because I miss you,” and you scoff. 

“No- shit, I mean- I’ve missed you for a long fucking time but my texts weren’t going through, so I figured you blocked me. And Madeline is fucking terrifying, babe. But I was looking for you the other night because I wanted to apologize. And see if you wanted to get back together,” he says, and you’re not entirely sure how to react.

“Right,” you say, “well, that’s not fucking happening. You dumped me after a year, called me a two in the morning five months later, so yes, I blocked you. And you should be fucking scared of Madeline because I had to forcibly restrain her from ruining your goddamn life despite the fact that I actually wanted her to go completely apeshit. I have more important things than some twenty-six year old footballer who’s only just now getting his life together when I’ve had it together since I was eight. I have a job and a baby, and I’m handling both in the house that I’ve owned since I was twenty-two because like I said before, Jamie Tartt, I’ve had my life together since I was fucking eight years old. I had the same damn childhood as you and yet I’m not the one who has only recently learned what the fuck empathy is.”

Your rant upsets Clare, who begins crying. “Shit,” you sigh. “I’m sorry, Bean. You hungry?” You glance at Jamie. “I’m going to sit on the couch.”

“Right. Yeah,” says Jamie as he follows you to the next room. He sits gingerly on the couch across from you and you sigh again. He’s relatively harmless, and you’re well-versed in what he looks like when he’s up to no good. You pat the spot next to you and he sits, still carefully, while you adjust Clare. It isn’t until you sit down that you realize how fucking tired you are.

“She’s so fucking small,” Jamie whispers. “How the fuck do you ever get anything done? I’d just be looking at her.”

You laugh, but it’s short and brittle. “Things need to get done Jamie. She’s hungry, she needs to be changed, I have work to do and I’ve got to eat, but I’m sick of ordering in so I try to meal prep as much as I can but I don’t ever sleep and I’m afraid of burning the house down, so most of the time I eat frozen dinners at four a.m. because she’s awake.” Jamie doesn’t say anything, just listens. He’s inched closer or maybe you have or maybe both, because your thighs are touching and it sends the same shivers up your leg that it did two years ago. “I’m tired all the time,” you whisper. “It’s like my bones are tired. I think Madeline’s the only one who has any idea what it’s like and she can only help so much. Besides, she’s it’s her last night in fucking Milan and I’m not about to be that mum friend who’s constantly making everything about her baby. It’s just so much work, Jamie. You have no idea.”

You shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t but Madeline isn’t here and what she doesn’t know won’t kill her, so you rest your head on Jamie’s shoulder.

He freezes for a moment before tilting his face to touch the top of your head.

And you’re furious. It should have been like this before and as soon as it’s over your going to wish that it were like this more often. It’s a fantasy.

But you’ll indulge a little while longer before seriously considering moving somewhere else. Probably Chelsea if you’re being honest; it’s not too far away but it’ll give you the space you need to remind yourself that Jamie isn’t for you. He’s for someone else, someone like Keeley.

And anyway as soon as you want to let Madeline find you a man, you know you’ll have no shortage of options.

It’s not about that, though. It’s about the fact that you’ve been on your backup plan ever since Jamie left and you’d give anything to feel like you’re in control again.

Jamie murmurs, “I want to help,” and you shake your head slightly. 

“Don’t need money, my darling. I need someone to change her diaper at one in the morning.”

“That’s what I mean,” Jamie says and you chuckle.

“And when do you have time for that?” you ask. “Don’t you footballers have a strict sleep schedule? And you’d have to be here in the guest room because there’s no way I’m taking Clare to yours.”

Jamie shrugs and you sit up. “Don’t take this the wrong way love, but plenty of footballers ignore their sleep plan to fuck around. It’s got to be healthier and shit to take care of a kid, yeah?”

“No,” you say. “You can’t just show up and slip back into my life like that. I haven’t talked to you in almost a year and now you’re here on my couch, which is fine, but you can’t just come all the way back.”

Jamie frowns. “So what do I have to do?”

You shake your head. “That’s something for you to figure out without me.”

—

Jamie replays the whole thing from the time he gets back into his car to go home to the time he falls asleep. And then starts again when he wakes up and heads to the Dogtrack. The only person who looks at him twice is Higgins, although that may be more to Jamie’s choice of lime green sweatpants than his mental state.

He can’t get Clare’s face out of his head. He can’t get the feeling of your body on the couch next to him out of his system.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted when he returned to Richmond, he just knew he wanted something different. Maybe this is it.  

He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he knocks completely into Roy on his way to get his lunch.

“Fucking watch where you’re fucking going,” Roy grunts but Jamie barely acknowledges him.  

And that’s how Roy knows something is wrong because the little shit is never one to back down from an argument. But he’s Roy fucking Kent and the last thing he’s going to do is ask Tartt about his fucking feelings so he just walks away and forgets about it.

In hindsight, he thinks it probably would have provided some fucking context to what he’s seeing in front of him. 

A very apologetic Keeley Jones hangs on his arm while he watches some short brunette march into the locker room as if she owns it, grab Jamie by the ear, and start swearing at him.

No one seems to know what to do, probably in too much shock to stop Madeline from dragging Jamie (still by his ear) out of the room and presumably to the car park. 

Roy catches Beard’s eye, entirely by accident, who shrugs. Ted claps his hands and says something to the effect of, “Everyone’s made poor decisions when it comes to women, Sam go check on Jamie,” before following Roy and Beard to the coaches’ office. As soon as the door is firmly shut, Ted says, “What in the Sam Hill was that? I know Jamie’s ruffled a few feathers in his time, but I’ve never seen anything like that before, no sir.”

Everyone looks expectantly at Keeley. After all, she was the one chasing Madeline’s heels as she shouted, “God DAMN it Tartt, I’m going to fucking kill you!!” down the hall.

“Well you see,” Keeley begins, voice mousy, “I was in Milan where I met Madeline. We were chatting and we both found out we knew Jamie. And she’s friends with this girl who lives here in Richmond, and it turns out she and Jamie dated right before he was with me. I don’t know what he did but he did something awful while we were away because she got a text, said, “Fucking Tartt,” and then stepped out to take a phone call. She came straight here from the airport; I think her taxi’s still outside, actually.” She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m just surprised Jamie’s fucked something up again. He’s been doing so well recently.”

“Jamie has a kid,” Beard says like he can’t hold it in any more. He’s met with shocked silence until Ted says, “Well I’ll be. Jamie Tartt’s got a little tartlet,” and then everyone’s talking at once. Mainly, how does Beard know and what does that have to do with his arse getting hauled to the car park?

Ted’s just thankful this debacle happened at the end of the day, because the team can’t afford to miss any training with the Aston Villa game coming up. There’s a knock on the door, and Ted opens it to reveal Sam. 

“Jamie is going home with that angry young woman,” he says. 

Ted asks, “Should we be concerned?” and Sam shrugs. 

“He did not seem as though he needed rescuing,” he replies, and that makes sense. From what anyone could tell, it almost seemed as though Jamie felt like he deserved whatever Madeline was saying to him. As if he expected it. But no one has any more answers so they all just sort of disperse to their various homes. 

Keeley though, Keeley is so fucking curious she thinks she might explode. So as soon as she’s at Roy’s and seated on his sofa she opens her laptop and scrolls through Madeline’s entire fucking instagram to look for clues. It’s hard, what with all the brand deals and photo dumps, but Keeley’s a professional. She has a list of girls who occur in multiple photos throughout the years, checks off their socials, but comes up empty. 

Well, almost empty.

Half of Madeline’s friends are private, so those are Keeley’s top suspects, but there’s one friend whose photos switch from being full length to shoulders-up only about nine months ago. And there’s a selfie of Madeline in a hospital bed with this same friend buried in a photo dump from two and a half months ago with the caption, “she lived, bitch.” It’s focused on their faces and nothing else, but Keeley’s one hundred percent positive this is the girl.

Keeley spends the rest of the night on her computer scouring the internet for as much as she can possibly learn while Roy makes her tea and reads next to her.

next chapter

[its-time-to-write]

chapter 3

table of contents

tell me something awful

Madeline’s in Milan the next week, and it feels strange not to have her show up on your doorstep with a coffee and eat everything in your pantry while explaining the latest and greatest in her dating life. The first few days are fine, but by the third one you’re lonely. 

And afraid, a little bit.

You don’t want to leave the house and risk running into Jamie. He doesn’t want kids you remind yourself in an effort to soothe your fears of a custody dispute. He doesn’t get to have Clare, he can’t; you’ll move heaven and earth to make sure he doesn’t take her away.

But as previously stated: you’re lonely. And besides, one coffee run can’t hurt, right? Jamie has to be at training anyway.

So you wrap Clare to your chest, throw on your long coat, grab her bag and head out the door. It’s a quick walk from your place to Kiss the Hippo. You place your order and sway in time with the music playing in the background. You’re glad Clare is an easy baby- she has more your temperament than Jamie’s.

The door opens and a bearded man walks in. He’s clearly American and, unfortunately, decked out in Richmond coaching gear. This has got to be one of Jamie’s coaches. Clare turns her head to the sound and you can’t remember if she can actually see that far away or not. It doesn’t matter, the man can see her just fine, and he does a double take.

“Wow. That kid looks just like this little douchebag I know,” he says, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Not that your baby is a douchebag,” he hastily amends. “I just meant- facial structure- and for a baby that young, the genetics- I’m so fucking sorry.”

You laugh. “Not a problem. I know what you mean. Yeah, she doesn’t look so much like me, does she? But thank god she’s got my personality. Not sure I could handle it if she were like her dad.”

“Is her dad Jamie Tartt?” the American jokes. “Name’s Beard, by the way. Nice to meet you.” 

You shake his hand and tell him your name, but don’t tell him Clare’s. You realize Jamie doesn’t know her name so it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to tell his coach.

The barista calls out your name so you grab your coffee and smile at Beard. “You should come to a game sometime,” he says. “I bet you could get in for free if you put your kid in a Tartt onesie.”

You keep your smile affixed to your face and shrug before leaving as quick as you can without being obvious. The walk back to your house feels longer, and you try to regulate your heartbeat so it doesn’t affect Clare. 

You call Madeline as soon as you get home.

“Guess who’s here with me?” she asks before you can get a word out. “Keeley fucking Jones. Did you know she’s actually really fucking cool? You’d like her. And Clare always needs more aunts.”

“Madeline.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her about Clare.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m not that stupid. She had some interesting things to say about Tartt, I will tell you that.”

Your heart clenches. “Such as?”

Madeline’s momentarily distracted as some unknown hand passes her a bright orange drink. “She said he’s actually decent for once in his life, whatever that means. I think there’s a part of her that’s a little still in love with him.”

That does nothing for the sinking feeling in your chest, except instead of it being at the thought of Jamie taking away Clare it’s at the thought of him getting back together with Keeley. Keeley, who is fun and hot and has no children.

Madeline’s voice brings you back to reality. “Why are you making that face? And where’s Bean? Can I see her?” 

You go to get her out of her crib and hold the phone so Madeline can see her. “Hi Bean,” Madeline sing-songs. “Auntie Mads is asking your mum why she looks so fucking anxious.”

“I don’t want Jamie to get custody of Clare and I don’t want him to get back with fucking Keeley Jones,” you say in a rush.

Madeline takes a long sip of her drink before saying, “Well shit, babe.”

You shrug. “I’m twenty-four, babe. I have a baby and a house and a career, but I still want to get back with my hot footballer ex.”

“Obviously,” she replies. “It’s just biology at this point, my darling. And as far as Tartt goes, I’ll kill him myself if he tries anything.”

It’s reassuring; you know Madeline won’t actually kill him, but you’re certain she will make him wish he were dead.

“Alright. I’ll let you get back to your drink and your… date?” you probe. 

Madeline laughs. “Oh it’s not that serious. So call me again whenever you like, alright?” She puts her face close to the screen. “Bye Clare. Be good for your mummy and I’ll bring you back something from Dior.”

The screen goes black and you’re left in silence. There are two particular points you’re stuck on. The first being the fact that Jamie does not seem like the kind of person to actually want to raise a child. So logically, you’re safe in that respect.

The second point is that Keeley Jones, notorious for dragging men in the media, said Jamie is- what was it- decent for once in his life.

He’d been decent at one point before all this, too. Back when he spent every night at your place, some nights just to sleep and talk while you taught him the basics of cooking. 

There were many evenings where he’d pull you outside to kick a football around, and where he let you score goal after goal against him.

You’d been with him a year. It felt like forever. It felt like it should have been forever.

It was a mistake. It was never going to be that long.

—

Beard keeps replaying the scene over in his head the whole way back to the Dogtrack. He’d think he was going crazy if he didn’t already know for a fact that he was. It just didn’t make sense any other way, but it was strange. It didn’t track that someone would have a Premier League baby and not at least be taking the story to the Sun. Maybe Jamie was paying child support on the side? The girl seemed well put together and no ring on her hand, so odds were poor that she had cheated on a long-term lover or husband.

And come to think of it, she hadn’t told him the kid’s name.

Not that she had to, but most new parents (in his experience) were eager to gush about their babies and tell you all the details you wish you could unheard. 

So he thinks.

He thinks and thinks and thinks himself past Ted, past Nate, past Sam and Isaac and all the way to Roy.

He grunts in the doorway to make himself known and Roy barely moves. But Beard and Roy speak the same language so Beard knows he can come in. He shuts the door behind him, and that’s enough for Roy to look at him with one eyebrow raised.

“Jamie’s got a kid,” Beard says.

Roy lets out a low whistle. “No shit,” he says in awe, “Can’t fucking say I’m fucking shocked, but I am fucking surprised. How the fuck did you find that one out?”

“Ran into the girl at the Hippo. Kid looks just like him. And she acted all weird.”

“So you’re fucking guessing, is what you’re fucking saying. You see a baby that fucking looks like Tartt and your first fucking conclusion is that it’s his.” Roy shakes his head. Beard’s strange, but this is a bit much even for him.

“It’s his fucking kid, Roy. I swear to Jesus Christ on Mars, it’s his fucking kid. I’d bet what’s left of my kidneys.”

Roy acquiesces. Odds are good Jamie does have at least one child out in the world, but strange that there’s one in Richmond. “Fucking weird no one’s heard of it,” he remarks. “You’d think the fucking Sun would have a fucking field day with that shit.”

Beard claps his hands together. “That’s what I fucking thought to! This is why I came to you. How the fuck am I supposed to keep on living with this knowledge? Do you think Jamie knows? Does she have a restraining order? Why the fuck are you Brits so weird?”

There’s a knock on the door and they both jump. Jamie opens the door slightly. “Can I leave early, coach? Got an appointment, like. Already let Ted know and he said to ask you.”

He’s met with silence. 

“The fuck is wrong with you lot? Can I go or not?” he asks, exasperated.

Roy nods once and Jamie breezes out the door without a backwards glance.

“Can’t believe that little shit procreated,” Roy muses.

Beard shakes his head. “I’m telling you Roy, his genetics are fucking strong. The kid’s mom said she’s glad the kid was more like her and less like her dad, which seems like a blessing.”

Roy chuckles. “Sounds like something the mother of Tartt’s child would say.”

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