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light-yaers · 3 months ago

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Take Care: Chapter Fifteen

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: OKKKKKAY I'M SORRY THIS IS 7 MONTHS LATE ALRIGHT. i got into a relationship, got promoted at work, and now have ANOTHER promotion around the bend. i am tired, i am busy, but i still got this done because i can't stop thinking about roy kent. love yall

Word count: 6k+

Chapter Fifteen

Roy was right– you had absolutely fractured the shit out of your hand. The few days after the incident, despite the pain, you found yourself not giving a fuck. You hadn’t done it for any other reason than one that was good and needed.

Your feelings about Nate had settled to an erroneous buzz. One that was constantly there, but that you’d rather not think about. Roy, Rebecca and Keeley still didn’t know, and you were determined to still keep it that way for the teams’ sake.

You were still on cloud nine, so to speak. Even the most boring and futile days at Pluto Press were made better by the constant reminder of your behaviour at Wembley. The wrist brace that Roy had forced you to wear was growing on you. You thought of it fondly.

On your way back from work one dark Thursday, Rebecca’s name popped up on your phone screen. You picked up her call with a skip in your step, only a few minutes from the tube station. “Well hello, Ms. Welton.”

“Hello, darling,” she said, but something sounded off.

You stopped walking immediately. “Are you okay?” you asked, concerned.

She sniffed on the other end of the line. “Yes. Well– no. But still yes, sort of.”

“Where are you?”

“At home, darling. I’m fine, I’m fine. I’ve just received some pretty subpar news.” You waited for her to catch her breath. “My father died.”

You shut your eyes and froze in place. “Oh, Rebecca. I’m so, so, sorry.”

“My mother’s here, she’s staying for a few days. Just until we sort out his funeral, and other bits and bobs, and whatever fucking else.”

“Okay.” You listened intently. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rebecca breathed out. “Only you would be so quick to offer a helping hand. No, no, it’s all fine. Though, perhaps, you could tell Roy and Ted. I suspect I’m going to be quite busy the next few days.”

“Of course, of course– anything. I’ll let them know, don’t worry.”

“Okay, love.” Rebecca let out a huff. “God– it’s odd. It’s a very odd feeling.”

“I’m always here if you need to talk, or stuff our faces with garlic bread, or get ridiculously drunk on fine white wine, you know.”

Rebecca chuckled. “I know that. Thank you, darling.”

“Send your mum my love.”

“I will, I will. I best be off. I’ll see you soon, okay, darling?”

“See you soon, Rebecca.”

You walked straight to Roy’s house when you got off the tube at Richmond, unable to stop thinking about Rebecca and her mother. You’d never lost a parent, nor a sibling, but you’d lost others. You couldn’t imagine what it felt like to lose someone so immediate, even despite knowing that Rebecca’s connection to her father hadn’t always been incredibly strong.

You rounded the corner and onto Roy’s lavish street, knowing the way even if you weren’t looking where you were going. A right at your front door, all the way down your terraced street, and then a hard right, past the two pillars that graced the entrance of the road to the huge fuck-off houses in the rich part of your neighbourhood.

The lights were dim inside Roy’s house, but you knew he’d be in. You knocked on his great oak door the same way you’d done a thousand times before.

Roy was barefoot when he opened the door, and his once emotionless face erupted into a surprised smile when his eyes met your own.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said.

“Fancy seeing you here, too.”

“In my own house?” Roy perked a brow at you playfully.

“Let’s not dabble on specifics.” You smiled. “Are you gonna let me in or what?”

Roy moved out of the way enough for you to sneak past him and into his porch. You took off your shoes and dropped your bag to the floor comfortably, knowing you didn’t have to be anyone but yourself in his home.

Roy shut the door behind you. “Want a beer?”

“Please,” you breathed out.

You followed him to the kitchen, but took a left and settled at his dining table as he opened the fridge.

“Long day?” he asked, shutting the fridge before he popped the tops off two beer bottles.

You sighed deeply. “Kind of, but I’m actually playing messenger for Rebecca.”

“Oh?” Roy slid a bottle your way and took the end chair at the table, so he could sit closer to you.

You tapped the bottle sadly. “Her father passed away. She called me about an hour ago.”

Roy leaned back in his chair, a pained expression donned on his face. “Fuck.”

“Yeah— fuck.”

“Shit.”

“Shit,” you repeated.

“Piss.”

“If you’re going to reel through every profane word in the dictionary we’ll need more beers than this.”

Roy shrugged. “I just don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

“Yeah, I feel you there.” The swig of beer you took after talking felt incredibly needed. It settled in your stomach warmly. Your shoulders relaxed. You leaned back in your chair, mimicking Roy.

“She said she’ll be busy the next few days with planning his funeral. Oh— and would you mind telling Ted and the guys? She asked me to, but I don’t know the next time I’ll make it to Nelson Road.”

Roy nodded. “Of course, no problem,” he said gently, lowly.

“Thanks.” As you spoke, you leaned forward and laid your head on the table, letting out a great sigh. “I guess that’s the end of my chipper streak.”

“Still riding high after that suckerpunch to Jamie’s dad’s fuck ugly face?” Roy joked.

You lifted your braced wrist towards him, not looking at his expression. “Absolutely.”

“Here.” Roy tucked his chair in abruptly, and before you could move, his fingers gently wrapped around your hand.

You looked up at him then, as he handled you with such care. He pulled the velcro from the brace and let it fall, exposing your bare wrist. Gently, he twisted your hand so your palm faced upwards. His fingers prodded the swollen skin of your wrist delicately, and never to the point of pain.

“It looks a lot better,” he said lowly.

“You forcing me to wear that thing actually paid off, as much as that hurts me to admit.” You laughed to yourself a little, and a smile broke out on Roy’s face.

“I’ll take that as a fucking compliment.”

“You should,” you said smally. You caught his eye swiftly, your stare lingering on his own. You fell headfirst into this indulgence. “You were so quick to take care of me, you know.”

“I could tell you’d never thrown a fucking punch in your life, that’s why,” he said, fingers still on your skin. Slowly, as if tempting fate, he slid his hand into your own. “No good being a writer if you can’t hold a fucking pen.”

You chuckled lightly. “Well, I’m glad you were so proactive. If I lost my hand, then what use would I be?”

“Exactly my thoughts. I was only thinking of your future career as a novelist.”

“Of course, you were,” you agreed sarcastically.

“That was all it was about, nothing else.” Roy wrapped his fingers around your hand, so he was holding you warmly. Like two lovers on a date at the cinema, or hand in hand walking down the street—

Or sat opposite one another at a dining table, not knowing what other moves to make.

You exhaled deeply, comfortably. “Nothing else,” you repeated.

“Nothing whatsoever.” Roy squeezed your hand affectionately.

If the two of you weren’t already a walking cliché of miscommunication, stolen glances and unimaginable angst, then you mentally added this unspoken thing between you to the list. You couldn’t kid yourself though; you knew that yourself and Roy hit every trope in the fucking book.

Roy leaned closer to you across the table. Not too much, but enough to make your eyes focus on him unwaveringly. Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach and disturbed the butterflies that slept there. Like a living rainforest, your insides ignited with feeling as the butterflies rose from their slumber and wreaked havoc on your guts.

“Do you think…” Roy began, speaking in the softest tone that he possibly could. “Do you think we’ll ever talk about the ‘nothing else’ between us?”

Gently, Roy’s thumb started circling your palm. You froze in place, not knowing how to compute his words while your entire body focused on his touch.

This had been coming for a while, had it not? You and him, him and you. The relentless back and forth played in your mind in an instant. What you’d started as, what you’d almost become, what you thought you’d lost at one point, until Roy had let everything out in his Jeep after you’d trusted him with your problems.

Unwillingly, your thoughts also traversed the time that he’d been a ghost. After his retirement, when he’d refused to face the world and everyone who cared about him— you— for multiple months.

You knew he was trying to change his ways, could see how he’d started growing for the better— but was it enough for you to know that all would be well if things ever soured, if this ‘nothing else’ between you ended up as a simple friendship?

“We’re doing so well,” you let out involuntarily, hating the way your voice shook as you spoke. That wasn’t how you’d wanted to sound. You wanted to sound confident and controlled, not like an imminent mess.

“We are,” Roy burst, smiling. “We really are.”

“I don’t want this— us— to stop.”

“Me neither. Not ever.”

You squeezed Roy’s hand back, trying to communicate in the best way you could when words were failing you. You weren’t made for this; you were made for letter writing, and acts of service, and nothing that required you to dispel your feelings so openly and to someone’s face.

God, you wanted him. You really did. Your thoughts betrayed you every time you got scared of something more. But this, right here— he was literally in the palm of your hand.

So why couldn’t you just fall?

“Roy—,”

You were ripped from the present by the abrupt ringing of your mobile phone. You closed your eyes instantly and wished for the shrill ringing to stop, but Roy had already ripped his hand from yours before you could say a word.

“You should get that,” Roy said bluntly.

Quickly, disgruntled, you grabbed the phone from your pocket and read the name on the screen. Your fucking boss. Jesus fucking Christ, what awful timing.

“I— I’m sorry,” you stuttered and rose from your seat, answering the call.

Roy sat back in his chair and placed his hands in his lap. He watched as you paced his living room, only hearing your side of the conversation. Lots of yeses, and okay’s fell from your mouth. A minute in, you clamped your eyes shut and squeezed the bridge of your nose with your fingers callously. It was plain to see how much you hated it— your job, your world.

Innately, Roy desperately wanted to stand up and grab the phone from your hand. He wanted to yell at whoever was on the other line to fuck off before hanging it up on your behalf.

“Yeah, okay. Alright, bye.” You hung up the phone then, holding it in your hand with shaking fingers.

You stood in Roy’s living room with your back turned to him at the dining table, absolutely fucking fuming.

“That was work,” you said. “Apparently I forgot to finish an important lead off for tomorrow, even though I never got the email. Must have slipped through the cracks.” You placed your hands on your hips and turned back to Roy, sending him the most apologetic stare you were capable of.

Roy’s face was sour. He wasn’t practised in changing his expression for the sake of others. You knew he was pissed off.

“I don’t know why you stay,” he said lowly.

“Money. Life. Living the dream. All that jazz.” You plodded back to the table and sat down again. You picked up your beer and held it in your hands, just so you had something to fiddle with.

“Nah, that’s fucking bullshit.” He took a swig of beer, not daring to hide his opinion. “This isn’t living the dream, this isn’t your dream in the fucking slightest.”

“Yeah well, it’s all I’ve got right now,” you said shortly.

“Not if you let anyone give you a crumb of fucking help,” he snapped. “Do you know how much all of us worry about you? That job is a fucking cesspit of incels who’ve never worked a day in their lives, who give you all their fucking dirty work to do—,”

“Not all of us were blessed with finding their dream fucking career, Roy.” You sent him a red stare. “Some of us have to work for what we want.”

“Oh, and you think that’s what you want? Those fucking yaps at Pluto Press sucking you dry for all you’re worth?”

“It’s the only thing I have right now! So, what the hell do you expect me to do about it?”

“Give yourself a fucking chance!” He exploded. “Rebecca says you won’t let her get you a job.”

You slammed your beer on the table and crossed your arms defensively. “I won’t be a pity piece, Roy. I’d rather fucking move back home than let her give me a job on a silver fucking platter—,”

“You earned that right! You worked with us for a year and never let us forget you! You’re not a fucking pity piece—,”

“You’re an ex-professional footballer, Roy! You don’t fucking understand what real life is like!”

With every fired sentence, the two of you got closer to the other across the table. Fingers were being pointed. Faces were turning red. Heat was passed between the two of you, but not the kind that warmed you gently— it was the kind you never wanted to face Roy with.

“What, you think I didn’t work to get where I am?” He bit.

“Of course, I don’t think that! I know you work hard, Roy, but that coaching position was fucking waiting for you as soon as you realised you wanted it. I don’t get the fucking luxury—,”

“Bollocks to that shit! You’ve been dying to be back at the Dogtrack since you fucking left, and me, and Ted, and Rebecca have been waiting for you to accept any fucking offer we put out—!”

“But I didn’t work for that!” you screamed. “I didn’t work for that, Roy. Keeley does what I used to do, and she’s amazing at it. Rebecca will create a position purely for me to be back, but that’s not what I need or want. I don’t want favours, I want to earn it like the rest of you earned the right to be there. I want to write my book, and be around you all, and not take things for granted— so no, I won’t take favours. That’s not the kind of person I am, and I never fucking will be. I’ll pay my dues the same way you all have, and you’ll all be fucking happy for me when I finally finish things rightly.”

Roy downed the rest of his beer immediately, and almost smashed the bottle as he slammed it back on the table. “Well, I’ll be fucking happy for you as soon as you get your head out of your fucking arse and accept help from your friends.”

“God!” you yelled, then quickly mimicked Roy in downing your drink and dropping the bottle back on the table. You stood abruptly. “Well, I’ll be waiting for you guys as soon as you realise my fucking side of things!”

“Fine!” Roy stood quickly.

“Good!” you yelled, then headed for the door.

“Fucking fine!” Roy was on your tail as you made your way towards your things. You shoved on your shoes clumsily and grabbed your bag, swinging it around your shoulder swiftly.

“Fucking good!” You pulled the latch on his door and left as fast as you could.

“Give me a call when you figure out how much all of us want you to succeed in life!”

You contorted yourself as you fired back at him. “I will!”

“Good!”

“Fine!”

Roy slammed his door as you fast walked home, seething. You’d never got this angry around him, nor he at you, but you wouldn’t falter. Roy wouldn’t ever understand the position you were in.

Roy put his head in his hands as soon as he shut the door. You didn’t understand what it was like for him and every other person who cared for you to see you so tired, so runned down, so burnt out.

You spent the evening pretending the visit to Roy’s had never existed. Sure, you thought about it. You thought of the way he looked at you, and held you, and touched your bare skin. You thought of the words he’d said directly to your face, not faltering for a second. You didn’t even know what ‘nothing else’ meant anymore.

The next morning, a disgruntling newspaper was posted through your letterbox. The headline: Ted Lasso suffers panic attack at important match. You remembered that day, that game, the one before Wembley; the one where Ted had been seen trotting off the field from what everyone believed to be an upset stomach. The truth had come out in the worst of ways. You scowled as you immediately deposited the paper in the bin before you left for work.

There was no word from Roy, no texts, no calls: no apology. You pretended like nothing had ever happened the previous night as you hopped on the tube to central London.

The weekend after, you donned a black dress and matching kitten heels. You wore no make-up, not because you didn’t want to look good, because you knew it would be futile upon seeing Rebecca and her mother’s faces. The church was in Richmond. The service was in an hour. You’d assumed that Roy had held true to his word and passed on the news of her father’s passing. You knew they’d all be attending, even the team.

When you approached the church on that overcast day in June, you found yourself holding your breath. This was a new realm for you. Not the funeral itself, but being a support system for someone else in this circumstance. Rebecca needed her friends and family around her more now than ever. It made you flashback ages ago– to the night of the charity ball.

You’d turned to Rebecca in the bathroom and spoken your mind about Rupert. You weren’t even friends back then; it was odd to put the pieces together of that time. The timid lunches, the feeling of being dirt in the corner that she’d like nothing more than to feather-duster away. Things had changed drastically after the Everton game, and you had never pinpointed why.

Not that you were complaining. You relied on her, on Keeley, on…

Roy’s face flashed at the forefront of your mind. Your heart hurt for him, but your head thought of a few nasty words you wanted to call him to his face.

Rebecca had once ignited those same words in you, way back at the beginning.

Now, here she was– standing outside the church beside her mother, greeting people with the same confident and strong smile that she’d always been capable of donning in dire situations. Your good friend who had done so much for you, and continued to do so.

Your heart swelled as you approached them, joining the small queue of people who waited to say hello and express their condolences.

When an elderly couple finished and pootled inside, she finally met your eye. Her hard exterior began to crumble in an instant. Before she could say a word, you wrapped your arms around her strongly. She smelled like expensive shampoo and Chanel No.5.

“Darling,” she whispered.

“Rebecca.” You squeezed her tightly once, before pulling away. A few crystalline tears pooled in her eyes.

“Thank you for being here,” she said, then cleared her throat.

“Always.” You smiled at her strongly.

“Is this who I think it is?” Rebecca’s mother chimned in. When you looked at her, you could see the resemblance immediately. Her stance, her fashion, even the way her hair was styled. This was Rebecca Welton’s mother through and through. She was shorter than her daughter, but that was no challenge to most people; even when wearing stilettos.

“Mother, this is–”

She stuck her hand out and grabbed your own quickly, leaning towards you. “You’re the gem of the Dogtrack, aren’t you? The one that left for bigger and brighter things after stealing their hearts.”

“W-well,” you stuttered. “I don’t know about that.”

“Stop being modest, darling.” Rebecca smiled amusedly. “Those weren’t my exact words, but they sure are close to what I told my mother of you.”

“How’s your book coming along?” Her mother smiled knowingly.

“I told her a lot, though,” Rebecca added, enjoying the awkward redness of your cheeks.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you.” You finally composed yourself enough to speak full sentences. You shook her mother’s hand warmly before she eventually tugged away. “Despite the circumstances, of course.”

Rebecca’s mother smiled at you smally. “Quite. And yes, thank you for being here.”

Timidly, you glanced round the entrance of the church. There were people brimming indoors, and a few getting out of cars or walking through the gates at the front. You wondered where the team was, where Keeley was, where Ted and Beard and Nate were. In that instant, you couldn’t wait to see them all.

You hadn’t spoken to Roy since your argument.

“He’s coming,” Rebecca’s mother said suddenly, as if she’d read your damn mind. You turned back to her, at a loss for words.

“Who?” you asked as your heart pelted against your chest.

Her mother perked her eyebrows accordingly. “Your footballer.”

Abruptly, you scoffed. “He’s not mine.” You tried to shake off her words, knowing that Rebecca would have got into her head about something or other. Her eyes scraped over your face, all while you tried not to meet her gaze.

Your face softened when her eyes looked beyond you, to the front of the churchyard. “Are you sure about that?” she asked mysteriously, nodding quickly to a point behind you.

You turned around gently.

The AFC Richmond team bus came to a slow stop outside the gates of the churchyard. One by one, your boys disembarked. They were dressed in their Sunday best; you’d never seen half of them wear more than jeans and track pants.

You met Sam’s eye first, and his soft features graced you with a much needed smile. Behind him, Jamie helped Dani down from the coach steps, and beyond them Isaac donned an expensive pair of sunglasses and gorgeous suit— the kind only a professional footballer could afford for a funeral.

Your heart swelled as they approached. Behind you, you sensed that Rebecca felt the exact same as you.

They were dazzling, it had to be said. Seeing a football team congregate at any event besides a match itself was an experience, but seeing them all here to support the owner of their team was better than you could imagine.

Sam was the first to reach Rebecca, encasing her in a hug that felt intimate and genuine. The others followed, but you were distracted as they all lined up by the front of the church— Keeley had joined the team still disembarking by the coach, Beard and Nate next to her, and the fourth member of their rabble was the one that made your fingers twitch.

Roy donned a black suit. Nothing extravagant, but simple and clean. He’d trimmed his hair and beard. He looked good, and it made your insides twist.

Quickly, as Rebecca pulled away from greeting Dani, you muttered about going inside. Before Roy could even spot you, you headed inside the church to avoid the incoming awkwardness that you knew would come as soon as you said hello to him.

You’d never considered yourself an avoidant. Hell, you’d chased Roy down the street last year after months of him ignoring you. You’d always confronted him when he wasn’t kind in your first few months at Richmond. You’d always been the first to apologise, or mend your relationship, or fix what he’d unintentionally broken. This time, you thought, you didn’t want to do it. It was his turn to approach you and break the ice, address the obvious, attempt to fix what your argument had caused.

It was quiet inside. The vast church walls and arched ceiling made every whisper reverberate back into the room. An organ played a sombre tune. You stood at the back of the room and waited.

You didn’t see Roy in the service, but you knew he was there. Rebecca recited Rick Astley, and the entire church joined in. The only break in play had come from a stray Ted arriving in the middle of the service. It was uneventful, besides the constant pitter patter of your heart beneath your ribs.

Back at Rebecca’s mother’s house you stayed with the boys. Colin caught you up on all of their recent games. Isaac kept his sunglasses on inside. Sam was nowhere to be seen for half of the wake.

Everything felt strange, like you were waiting with bated breath that you didn’t even properly have. The unusualness of being reunited with the team was lost due to the occasion, but you knew that was for the best. This day wasn’t for you— it was for Rebecca and her mother.

As you got yourself a refill of wine, a gentle hand deposited itself on your shoulder. “What’s up, writer?” Ted’s Kansas accent warmed you instantly.

You hugged him immediately, settling into his arms as if you’d been tensed for a number of hours. Perhaps you had been. “Coach,” you addressed him, standing back from the embrace. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” He smiled, and you couldn’t help but be reminded of the headlines about him a week prior. You grimaced without meaning to. “Oh, well that’s not a good face, is it?”

“Who the fuck sold that story about you? I swear, I’ll find them and make them regret it—,”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold your damn horses.” Ted chuckled lightly, placing his hands on your shoulders. Your sudden defensive stance was dissipated by his touch.

“Seriously, Ted. That’s private, and not fair in the slightest. I’m sorry they wrote about you like that.”

Ted shrugged. “It’s not like it was a lie made up by the tabloids. It’s alright.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “It’s still shitty.”

“Sure it is.” Ted reasoned with you. “Swings and roundabouts, writer. I don’t care what they write about me. I’m just not fond of what it does to the team as a consequence.”

Your face softened. “Colin tells me your games are going well.”

“We’re almost top of the table, baby.” His smile was dazzling. “And that’s all I care about. Not some snooty paper trying to weed us out.”

In your peripheral vision, you felt the familiar stare of someone. Nate held a beer in his hand and faced you full frontally. You didn’t pay any more attention to him to see the state of his expression— he didn’t deserve knowing that you thought about him.

It took less than a second to realise that it was him that sold the story to the Sun. Of course he fucking had. You could’ve confidently bet money on him being the snake that exposed Ted’s private information.

You refocused fully on Ted, smiling sullenly as you settled in place before him.

You made light conversation with most of the team that afternoon, simply checking in and glad that you had some time to catch up on the current standings. Winding through the corridors of the vast house, you couldn’t help but ponder if Roy would be around another corner. Every room you entered you mentally prepared yourself to face him, but you never found yourself face to face with him as the minutes turned to hours.

At one point you found yourself with no one to chat with. In the grand living room, Keeley and Jamie muttered in the corner. On the other side, Ted and Beard chatted with plates covered in single serving sausage rolls.

You exited the room and headed for the stairs. Quietly, you ascended. Perhaps you wanted to explore the house, or see Rebecca’s childhood bedroom, or get some air away from the subtle hubbub of the various downstairs rooms.

You found her room quickly, noticing the pink bedspread and posters on the walls from the nineties. What you weren’t expecting was the life size cut out of Roy Kent surveying her trinkets. You stalled quickly, enough to make the floorboards creak beneath you. Before you could leave the room, Roy turned to you. Spotted– at last.

“I didn’t realise anyone would be in here,” you said, innately cursing yourself for speaking first.

“I came up here to get away from everyone for a moment,” Roy replied.

You nodded awkwardly. “I’ll leave you to it–”

“No.” Roy stepped forward once, and that was all. “Stay.” You stayed frozen to your spot. “This room is fucking big enough for the two of us.”

He was right. As far as teenage rooms go, Rebecca had a good one. With large bay windows that sprawled out with a view of the back garden. It was light, it was airy, and you could only feel the subtle jealousy of wanting a space like this when you were ten years younger.

You surveyed the walls and took it all in. “This is a nice room.”

“A nice gaff, more like. This place is a fucking mansion.”

“Rebecca’s always been well off,” you said, stepping trepidatiously further into the space. You gravitated towards her bed, until you finally sank onto her mattress. It was soft; memory foam. “It doesn’t surprise me that this was her family home.”

Roy shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at the floor. There was tension in the air, to say the least. It was apparent that both of you felt out of place, still reeling from your argument the week before, and the lack of closure from it. This was the longest you’d gone in months without actually talking to Roy– not small talk about houses or bed-rooms or the like, but actually talking.

You stuck to your promise of not making the first move, but you opened up the conversation while you still had the nerve. “I guess you saw the paper. About Ted.”

Roy growled gently. “Yeah, I did.” He strolled forward slowly, approaching you on the bed. “I was there, y’know, when he told us coaches about his panic attacks. I don’t want to believe that it was one of us who shared his fucking secrets…”

“But?” you let out before you could stop yourself.

You caught Roy’s eyes, and they twinkled with something unspoken. Did he know about Nate? Did he know how much of a manipulator he’d been to you?

Roy only shrugged, before he finally deposited himself next to you. As much as you felt you deserved an apology still, you were thankful for his proximity to you. “Fucking but. I don’t know who spread that shit around.”

You kept your thoughts to yourself. “Ted seems okay despite it.”

Roy huffed with subtle amusement. “You know Ted and his happy-go-lucky American bullshit. If he was even torn up about it, he wouldn’t fucking tell anyone, especially not anyone from the team.”

“Hmm,” you hummed with concern. You tapped your fingers on your thigh anxiously. “Can you please keep an eye on him,” you said, finally looking into Roy’s eyes properly. “I worry about him. Just keep an eye on him for me, okay?”

Roy’s face softened. His eyes danced over your face for the first time in over a week. “Okay.” He waited for a beat. “For you, I will.”

You looked away first, trying not to blush violently, and suddenly enamored with an overloaded cork board above Rebecca’s bed. Beside you, Roy scooted closer. “Hey,” he said softly.

You kept your gaze glued on the opposite wall to him. “Hm?”

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. You sucked in a deep breath, sinking further into the memory foam. “I shouldn’t have said all that fucking shit. I was angry, and you didn’t deserve me screaming down your throat about a job that you can’t control.”

Turning towards him, a smile settled on your face before you’d even said a word. “I know you only want the best for me– all of you– and that’s… that’s…”

“It’s a hard pill to swallow sometimes, I get it.”

“I don’t like fighting with you, you know,” you said.

Roy chuffed immediately. “I’m in the same fucking boat with you there, sweetheart.” You chuckled abruptly at the return of his honesty. This was normal; this was what you and Roy had created from the moment you’d first become friends.

“I would’ve apologised sooner,” Roy started. “I just didn’t want to do it over fucking text, or a phone call. It didn’t seem like enough.”

“You’ve been busy, too.”

“Hey– so have you. With that shit job you still have.”

“Are we going to start arguing again, Roy?” you asked jokingly.

“Nah,” he said, a smile plastered on his usually stoic face. “You already know how I feel about it all.”

“I do.” You nodded.

“And you already know that I’m here if you ever sack it all off.”

“I do.” You nodded again.

“Well.” Roy reached out for your hand instantly. His fingers wrapped around you warmly. “Give me a call if that day ever fucking comes.” You huffed with a mixture of amusement and warmth. “And every day it doesn’t, as well.”

When you looked at him then, you had to fight against crumbling completely. Roy Kent really was something. And you’d spent the better half of two years trying to figure out what that something was. As much as he was reactionary, he also took accountability. As much as he’d made you feel sad sometimes, you could outweigh that with the amount he’d made you feel the complete opposite. He was part of what had kept you in Richmond for all this time, even despite Pluto Press, even despite the shit situation that had placed you there in the first place– he kept you here.

“And I’ll be there to answer.” You meant it. “Every single time.”

“Good,” Roy said softly.

You chuckled to yourself. “Good.”

As the two of you rejoined the wake downstairs. Roy grabbed you a beer without you even asking, and you couldn’t help but notice the line between your unspoken thing getting thinner and thinner.

After the wake, Keeley organised a girls night at hers. You couldn’t remember the last time she’d had you and Rebecca over to the house. Her home was lovely; a real architects dream; with floor to ceiling windows everywhere and an abundance of skylights that lit her home with natural light, even during the winter months.

You made yourself comfortable on her plush sofa, glass of wine in hand, as the three of you caught up properly for the first time in well over a month.

“It was odd, seeing my mum in that kind of environment. Especially when it was all about my dad,” Rebecca said, taking a sip of wine with a fluffy pillow snuggly on her lap.

“Funerals make me feel weird,” Keeley said. “Like, when I die, I think I want to be buried underneath a young apple tree. And that way, my decomposition will help fertilise the tree above me, and then everyone can eat the apples from my branches.”

You refrained from grimacing involuntarily. It was a nice sentiment, but the thought of biting into an apple from Keeley’s death tree made you feel a bit sick.

Rebecca laid a hand on her leg from the other end of the sofa. “That’s lovely darling.” The look on her face showed she was lying. Keeley chose to ignore her.

“Where even were you at the wake?” you asked Keeley. “I didn’t see you for practically the whole time we were there. I hung around with Ted, mostly.”

“I was with my mother, mostly. But you’re right–” Rebecca nodded at you. “I don’t recall seeing you around the house much.”

You clicked your fingers abruptly. “Oh– I did see you with Jamie at one point.”

You and Rebecca laid your gaze on Keeley. She was swiping her finger timidly around the rim of her wine glass, acting as if she wanted the plush sofa to engulf her whole. You’d never seen her so obviously wanting to disappear from a conversation.

“Keeley,” you said lowly. “What’s going on?”

Keeley shrugged smally. It reminded you of Roy.

“Darling,” Rebecca said, pushing her ever so slightly.

“Yeah, I was with Jamie. Maybe.” Keeley finally caved.

You leaned closer to her, bridging the gap in the Keeley sandwich you were in, of which you and Rebecca were the thick and soft slices of bread. When the two of you got close enough to touch her cheeks with your noses, Keeley exploded.

“Alright!” she yelled, propelling herself up with the sofa. She rounded the coffee table until she stood, almost jumping on the spot, before the telly. “You two are the worst at minding your own fucking business!”

“Oh, please– you were practically omitting radiation with how much you wanted to spill this.” You said with amusement, repositioning yourself on the sofa to sit on your feet.

“So, come on, darling. Spill it.” Rebecca copied you, hopping onto her ankles.

Keeley let out an array of noises, that could only be described as utter gibberish, before she let it all out. “At the wake, Jamie told me he’s in love with me.”

In unison, you and Rebecca jumped up from the sofa. The fluffy, cream carpet beneath your feet felt the most of the brunt, as the red wine in your glass had already jumped ship straight to the floor. Your sock was drenched in Merlot, but you didn’t give a shit.

“He said what?” Rebecca screamed.

“No fucking way!” you screeched.

“I know!” Keeley responded, running in place to dispel her relentless nervous energy. “He just said it! Like it was the easiest thing in the fucking world to tell me!”

Rebecca placed her fingers on her chin, almost freezing in place. You, however, were still riding the same wave as Keeley. You jogged on the spot the same as her, not even thinking of the bigger picture, or the reasons why. Of course, Jamie Tartt was in love with Keeley Jones. Why the fuck wouldn’t he be?

Rebecca cleared her throat. “I’ve been having a secret affair with Sam Obisanya.”

You practically performed a double take as your stare slotted towards Rebecca. Keeley stopped jogging, frozen to her spot at the telly behind you all started playing an advert for car insurance.

“Rebecca Welton!” Keeley exclaimed.

You rushed towards Rebecca before you even realised what you were doing. “It was Bantr, wasn’t it?” you asked bluntly.

“How did you know that?!” Rebecca’s shocked expression was golden.

You smiled slyly. “He tells me everything, you know?”

Instantly, Rebecca went red in the face. “I hope not everything.”

When Keeley rushed forwards, you couldn’t help but innately regale at the scene before you. All your lives were so inherently intertwined. Everyone knew each other, everyone cared for each other, no one would let the other down.

Sam had been periodically texting you updates about the woman he’d met through Bantr and the run-up to finally meeting her in person. After their dinner, he’d uncharacteristically gone silent about most of it. Bar the odd conversation when you’d begged to live vicariously through his love-life, the shift from on the app to in person was apparent.

It all made sense.

It also made sense when you pieced everything together about hardly seeing him at the wake. Evidently, Rebecca and him had been tied at the hip in private.

“I can’t believe you kept this from us!” Keeley yelled.

“I can,” you said, calming down slightly, but still feeling warm from this entire get-together. “He’s a player at AFC Richmond, the club that Rebecca owns. It sounds complicated.”

Rebecca let out a gentle breath. “It was.” She swallowed. “That’s why I broke it off with him.”

Keeley immediately calmed down. “Oh… Rebecca. I’m so sorry.”

You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I am, too. That must’ve been hard to do.”

Rebecca looked down-trodden for all of two seconds, before she inhaled deeply. As she did, her back straightened, her chin rose. She was a strong woman incarnate. “It was. But– it had to be done. Sam knew it, too.”

“I bet.” You smiled.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t adore him. I think… I think we’ll both hold onto the past few months for a long time. But!” She exclaimed, flipping the narrative. “That’s not a bad thing. It was fun, Sam and I together. It was fun while it lasted, and I don’t resent it happening.”

“Way to go, Rebecca!” Keeley said, tone full of encouragement.

Rebecca huffed with a smile on her face. As the moment ended, she finally turned to you. “So,” she said.

You took a small step back, scoffing. “So?”

“So, what about you then, darling? It’s your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

Keeley turned to you now. You were cornered. They had you at every angle.

“Your turn to spill it,” Keeley said.

Innately, your lungs collapsed. But– you didn’t have anything you were hiding. You didn’t have news, you didn’t have a confession of love sitting in your lap from anyone, you didn’t have news of an elicit affair with someone from work, nothing.

Though, when you allowed your thoughts to spiral, there was one thing that cropped up above all else.

Roy.

Stupid, stoic Roy, with his potty mouth that meant he was thousands in debt against Phoebe’s swear jar. Annoying, nagging Roy, who wouldn’t give it a rest with trying to interfere with things that you didn’t want fixed.

Gorgeous, kind Roy, who you knew would catch you if you ever were to fall.

God fucking dammit.

Without thinking, the words burst from your mouth.

“I’m in love with Roy Kent.”

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