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Walking into Nelson Road on his first day back, Jamie could hardly believe he was a Greyhound again. In Jamie’s last match for AFC Richmond, Lasso pulled him before the half finished despite scoring both of Richmond’s goals. He left the stadium as fast as he could that day, angry tears burning his eyes that he was desperate to keep anyone from seeing. A few days later, he’d snuck into Lasso’s press conference; his attention peaked when a reporter asked about him.
“Jamie knows what we need from him.”
Except Jamie had no fucking clue. Since he first started playing football, all his coaches needed from him was to score goals. He was doing that. Other than being a better teammate, Ted hadn’t exactly been specific. Jamie didn’t do well with vague. He had enough trouble understanding Ted as is; with all the metaphors, he wasn’t even sure other American people would understand him. Jamie had tried to be a team player later, showing up at the cleansing ceremony and welcoming Dani openly. But less than 12 hours later, Jamie was driving back to Manchester, tail between his legs. Kicked off a team about to be relegated.
Now Ted was still confusing the hell out of him.
“I don’t know Jamie. You burned a lot of bridges over there.”
“Sometimes having a tough dad is exactly what drives certain fellas to become great at what they do.”
“Jamie. You’re an amazing player, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“We discussed it, Jamie and we want you to return to Richmond.”
“Never give up applies to people too.”
Respectfully, Ted, but what the fuck? Jamie was getting whiplash, trying to keep up with the American.
“I’m truly sorry and ready to do whatever it takes to make it up to you.”
Jamie meant it when he said it on his second day at training; he just didn’t think being a human bowling pin to his teammates’ bowling balls was what it would take. But Jamie would rather have them outwardly gunning for him than ignore him like everyone but Jeff had his first day because violence is what Jamie understood. And better on the pitch than at his father’s fists.
He’d changed quickly after training, not even bothering to shower at Nelson Road. Jamie needed to leave before he said something he’d regret. He was trying, he really was, but there was only so much he could take. He was already sore when he made it home and climbed directly into a hot bath with some Epsom salt and some lovely-smelling bath bomb Keeley had left.
He pulls himself out when the water gets cold and dries off with barely enough time to make it to his eyebrow threading appointment. He has to keep the racing stripe in good shape now that he’s officially back playing. While the Championship matches didn’t have the same television viewing, he knew his first match back would be a big story. During the appointment, he thinks he might buy the whole team PS5s. That should let them know he was cool.
Jamie at least thinks it’s a good idea. But then Led fucking Tasso showed up. And the team still did their best to put him on his ass anytime they could. When he tried to tell Ted or Led or whoever the fuck he was to stop, it worked, but it didn’t. Practice ended, but everyone was so confused they still blamed Jamie. Keeley couldn’t help him, but at least Dr Sharon had listened. Even if she wouldn’t agree to tell the team, he was cool.
As the day before, Jamie goes straight for his oversized tub to try and help soothe his aching muscles and bumps and bruises. His left hip and side were a spectacular shade of purple today from yesterday’s practice, and his scraped palms stung at the soapy water, but he knew his muscles needed it. Later, Jamie would fill the tub with ice and stay in it as long as he could manage. He could’ve had an ice bath at the facility, but he wasn’t giving the physios, or Ted, any chance to bench him his first match back.
The match went a bit better; taping over the Dubai Air logo wasn’t only to get on Sam’s good side, but it did have that added benefit. Sam was too fucking friendly to be mad at Jamie for long anyway, no matter how much of a prick he was. But it didn’t mean Jamie fared as well during the physical aspect of the match. He hadn’t played a proper football match in almost five months, and while he always kept himself in shape, he wasn’t playing footie on Lust Conquers All and had only a few days of training before the first match. That, combined with the numerous tackles he took during training, left Jamie hurting, but the adrenaline helped him power through any pain in his bruised side.
They lost the match, but the team seemed to have welcomed him back, at least outwardly. And it felt fucking great to be back on the pitch, even if Jamie knew he’d be walking like elderly Roy Kent the next day. It was a stark contrast to the last time he was on the pitch at Nelson Road as both a member of Manchester City and as a Greyhound.
Despite his continued confusion with Ted and the loss, celebrating with the lads in the locker room felt right. Sam had led them to do something meaningful. They might play a game for a living, but this simple act of rebellion meant a lot to Sam and his family, and he hoped for other people in Nigeria. And the team even laughed at Jamie’s joke before his toast to Sam.
“It’s good to have you back,” Sam says, and Jamie feels like a prick when he realises the other man genuinely means it.
“It’s good to be back, bruv,” Jamie replies, meaning it more than Sam will ever know.
They happily posed for pictures with Ms Welton’s goddaughter and her friend. Jamie can’t help but notice Ted and Ms Welton’s friend talking - very closely. The team celebrates for a few more hours post-match. This is what Jamie missed: just being with the team. He didn’t need to do it at a club, and dressing room celebrations were just as meaningful to him.
Jamie knew it was a bit hypocritical of him to be enjoying this celebration when he ran out on Sam’s birthday celebration last year, but this was different. He was different. Jamie was riding the high of being back playing the game he loved and starting the process of being welcomed back to the team when he finally left Nelson Road. He and Sam were the last ones to leave, Jamie having gone into the shower after everyone else had finished, so no one caught his bruises or the subtle way he knew he was favouring his left side, and Sam delayed after talking to his parents on the phone.
“I wanted to say again how proud I am of you, mate. That took a lot of courage,” Jamie says as they walk to their cars.
“Thank you, Jamie,” he replies.
“I know you didn’t say anything the other day when I was apologising, but I owe you the biggest apology of all. I was a prick to you. I was a shitty teammate—a shitty person. I should’ve tried to help you instead of being a prick. I’m really fucking sorry, mate.”
“Thank you, Jamie. I appreciate the apology,” Sam says, giving him such an earnest smile that it almost cracks him open.
All the bruises and sore muscles are worth that smile alone.
Sunday morning is a slow one. Whoever said easy like Sunday morning had never been a footballer. Jamie stretches his sore muscles and takes a slow, slightly painful walk on his treadmill. He FaceTimes with Mummy and Simon and orders his weekly groceries, normal Sunday in-season things. It’s so bloody ordinary that the footballer could cry. His day does take a turn for the worse when he’s watching highlights and sees a clip from Roy Kent on Soccer Saturday.
“Jamie Tartt is a mupett, and I hope he dies of the incurable condition of being a little bitch.”
Grumpy old twat. The clip that preceded Roy’s comment just further reminds Jamie of how he acted the season before. It was his treatment of a potentially injured Sam that led to Roy confronting him on the pitch after all.
Jamie attempts to push thoughts of Roy and Sam aside and spends the afternoon icing and foam-rolling his body some more. He’s feeling the months away from football, his bruised hip protesting the most, but the pain he can handle. He prefers it to the silent stares from his teammates that greeted him initially. Jamie knows how to play through an injury; it won’t be the first time, and it won’t be the last.
Jamie’s pain hasn’t improved much by Monday, but he’s sure he can make it through training. He dresses quickly at Nelson Road, body angled to hide the bruises on his side and pops some painkillers. Training is fine. Until it isn’t. What’s infuriating is that it’s not even something intentional this time. No one tries to tackle him. There’s nothing like that. No, what happens is just bad luck.
They’re running some play; it’s new to Jamie but not to the team, and he turns the wrong way and crashes into Sam. The collision sends Jamie crashing to the ground on his bruised hip. Jamie groans as his vision goes white with pain. Mortified, Sam scrambles off him. He’s saying something Jamie can’t hear through the ringing in his ears. Jamie instinctively rolls onto his back to take the pressure off his bruised hip, pressing his palms into his eyes. When he finally breathes again, he opens his eyes to the concerned faces of Sam, Ted, and the physios.
“What hurts, Jamie?” Trevor asks, his voice finally breaking through the clouds in his brain.
“Hip,” Jamie grounds out, and Trevor moves his leg around, checking for who knows what.
“Do you think you can walk, or should we get the stretcher?” the physio asks.
There’s no way he’s being taken off in a stretcher during training, of all things.
“No. No, I can walk,” Jamie says determinedly.
Trevor and Sam slowly pull him to his feet, Jamie biting his lip to keep a painful cry from escaping his mouth. Jamie leans heavily on Sam and the physio as they make their way unhurriedly and painfully to the treatment room.
“You sure this isn’t haunted anymore?” Jamie asks when they reach the threshold.
“Yes, we are sure,” Sam says and smiles.
“Just checking because last time I was in here, a boot almost hit me in the face.”
“What?” Sam asks concerned.
“Nothing.”
Sam opens his mouth to say something, but Ted appears and tells Sam he can return to training. The manager makes no move to leave himself. He dares to wince when Trevor pulls down Jamie’s sweats, revealing the ugly bruising on his hip.
“When did this happen?” Trevor asks as he presses in different spots on Jamie’s hip, gauging his pain levels.
“Ugh, Thursday, I guess. Didn’t hurt though, not really.”
“Thursday?” Ted questions in a pitch Jamie didn’t know he could reach. “You played the match like that?”
“Yeah, I mean, like I said. It didn’t really hurt.”
“We’re going to have to take an x-ray to ensure nothing’s broken,” Trevor says.
“Broken? I think I’d know if it was broken, mate. Besides, I’m not like a hundred, breaking my hip like someone’s Nan.”
“It’s probably not, but we need to rule it out, especially with this amount of bruising present, along with the swelling and inability to bear your weight fully,” the physio explained.
“No, I can walk fine, watch,” Jamie starts and goes to stand up. Both Trevor and Ted put their hands on his shoulders to still him.
“Jamie, I felt your weight on the walk in here. Just let me do my job, okay?”
Jamie nods slowly. The x-ray is painful and uncomfortable but over soon enough. Trevor eventually leaves him lying on his good side on the treatment table, ice on his hip, to discuss with the team’s doctor. Jamie sighs, thinking he’s alone until Ted reappears in his line of sight.
“Jamie, we need to talk.”
“I can still play Coach. I’m fine, I promise.”
“I’m not worried about you playing, Jamie,” Ted says
Trevor returns then with the team doctor, a new bloke that Jamie can’t remember the name of. He did Jamie’s physical before officially signing back with Richmond the week before. He puts Jamie through some range of motion exercises and examines him.
“The x-rays were clear, but you have a hip pointer injury. I want you to rest it completely for the next 48 hours. So that means non-weight bearing as much as possible until you report back here on Wednesday, and we’ll go from there. Why don’t you go shower? Then Trevor will wrap your hip, and you’ll be okay to go home.”
“Okay, so I can train again on Wednesday,” Jamie says. “I’ll be good to go for the match on Saturday.”
“I don’t think so, Jamie,” Ted says.
“Ted, I’m fine. I can play. It’s no big deal. I’m not a little bitch or nothing. I promise I won’t let what happened today happen again,” Jamie practically begs.
“I’m afraid it’s not up to Coach Lasso,” the doctor tells Jamie. “I can’t give you a solid timetable, but I don’t anticipate you being clear to play Saturday. We’re looking closer to a two- to four-week match timetable.”
Jamie deflates, then pleads, “No, I have to play Saturday. I can’t sit. I just came back. I’ll rest until Wednesday or even Saturday, then you’ll see, I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”
Jamie is getting increasingly upset. Ted sees unshed tears in his eyes that weren’t there even when he was in pain from the collision.
“Fellas, can I have some alone time with Jamie?” Ted asks, and the doctor and Trevor exit.
“Jamie, they’re just looking out for you. We want to make sure you’re healthy and not pushing yourself. Your health is the most important thing here.”
“Ted, I have to play,” Jamie says, his voice breaking.
“You will, Jamie. Just not the next match. Your health is the most important thing here.”
“You’re a liar, Ted,” Jamie says, distraught.
“Jamie-”
“No, Ted, you only care about my ability to help the team,” Jamie swipes a tear with his hand. “So if I can’t do that, I’m useless. Don’t worry, I’ll be good to go on Saturday.”
“Jamie, that is not true. I care about you, as a person, about your health, all of it.”
“Again, Ted, you’re a liar,” Jamie cries. “You don’t have to pretend. Everyone only cares what I can do for them, and the only thing I can do for you is score goals or pass to someone else to score them.”
“Jamie-”
“Ted, seriously. If you actually cared, you wouldn’t have sent me back to Manchester. Or you wouldn’t have let them be all over me at training last week, which is when this happened,” Jamie says, gesturing at his hip. “Actually, that was what you wanted; you literally said settle it on the pitch. What did you think was going to happen?”
Ted goes to open his mouth. Closes it again. Opens it. Closes it. Fuck, he broke Lasso.
Isaac and the rest of the team are in or trying to get into the treatment room before Ted can recover, inquiring about Jamie’s health. Jamie would’ve been touched by their concern any other time, but the uncertainty of his injury and his annoyance with Ted hampers his mood. Jamie uses the distraction to make his way to the changing room. Sam and Dani wordlessly support him on either side as he slowly makes his way there.
Sam, the sweet soul, even bends down to untie and remove Jamie’s boots and socks for him.
“You don’t-” Jamie starts, but Sam hits him with what he’s sure Sam believes is a stern look.
“I know I don’t,” Sam says, and something cracks the ice that had settled around Jamie’s heart a few minutes earlier during his talk with Ted.
“Thank you,” Jamie says, wondering if he’s ever meant something so much.
Sam wordlessly nods at him, and Jamie manages to undress himself enough to shower as the rest of the team changes for the weight room. By the time he finishes showering, the dressing room is empty, save for Trevor, waiting with an elastic bandage to wrap around his hip and upper thigh. The physio hands over some painkillers and checks to see if he’ll be okay to drive home. Jamie assures him he is, so Trevor reminds him to take the painkillers once he’s home and won’t be driving.
Jamie’s sent home with a plethora of instructions about the RICE methods he could probably recite in his sleep. After one last lecture on ensuring he’s using the crutches and resting appropriately, Trevor walks a crutching Jamie to his car and helps him put the aids into the back seat.
Jamie tries not to think of today’s disaster on the drive home. He’s uncomfortable and tired. He hates any time he has to take away from the pitch, but he’s especially dubious due to his precarious position on the Greyhounds. Jamie’s grateful he took the time to meal prep last night so he can microwave any food he needs. He has some frozen meals stored just in case, but he’d hate for any groceries to go to waste.
He uses his crutches as much as he can, but Jamie can’t carry anything with his hands occupied with them, so he can’t use them exclusively. Jamie lays down on the couch, ice on his hip and calls his Mum. He chickens out of telling her about his injury. Jamie will think of something before Saturday to say to her. He bursts into tears as soon as he hangs up. He wanted to tell Georgie but realised she’d probably insist on coming down to stay with him, and he didn’t want her missing work for him.
Jamie’s returning ice to the freezer when his doorbell rings. He hobbles to the door, awkwardly trying to open it while leaning on his crutches. And as if his day couldn’t get any worse, Ted Fucking Lasso is standing on his doorstep.
“Hi, Jamie. Sorry to interrupt your rest and make you come open the door, but I wanted to check on you.”
“I’m fine, Ted. Thanks, but I’m sound. You can go home now.”
“Can I come in? Ted asks and holds up a bag. “Brought you some stuff.”
Jamie wants to say no. He wants to slam the door in Ted’s face, toss away his crutches and pretend today never happened. Pretend the last year never happened. Go back to October of 2019 when he was blissfully unaware of his prick status, Cartrick sucked, but he played as much as he wanted, and Keeley was still his girlfriend. But since Jamie didn’t own a time machine, he let Ted into his house instead. Jamie crutches towards his kitchen, Ted following behind him.
“Can I get you anything?” Jamie asks. “I know you don’t like tea, but I have beer and water. I can make coffee.”
“I’m good, Jamie. Thank you, though.”
Jamie nods and crutches the rest of the way to the living room, lowering himself slowly onto the couch. Ted follows his lead.
“I’m sorry for earlier, Ted,” Jamie starts. “I lost my temper. I just, I just, need to play Ted. I need Richmond. I promise I’ll do whatever the physios say. Just please don’t make me miss the match.”
“There’s a lot to unpack there, Jamie. Can I take it one thing at a time?” Ted asks, and Jamie nods. “Okay, good. First, thank you for apologising, but I understand. I’d be lying if I said your words didn’t hurt. But I know why you were upset. And I want to circle back to some of the things you said in a little bit.
“Second, you have Richmond. You are a member of this team now, no matter what. And third, yes, you will do everything the physios say, including if they say you can play or not. That’s up to them. They’re the ones with the fancy degrees and all those letters after their names that I pretend to understand what they mean. They’re the ones looking out for your health, and what they say goes.”
“Ted-”
“No, Jamie. Those are the rules for everyone. You aren’t going to lose your spot if you miss a match or two. I promise, and I promise I’m not lying to you. Now or in the future.”
“No more mind games?”
“Mind games, Jamie?”
“Yeah, like telling reporters I knew what you wanted me to do when I didn’t. Or sending me back to Man City hours after I did what you asked and came to the bonfire and sacrificed my boots and told everyone about my Mum and my dick of a Dad.”
“That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. I didn’t send you back to Manchester City,” Ted explains.
“What? What’re you talking about? Of course you did. Pep told me. He said Richmond initiated it. You weren’t going to play me, so you sent me back.”
“Jamie, I didn’t even know you were on loan until the day before. Heck, I didn’t even know you could loan a player. It still confuses me, to be honest,” Ted says, and Jamie thinks at least the latter isn’t a surprise.
“Pep wouldn’t lie about it.”
“Pep? Oh God no, that man’s a saint. And well, maybe I should’ve told you before, but at first, I thought originally Man City recalled you. I was mad about that, too. I had to walk away from Rebecca before I said something I’d regret to my boss. And when I did find out, I thought maybe it wasn’t my place to tell you. I thought you were happy there, getting good minutes, playing on a non-tragic team and scoring goals. It was not until you left Man City that I realised you must not be happy. I didn’t know if it was my place to tell you, but Rebecca initiated it. She was hurting a lot because of everything Rupert did to her, and she made bad decisions. And you, unfortunately, were collateral damage in that. I’m sorry, and I’m sorry I didn’t explain that to you before.”
Jamie’s mouth dropped open. There was no scenario where he thought Ted wasn’t responsible for his return to Man City, his return to his father.
“Oh,” is all Jamie can say. “I’m sorry, then coach.”
“It’s okay, Jamie. I see how you would think I was responsible. And you’re right. I wasn’t as clear as I could be with you. And that’s my fault, too. From now on, I’ll try to be more like those Waterford fellas. And if you have any confusion or if there’s anything you want to talk about. Please. Come to me, and we’ll work through it together. And I'll make sure we’re on the same page. That sounds fair?”
“Yeah, coach, it does,” Jamie says. “What the fuck is Waterford?”
“Oh, yeah, see, I messed it up already. It’s a brand of crystal. So from now on, I’ll try to be more crystal clear.”
“Okay, thanks, coach.”
“And if you’re hurt. You need to tell someone. It doesn’t have to be me. It can be any med staff, Beard, Nate, or a teammate. But I care about Jamie before I care about Jamie Tartt. Do you understand?”
“Yes, coach.”
“Okay, good. Now, are you hungry?” Ted asks, opening the bag he brought. “I asked the team for some of your favourite snacks, and I know you had strong opinions about the previous locker room snacks, so I wanted to make sure I got what you liked.”
Jamie immediately grabs the jaffa cakes when Ted pulls them out of the bag.
Jamie is already bored the next day when his doorbell rings again. He really hopes it’s not Lasso again. Jamie’s glad he talked with the manager but doesn’t have the energy for another Lasso conversation. When he crutches to the door and sees who it is, he thinks maybe Lasso would’ve been better.
“Hi Jamie,” Sam greets, but looks like a sad puppy. Jamie almost forgets he’s the injured one.
“You want to come in?” Jamie asks, no sense wasting time when he notices Sam is also holding a bag.
Old Jamie would’ve hated the kindness shown to him by both Sam and Ted. And the numerous texts and gifs sent from his teammates wishing him well and asking after him. Things he never would have expected from them even a week ago. And now Sam, sweet Sam, is unloading a bag of Nando’s in his kitchen as Jamie eases himself into a chair.
“I wasn’t sure what sauces you liked. So I got all of them,” Sam says.
“Thanks, mate,” Jamie says, grabbing the garlic sauce. “Thanks for coming over. And bringing food. I really appreciate it. You didn’t have to go out of your way.”
“I wanted to Jamie. I have to say I had to fight with some of the others to be the one to come. We didn’t want to overwhelm you. I know you were upset about not being able to play.”
“Yeah,” Jamie says, fiddling with the crutches leaning against the table. “I hate missing time.”
“I’m very sorry, Jamie. It’s my fault you’re hurt,” Sam says, and Jamie’s worried the younger man might cry.
“No, Sam, it’s not.”
“I was upset when you returned to the team, but I shouldn’t have tackled you that way at training. It was too much, and you were hurt. And it’s my fault. You would not have been hurt if I hadn’t done that. I’m so sorry, Jamie. I will do anything I can to make it up to you.”
“It was a fair tackle, Sam,” Jamie deflects.
“Yes, if it were a match, but it wasn’t a match. It was too much, too aggressive. I took my frustrations out on you and shouldn’t have.”
“Got what I deserved, though, didn’t I?”
“No, Jamie, you did not deserve any of that.”
“I did, though. I was a prick. To everyone, but especially to you. You’re one of the nicest people I know, Sam. And I took advantage of you. I was a bully - and you didn’t deserve that.”
“And you didn’t deserve to be hurt because of anything you did or didn’t do before.”
“I-”
“Jamie, we can go back and forth like this forever.”
“Yeah, we could, mate,” Jamie says and finally smiles at him.
“How about we have a fresh start,” Sam offers.
“That sounds brilliant.”
“I will repeat it. I am happy you are back.”
“Happy to be back. And now that I am, I need to know. What the fuck went down with Lasso and Ms Welton’s friend?”