She's the Man / Roy Kent

** Chapter three.

Chapter three, Trent Crimm the Independent.
"THE MANY ROLES OF EDA TARR."

** the original chapter recently
got erased from wattpad — this is
the rewritten version :(

ADA HAD BEEN STANDING THERE FOR NEIGH AN HOUR – Back straight, face blank, waiting for the whole thing to end. They'd asked her to pose and smile many a time, she knew that, but all the sounds entering her ears were muffled; the directions being called out by the photographer, the clicking of the camera, the buzzing of the ring lights. Even the occasional cough coming from the woman in charge of hairspray.

All of it was cloudy.

None of it felt real.

   Her head ached and her eyes burned. And she could blame it all on the flashing lights, yes, but no doubt it was all due to a lack of sleep as well. She had spent the last four or so nights coming up with plays alongside Ted and Beard – something Ada swore she would only do that one time at Mae's pub.

   But that was before Richmond lost the match against Crystal Palace.

  Before she went into that locker room and saw everyone look so dejected.

A part of Ada truly believed (humble and not so humble was this belief) that she could have helped change the outcome of the game had she truly tried. And it was the reason why she was now willing to contribute more. Why she was willing to be more generous with her resources; like loaning her archived knowledge to two lost coaches, or even just giving a homesick Sam Obisanya a birthday gift.

   (And, no, she didn't give him that watch because of the gut twisting look Roy Kent gave her on the pitch. That would make no sense. Because she didn't care about anything Roy Kent said or did. Couldn't have given less of a shit about his opinion of her.

   Hence why she stole his watch to give away.

   Which was not to say that she stole it for the sole purpose of making the gesture seem any less genuine or sincere. Because that would actually mean that she did, in fact, care.

Maybe a bit too much.

And she didn't.

Not at all.)

    So, yeah, Ada had been helping out a bit. Whilst she still spent her days committing to brand campaigns and posing for magazine covers and dodging casting calls, her nights were now all about football. And sometimes it truly felt like those hours she'd spend sat around Ted Lasso's kitchen, with ink blotted fingers and scrap sheets of paper, offensive and defensive strategies on her mind and tongue, were the only form of respite she ever had.

   Although, as Ada watched the photographer let out another pained sigh at her obvious lack of cooperation, she was struck with the realisation that she probably didn't deserve any respite.

  It wasn't like Ada was ever doing her job. You know, the one that paid her bills.

At least she wasn't throwing a fit or walking out of the studio, though. Ada hadn't done that since the day of the bikini shoot, when she got severely scolded by London Abara and Keeley Jones.

Well, it was more like she got scolded by London Abara whilst Keeley Jones stood off to the side, nodding or humming or occasionally coming to Ada's defence whenever the other woman got too aggressive with her words.

Which London was prone to doing.

That wasn't to say that Ada's manager was a wicked thing of a woman. It was just known that London's method of chiding typically involved a lecture; the sort of lecture that had to rip you apart in order to truly touch your heart.

A few years her senior and of an age with Keeley, London Abra was almost like an older sister to Ada -- if your older sister worked for you and didn't particularly like you, that is. But, maybe it was because of that (the fact that London didn't like her and was therefore never biased with her compliments, and the fact that she was like a sister and therefore was always genuine with her intentions) that Ada actually took her words to heart.

Of course, the words had to first tear her insides to shreds before actually finding their way there.

As way typical of a London Abara lecture.

"You were one of the greats." Her manager had said to her that day she stormed out of the shoot. "But you're not anymore. You're not what you were. You're not number nine. This is your job now. And you can sill be great, but great at this."

   Ada had tried telling her that she didn't want to be great in any other way. That she did not care to be the next top model, and wouldn't mind being dropped completely – but the older woman had a way of putting things into perspective.

   "Women who leave their sport usually do so at an age that most deem undesirable." London had responded her in a clipped tone. "They're not even old, barely halfway into their thirties. And still they're being told they're not good enough for a job like this."

   "So, what? I should be grateful that I left before they did? That I quit whilst me tits were still perky?"

Ada remembered the feeling of her eyes stinging. If asked about it now, she'd blame the redness on the fog machine and the hairspray fumes which had contaminated the studio.

   "You didn't quit football."

    "You're right. I fucking lost. And you want me to be happy that I did, because now I get invited to fucking fashion week."

Keeley had done something with her hands then. Had gestured for London to be gentler. It was as though the good cop was loaning the bad cop her gentle touch, creating some sort of chimera who would slap you with the truth and wipe your tears with the same hand.

    And wipe her tears London did.

   She had grasped Ada's face in her hands and murmured to her the words which would stick. The words which would echo in Ada's head at every photoshoot and casting call since then.

   "It doesn't have to be you, just play the role. You don't have to let your career define you."

    Ada had furrowed her brows in confusion then, and even now she found herself not completely understanding what her manager had meant.

    Not let her career define her?

    Ada Tartt started playing football before she started going to school, and was scouted before she knew how to multiply two numbers together. Football was more herself than she was.

    The posters on her bedroom wall and the subject of all her school reports and the profession she'd wish for at every birthday. The only thing she and her father had in common. The only thing she was better than her brother at.

    And looking back at all that now, Ada wished someone had stopped her from being so consumed by it.

    It was never a good idea to love something too much.

It was never good to let something define you.

   "A smile, please, Eda." The photographer begged of Ada once more. Or rather, begged of Eda Tarr, which was how he had taken to pronouncing her name.

    On any other day, she would have laughed. Maybe she would have mocked him as she was wont to do. Or have him say her name into her phone so that she could send it to Jamie – have it be something for them to joke about over dinner tomorrow night.

   But Ada didn't do any of that. Because she was tired. And she wanted to go home.

The sound of a door slamming open knocked her from her dazed thoughts and had everyone in the room turning towards the studio's entrance.

Walking in was Keeley, a a newspaper gripped tightly in her manicured hands and a frown sitting out of place on her normally cheery face.

"I need to speak with the talent," She called out. "Please."

The photographer's shoulders slumped with relief at the prospect of a break. He nodded to Ada with forced courtesy and then rounded up his staff, all of them filing out of the room.

Ada waited until the last of the people left and closed the door behind themselves before she let out an exhausted groan. She quickly hopped off the platform on which she'd been standing, rushing to take off her heels.

"Thank God you're here." The model moaned. "Pretty sure he was going to call London, see if we could extend the shoot."

Keeley was now staring at the newspaper. "Yeah, well, London's busy right now." She muttered quietly.

"Hmm." Ada wrapped a dress robe over her lingerie-clad body and walked over to the curule chair by the computer. Once she finally made herself comfortable (it was a difficult chair to sit on, and she wished this stupid industry would get rid of it), she began looking through the pictures that were just taken. "So did London send you down here to check if I left? Because I promised I would stay for the full shoot, and Eda Tarr is a woman of her word."

Ada stopped clicking the space bar, pausing to look at an extremely flattering picture of herself. "She's also a woman of insane beauty. Fuck, how do you not hump my leg every time you see me?"

Ada expected Keeley to laugh. Or start making inappropriate gestures with her hands and mouth. Maybe even start humping Ada's leg for the Hell of it. But she did none of that.

In fact, she didn't do anything.

Ada's eyes left the screen to look upon her silent best friend, who was still staring at the newspaper. "Keels," She called out with a concerned frown. "Are you alright?"

    And that concern only doubled when Keeley looked up with tears in her eyes.

    "I'm sorry, Ada."

The blonde approached unsteadily, and Ada's concern immediately tripled. This was Keeley Jones – the same girl that could climb a mountain in eight inch heels without losing her footing. The girl who was always smiling and making light of things.

Now she was frowning and crying.

And where those flat shoes on her feet?

     The model immediately shut the computer and stood to comfort her friend, but Keeley rejected any attempt made. It was as though she believed herself unworthy of Ada's hand on her back or arm around her shoulder.

    "What's going on? You're scaring me."

Keeley inhaled a shaky breath and pulled her phone out before speaking. "My friend, Ren, the one who works for The Sun, you know?"

Ada nodded encouragingly, despite having no idea who Ren was.

"He sent me this article. About me. And Ted. It was saying that, like, we were having an affair or something. Manager Shags Star Player's Girlfriend." Keeley passed the phone over to her.

   It was a picture of Ted feeding Keeley at the park. And despite knowing how the image could come across to the public, it was difficult for Ada to perceive it in any way that wasn't innocent. To her, the picture depicted the beginnings of a friendship.

    Keeley was very obviously in the middle of working a job. She was in costume and fake claw were glued onto her nail beds. No doubt she was unable to feed herself, and no doubt Ted was simply helping her out.

   Because Ted Lasso was the kind of man that always helped. In fact, Ada knew that he went to that set with the intention of helping. He had gone over to ask Keeley about what motivated Jamie Tartt. Because Ted was also the kind of man that genuinely cared about his players – on and off the pitch.

    Because he was good.

    And Keeley was good, too. The best person Ada knew, in fact. So why was she shaking so much? And why was she crying? And why was she looking at Ada with so much guilt in her eyes?

    "Did you think I'd believe it? This article?" Ada frowned.

"No!" Keeley quickly shook her head. Tears welled in her eyes once more. "No, Ada, I knew you wouldn't have. Because you're amazing. You're the best friend anyone could ever have. You are."

"Flattery gets you everywhere."

Keeley didn't laugh, still shaking a bit as she tried to get through all that she needed to say. "He said he'd hold on to it for a day."

    "Well, that's good, right?"

    "But he said that he'd need something to -- something to put out. In its place, you know? To make up for this article not being published today." Tears were now streaming down Keeley's face. "I didn't know, Ada."

Oh.

Ada felt her stomach twist.

    "What did you give him?"

"No," Keeley hurriedly denied. "No, I-I didn't give anyone anything, okay? It was already going to come out, but they switched the dates around so that me and Ted's article could be pushed back. I swear, Ada!"

And Ada believed her. Because this was Keeley. But she couldn't help the tightening in her gut as she reached for the newspaper.

Diva Tartt Stomps Out of Photoshoot.

Ada slowly nodded, "Okay."

This headline didn't really help the reputation that she had managed to develop over the last year or so. Many people already believed that she had exaggerated her injury to get out of football, thinking that Ada Tartt wanted to get out of her deal with Arsenal and into the career that she apparently always wanted.

   This also didn't help with Ada's mission to stay out of the papers. There had been a time not too long ago when her name and face were plastered onto every front page. None of it had been good.

   But this wasn't awful.

   "It's alright, Keeley. It's not even that bad." Ada mumbled slowly, ignoring all the bad in her gut in favour of comforting her friend.

   But Keeley still felt undeserving of such a thing.

   "No," The blonde fiercely denied. "It is bad! You're name isn't Diva Tartt, it's Ada."

   "I know that, babe."

   "And you don't stomp out of places! You sweep," Keeley made a swift gesture with her hands. "Like a princess. Or a magician. It's regal!"

    Ada blinked.

   The fire in Keeley's eyes immediately died out, fierce flames reduced back to the pitiful ashes of before. "I'm sorry."

   "No, don't be. I like princesses. And magicians."

   "Not about that, I'm sorry about being a shitty friend."

   "You didn't know." The former striker reminded her. "You had no idea that they were going to put it out. You're a good friend. The best."

    Keeley frowned. "A shitty publicist, then. This is going to damage to your job prospects."

As if Ada Tartt would lose sleep over not booking more modelling gigs.

    "Who cares?" Ada shrugged. "Also, you're not even my publicist, Keels."

    "I so am!" Sadness quickly turned to offence. "You'd be booking nothing without me! You're horrible to work with!"

   "Did you write the article, you bitch?"

     Keeley laughed. It was wet and faint, but it was enough for Ada to know that she wasn't so sad anymore. Still guilty, but not quite as upset as she had been a moment before.

    "Don't tell London, okay? Like, that I had any part in any of it."

    "Since when do you care what she thinks?" Ada scoffed.

   Keeley shrugged sheepishly. "She puts a lot of work into helping fix your image. Your brand. I don't want her to think I'm trying to ruin your career."

    "Trust me," Ada sighed, looking around the studio. "Nothing can ruin my fucking career. I've tried everything. They refuse to drop me."

   The blonde went to chide her for being ungrateful, but the topic of ruined careers brought her back to the problem at hand.

   "Ada, what about my article?"

   The article that could ruin Keeley Jones.

   Keeley, who was already shamed by the media on a regular basis for the jobs she had done in the past. Opportunities she had taken as a young woman trying to get her foot through the door.

   And who wouldn't love the excuse to tear her apart now? The opportunity to see her relationship with Jamie Tartt, one of England's treasures, absolutely ruined? Free Tartt from the Tart would would no doubt become a trending hashtag.

    And Ted. His career would be ruined, too. The same Ted who was already considered the dumbest man in the history of football – or, as he still patriotically referred to it, soccer.

   And who wouldn't love to send him him packing? Force him into a spot so tight that he'd have no choice but to go back to the state from whence he came?

   These were two of the greatest people Ada knew (she was still adjusting to the fact that Ted Lasso had managed to make such an impression in such little time), and someone wanted to see them ruined. But she wouldn't let that happen.

    And what kind of diva would Ada Tartt be if she didn't get what she wanted?

    A timid knock sounded on the door, and both women turned to see a bald head pop in.

    "Shall we resume, Eda?"

✷

      Okay, so, Ada didn't end up upholding her promise of committing to a full shoot. And, sure, the papers would no doubt be frothing at the mouth to hear all about her abrupt departure from set. But she left in order uphold her duty as a best friend.

   And wasn't that more important?

  Ada also ended up upholding the promise she once made to her religious grandmother, vowing that she would begin turning to God more. She recited every prayer she knew as Keeley drove them to Nelson Road, zipping and swerving like a madwoman. And when the vehicle finally made it to the parking lot, Ada began thanking every deity she could think of – on the off chance that Granny Tartt was wrong about which one ruled in judgement.

    "Oh, my God."

    She was tempted to kiss the gravel once getting out of the fucking car, but quickly remembered that some of the footballers would hack up their phlegm and spit it out onto this very ground after training.

   Fucking barbarians.

  More barbaric than athletes who lacked decorum, however, were the English paparazzi.

   "Okay," Ada heaved, propping herself onto the bonnet of Keeley's parked car. "Go in there and tell Ted that The Sun is planning on making you two the next fucking stain on Richmond UFC."

    Keeley nodded. "Okay, okay," And then she shook her head. "Wait, no."

    "No?"

    "I can't go in there."

   Ada blinked slowly. "Keeley, if we drove all the way here just for you to now confess that the article was true--"

    "It's not!" Keeley screeched indignantly. "I would never cheat on Jamie!"

    "And I'd kill you if you did, but I'm talking about me and how I just cheated death in that fucking car, okay? So you're going to go in there," Ada pointed to the building. "And you're going to tell Ted. Now, preferably."

    "I can't." Keeley repeated.

    "Keeley."

    "If I bump into Jamie, I'll tell him everything – you go in there and get Ted for me, please!" And when Ada's face remained unimpressed, Keeley knew what she had to do. "It's those beautiful brown eyes, you know? The ones that make everyone spill the fucking beans! The both of you have them!"

"Ugh," Ada ran a hand over her face. "Flattery gets you everywhere, Keeley Jones."

The blonde gave a guilty smile. "I know, my therapist friend said that it's because of the careers you've had. You're always looking for--"

Ada immediately stood from her slouched position and began walking towards the building's entrance, in no mood to discuss her behaviour and the root which nurtured it. It was only she was steps away from Ted Lasso's office that Ada realised her best friend probably broached the topic of psychoanalysis to push her into leaving.

   Who knew Keeley Jones was a fucking strategist?

And who knew Nathan Shelley was one as well?

Upon entering the room, Ada's eyes instinctively flickered over to the white board. The team's previous plays had been erased, and in their place was a sheet of paper held up by a ladybug magnet. Above that very sheet, written in green marker and in all-caps, were the words: NATE'S PLAY!

Ada forced herself to look away. It wasn't any of her business. She could help Ted and Beard in the evenings, come over and talk strategy or go out for dinner to discuss past matches. But it was ten in the morning now, and this was a place of work.

And Ada didn't work here.

("You're not number nine anymore.")

Ted perked up at the sight of her standing at the office's side entrance, softly raising his hand to halt the conversation between Beard and Nate.

"Hey, it's Soufflé!" The man greeted. "Oh, would you like at that? I just rhymed. What a productive mornin' this is turning out to be, y'all."

Ada offered a tight smile. "Morning. Listen, Ted--"

"Boy, am I glad you're here!" Ted rose from his seat to approach her, slipping the paper from underneath the magnet on his way over. "Nate the Great just got done telling us about this idea he's got. Reminded of something you were saying the other day."

     Ada tried to look uninterested, but she felt her eyebrows raise in intrigue – as though they had a mind of their own.

     She quickly brought a hand up to smooth them down.

   Beard frowned.

   "Go on, buddy," Ted nudged Nate, passing the plan over to him. "Tell her."

   The kit man shook his head, eyes facing downwards. His cheeks were still flushed from the compliments he had received prior to her arrival. "Oh, well, uh, no, it-it was your idea first, Ada, so, erm, you can say it."

    Ada blinked. "But, I don't know what it is."

  "She doesn't know what it is." Ted echoed, nudging Nate once more. "Tell her so she knows."

   Nate took a moment before walking towards the model, the folded sheet now in his own tight grip. Once close enough, he held it out for her to grab.

    Ada pretended not to notice how shaky his hands were.

    (Nate was terrified. This wasn't the same as showing his play to Ted and Beard. Those two were coaches, yes, and they were the ones manning this metaphorical ship, sure, but they were new to this. New to football and the standard to which Premier League teams were held.

     Ada Tartt knew, though. More than Ted, who relied on instinct. More than Beard, whose knowledge was obtained from books rather than experience. And she knew more than Nate, too – so much so, in fact, that she apparently already had this idea.)

    The silence which fell over the room was light and contemplative for Ada, but tense and full of anticipation for the other three. They all awaited her response with bated breath.

"You want to use my brother as a decoy?" She finally asked.

"No!" Nate's response was immediate. And inaccurate. The kit man opened and closed his mouth many a time, unable to come up with the necessary words. "Well, erm, actually--"

"Nate," Ted mumbled. "Remember what we talked about. Believe in yourself."

Did he think Ada couldn't hear?

Or was he hoping that she would, and that she'd take this moment to help engrain a lesson of confidence into Nathan Shelley's head?

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"Tell me your plan." She said, tone light enough to be considered encouraging but firm enough so that Nate knew it was a demand.

"Yes."

Ada raised a single eyebrow. "Your plan is yes, is it?"

Beard and Ted exchanged a look.

Oh, she's good at this.

"No," Nate shook his head. "No, I mean, yes, I think Jamie should be decoy. Yes."

Another silence. She looked back to the sheet in her hand, eyes tracing the stick figures representing each player (if she lingered too long on the one with facial hair, then it was purely to appreciate the attention to detail) and the little notes made in the margins.

It was well thought out, and had much potential. A fleshed out version of the hypothetical she had fed Ted Lasso the other day. A different interpretation, yes, but still a play that focused on using Jamie's reputation as a ball hog to their advantage.

"It's good." Ada mumbled after a pause, folding the paper up and holding it out for Nate to take back.

But, Nate didn't reach for it. Didn't move at all, in fact. He just blinked at Ada in a rather dumb way. It was just as endearing as it was dumb, though – he looked like a newborn who was just only figuring out how to focus his irises.

Noticing that his kit man appeared to be stuck, Ted reached around his small frame and plucked the sheet from Ada.

"So you like it?" He asked for clarification.

Ada nodded, slipping her hands into the pockets of her denim jacket. "I do. He won't, though."

"Hmmm." Beard shrugged. "Tartt's always been kind of a diva."

Ada moved to agree, but paused when the words clicked in her mind. She looked over to see an amused Beard and an uncomfortable Ted.

"You read the article, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Article? What, as in, an article of clothing? Like. . . pants?"

    Beard's honest reply earned him a scolding look from his best friend. And Ted's outrageous one earned him a look of disbelief from Ada.

At least Nate was back, though. He gave Ada a shy grin and moved back to his previous position by the board.

"Alright," Ted cleared his throat, clearly looking to get things back on track before the conversation could veer into Ada Tartt's controversial media presence. "So that's it then. The play is a-go!"

"Wasn't it already?" Ada asked, pointing to the board where the plan had just been displayed.

"Well, I mean, we had the majority, but now you're here and we got a full vote! Simon says yes! Bingo! Left hand blue, right foot green. Go Fish!"

Nobody understood what he was trying to say.

"I don't eat fish." Ada felt the need to clarify, just in case Ted was making lunch plans mid-ramble.

"Wait, you're actually going to use my play?" Nate gaped. And then he met eyes with Ada. "I--I mean our play."

"It's your play, Nate."

The kit man grinned again. And his head was raised higher than it was a moment ago.

Ted nodded. "We're gonna try your play out. Try it on. See if it fits. You know, it might not. Then again, it might be a very flattering silhouette." He ran his hands down his waist and over hips, like some sort of Marilyn Monroe impersonator. "I might wear it right outta the store. Makes me feel good. And I start to strut. I'm like, I like this. I like the way this makes me feel."

He began strutting in place, and Ada had to blink to make sure she wasn't seeing things.

Ted then pointed to her. "Hey, you, model lady! Show us your strut!"

"You couldn't afford my strut." She snorted.

"Diva." Beard gave her a thumbs down and started booing. The other two joined in when they noticed how much the sound was aggravating her.

So she strut. Reluctantly. And without much effort.

"Attagirl!" Ted cheered. He then turned to his partner. "Show 'em your strut, coach. Go on."

Beard complied, never one to deny Ted Lasso anything. His rendition of a strut seemed to incorporate a lot of the robot dance.

   Ada laughed as she watched him move around the room.

"Yeah, there you go. Oh, yeah, yep!" Ted applauded. "Let me see you strut now, Nate, go on!"

The kit man was reluctant. But it was clear that he wanted to join in.

Ada briefly wondered if he was acting like he didn't want to simply because it had taken her a while to agree. He seemed to do that a lot; try to fit in by mimicking who he believed to be the coolest in the room. And whilst she was a bit chuffed to know that she was the coolest person there (which was admittedly obvious, but still good for the ego), she couldn't help but pity him as well.

That was no way to live.

"There you go, Nate!" She found herself encouraging him. "Go on, lad!"

It took him a moment. And then he was putting his fists to his chin and beginning to strut in a very hip focused manner.

"Yeah, that's one way to do it." Ted nodded, looking back to Ada and biting back a grin at her amused expression. It was so easy to forget how young she was sometimes. How light.

"There you go! I mean, you're no Ada Tartt, but that woman's A-list, ya know?"

The mention of her profession scratched at Ada's brain, and she suddenly remembered that morning. And the reminder of that morning had her remembering why she was here in the first place.

Keeley.

The article.

"Ted--" But when she turned to face the man, she noticed that he was gone. That all of them were, actually. Where there had just been four, now stood one.

Ada rushed over to the doorway, leaning left to see the three men strutting down the hallway as though it were a catwalk.

"Ted!" She called out.

The man was walking ahead of the other two, and turned at the sound of his name being called. But he didn't calculated the move, and ended up having the air knocked out of his lungs. Nate and Beard had walked straight into his front.

   A symphony of pained groans echoed throughout the empty hallway. The coaches had to hold Nate up, his small stature and lack of muscle making it so that he would have easily crumbled to the ground had they not supported his weight.

   Ada bit back a laugh, rushing over to make sure they were all uninjured.

Ted's chin was already bruising from where Nate's forehead had hit it, and Beard's cap now covered the entirety of his face. Ada reached over to help him fix it, but a giggle escaped her at the sight of the red marks now lining cheeks from the buckram.

The man glared at her.

"I always tell everyone that strutting is way harder than it looks." Ada sighed. "You have to be licensed and everything. Not everyone can just fucking model."

"Really?" Nate asked with a wince, hand still rubbing his forehead.

"No. You mind if I borrow Ted?"

"Oh, take me!" The man grinned.

Beard pointed to him. "Practice in fifteen, coach." He looked to Ada as well, clearly extending the invitation.

The girl didn't say anything, just offering the other two a nice enough smile before grabbing Ted by the hand, dragging him down the hall.

"Are we finally havin' one of those friend type excursions?" He asked rather childishly.

Ada took a left. "We're not at that level of friendship yet."

"We're at the hand holdin' level, though, so I can't complain, right?"

     She went to respond, but chose to focus on biting back gag instead. There, at the end of the hall, propped up against the wall, was Keeley Jones. And down her throat was the invasive tongue of Jamie Tartt.

    "I'm assuming you didn't bring me down here to watch your future niece or nephew be conceived," Ted joked. He immediately raising his hands in surrender when Ada turned to give him a sharp look.

The two waited for the couple to part. Thankfully, it was only a moment later that Jamie was whispering his farewells to his girlfriend and leaving to change into his kit.

"If I see him I'll spill the beans my arse! Why the fuck am I doing all the work around here?" Ada huffed as Keeley hurriedly made her way over to them.

"I'm sorry! I didn't expect him to come to training so early! I literally thought he was you at first!"

The former athlete scoffed. "Okay, we don't even look that much alike."

"Yes, you do." Ted and Keeley denied in unison. And then they turned to each other, the former wanting to properly greet her and the latter ready to share the horrible news.

"Good mornin'!"

"Everything's shit."

    Ted, who didn't even know why he was here, blinked at the sudden drop in atmosphere. "Are you okay?"

    "Did you not hear what she just said?" Ada sighed. "Everything's shit."

    "Oh, no." The man frowned, genuinely concerned for his new friend.

    Keeley pulled her phone of her pocket to show him the article. "This was gonna be the front page of The Sun today."

    "Manager Shags Star Player's Girlfriend. That's the headline." Ada told him.

    "And shag isn't good?" Ted guessed, still adjusting to the change in dialect.

    Ada shrugged. "I mean, mine have always been pretty good."

    But it had been a while. Ada couldn't even remember her last time. She knew that it was a guy that she'd met on her first night as a Richmond resident. Foreign. Blonde, maybe. Tall enough that he kept bumping his head onto the doorframe of her ensuite bathroom.

And she could remember how it felt, being with him. But--

     "I think a more accurate headline would be, Manager Innocently Feeds Young Woman Whose Relationship Does Not Define Her." Ted spoke, knocking Ada out of her thoughts.

     She looked over to see him studying the image very carefully. He was clearly trying (and failing) to find anything inappropriate within the picture.

   Keeley snatched the phone back. "Ted, this is really bad." She screeched, searching the halls for any stray eyes or ears with a newfound paranoia.

    "It is." Ada nodded.

     "Except I look insanely fit in this picture."

    "You do." Ada nodded again. She leaned over her best friend's shoulder, watching as Keeley zoomed in on herself from all angles.

     Ted felt that it was only polite to agree. "Yeah, no, it's beautiful light."

     "How about you tell him the important part, though, babe?"

     "Oh, yeah," The blonde looked back to Ted. "My friend who works at the paper said he can hold this story for one day as a favor. When this shit hits, Jamie is going to go mental."

Ted looked to Ada, and it was only when he saw her expression that he began to feel a semblance of proper dread. She knew Jamie the best, and if she feared his reaction, then they all definitely should.

"It won't be good, Ted." She told him. "This and having him be decoy? Me brother doesn't like to be slighted. You're asking for the worst."

"What? You said you liked the play!"

"And I do! Great play, really! I'm sure it'll work! But Jamie's the best player on the team and you're asking him to play pretend."

"Okay, well, what if we--"

     "Hey!" Keeley yelled. "You can talk about fucking footie later! What are we going to about this stupid article? There'll be photographers all over us, and the next picture of me will not be this perfect!" She turned her phone to face them, gesturing to her legs and tits for emphasis.

    Ted and Ada exchanged a look.

   "I am gonna be mid-sneeze face, like--" The blonde forced her face into an ugly expression; eyes shut, nostrils flared, mouth wide open. And then she dropped it. "Guess what the headline will be?"

    "Gesundheit?" Ted guessed.

    Ada had a go as well, "Hard drugs and their consequences?"

     The man turned to her with a laugh. "That's a good one, I like yours!"

    "Cheers, I like yours, too. Didn't know you spoke German, Ted."

     "Oh, I'm not fluent."

     Keeley was not at all amused with the way this conversation was going. "Jamie's Tartt Breaks Tartt's Heart. That'll be the headline."

    Ted blinked. "Did you just come up with that?" He asked, very much impressed.

    "Yeah."

   "Everyone would read that!"

    Keeley nodded firmly. "Of course they would. I mean, you have no idea the power of rhyming in this goddamn country!" She pointed to Ada. "The whole nation knew when she stopped playing football because the headline was stuck in everyone's head: Ada Tartt Ready to Part, Story Explained from End to Start."

    Ted turned to the young woman beside him. "And did they?"

    "Hmm?"

     "Did they explain the story from end to start?"

    Ada scoffed. "Yeah, of course he fucking did. It was Trent Crimm. That invasive prick went all the way to me nan's house for a fucking exclusive! And she let him in, even made tea. Thought he was me and Jamie's old paediatrician."

    Noting the obvious disdain in her voice, Ted thought it best not to confess that he rather liked the blunt journalist. Instead, he made an empathetic sound and rubbed her shoulder.

    Keeley eyed the two of them incredulously. "Why would they pick me anyway? You two have been attached at the fucking hip the last few days! I'd definitely assume you were the ones shagging if I didn't know that she looked to you as the father she always wanted and you see her as the child you left behind."

The silence was loud.

Keeley winced. "Sorry. It's that therapist friend, remember? She's staying with me while her flat gets done up. Final exams soon. Loud reader."

"Wow," Ted laughed, clearly trying to diffuse the tense and awkward air. "You're friends with someone at The Sun and Doctor Phil? All's I got is Coach Beard."

"You also have Rebecca Welton." Ada pointed out. She was also trying to talk over the metaphorical echo of Keeley's words.

Wait.

Coach and model met eyes again, and this time it was a look of realisation that they shared.

✷

She said that she had the right connections, and they could be assured that the story would not be published come tomorrow. Ada was not at all surprised, but found it impossible not to be impressed.

Rebecca was like the President of the United States or something.

     "Anyway, glad to help." The older woman said with a tight smile.

   "Thank you." Keeley said earnestly. She only now say that she didn't (completely) fear Rebecca Welton.

   Ted nodded with his own grin, leading the two girls towards the door. "I'll see y'all later," He pointed to Rebecca and Higgins.

"Ada, stay a moment?" Rebecca impulsively called out before they could leave. She could admit to being a bit weary of the girl, of her past loyalties and the person she had since become, but a larger part of her would always care for Ada Tartt.

   And it was that part that took over her now.

    Keeley looked to her best friend. "I'll wait in the car, lovey."

    "Oh, no need." Ted shook his head. "She's staying for practice."

    "Training." Ada corrected. But she still made no move to decline. Instead, she nodded to Keeley, letting her know that it was okay to leave.

     A silence enveloped the office when it was only the two of them left.

   Well, three, actually.

   Rebecca gave Higgins a look. The man immediately dashed towards the door. He offered Ada a quick smile on his way out, but she didn't even have the time to return the gesture.

   "Sit, please." The older woman said with a smile which was only a little bit forced.

    Ada glanced between the two chairs. The left seat was the one she used to go for. The one she would always choose to sit in when visiting Rupert.

   It was rare that she would have the time to visit during the season, especially before Jamie was loaned to Richmond, but she used to make the drive down when possible. And when in town, she would always drop by – and the left chair was where she would sit. It was there that she would laugh and talk sports politics and discuss matches with Mr. Mannion himself.

    Ada sat in the right chair today.

    (Rebecca pretended not to notice.)

    "You alright?" The girl asked. This was sudden. And odd. Sure, they had those two separate conversations when Ada came into work with Ted the other day, but that was the most interaction they'd had in months. And neither conversation was as intimate as this one.

  It felt weirdly reminiscent, to sit alone like this and talk.

It felt like times of old.

   Ada didn't know if she liked it yet.

   "I should be asking you that," Rebecca sighed, sitting back in her seat. "I saw the paper today. Wish I'd known about it, I probably could have helped you the way I just helped them."

It scared Rebecca how honest she was being when she said that.

Ada shrugged, a faint smile on her face. "It's alright, Bex. It's not like you call into The Sun everyday to check which articles are being published."

Rebecca didn't know what hurt more; hearing that sweet nickname leave Ada's mouth for the first time in ages, or the fact that the young girl before her genuinely believed Rebecca to be above calling the press.

1. American coach doesn't know what an offside is.

2. Manager shags star player's girlfriend.

3. Sparks fly between Richmond team captain and former Arsenal striker.

The last tip was scrapped, and was currently collecting dust in the third drawer of Rebecca's desk. But she had planned on sending it in – or rather, planned on having Higgins send it in – just as she'd done with the other two tips.

She'd written it down with a smile on her face, and the prospect of creating more tension within the team (how would Jamie Tartt react to such a headline; his twin and his rival?) had truly excited her. She hadn't even thought about poor Ada, and the consequences that she would end up facing had such a rumour spread.

And perhaps it was guilt that took hold of Rebecca now. A guilt that had her sit Ada Tartt down and ask after her emotional wellbeing.

"So," Rebecca cleared her throat, trying to clear her darkening thoughts by asking light questions. "Your friend, Keeley. She drove you here?"

"Yeah, I came from a shoot."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Did you leave before finishing, Trouble?"

Her tone was motherly and firm, but her eyes were teasing. It was a comforting sight, so much so that Ada couldn't help the smile making its way onto her own face.

"I'll make up for it." She shrugged sheepishly.

Rebecca chuckled, "You would always say that. I'll make up for it. Said it when you spilled wine on my rug, too."

"Did I not make up for that?"

"The £80,000 rug? You most certainly did not."

"Rupert almost cried!" Ada recalled with a laugh, but lost any sense of amusement when she saw Rebecca tense at the mentioned name.

    Ada watched as the Not-Rebecca mask moulded itself back onto the other woman's face. The faint expression of mirth died, and its place now breathed a look of suspicion. And betrayal. And more emotions which Ada could not place.

   "Keeley drove you here."

    Ada shifted in her chair. "Um, yeah. Did I not. . . did I not just say that?"

  Rebecca ignored her. "Because you don't drive, is that right?"

    Ada stilled. She was suddenly overcome with the urge to hurl herself from this chair and race for the door – in the same fashion that Higgins had done only minutes ago.

    But Rebecca was still talking.

   "You know, Rupert and I still lived together during the divorce trial. A matter of pride, I suppose. Neither of us felt like we should have been the one to leave."

   "He should've left." Ada said hesitantly, not knowing whether or not she was at liberty to interrupt and voice her own opinions.

   "Yes," Rebecca slowly nodded, staring at the model. "He should have. But Rupert was never the sort to do the right thing. Unless you asked for it, of course."

     "Rebecca--"

    "I heard him on the phone with a lawyer one night." She continued. "He was being loud, and I thought I could be smart about it. Maybe catch a thing or two. Relay it to my own team. Finally win at something, even if it all felt like losing."

    This conversation didn't feel like one that Ada wanted to be having, especially if it was going in the direction she thought it was, but she made no move to leave the room or change the subject. Because from the way that Rebecca kept tensing up, it was obvious that she wasn't having the best time either.

The older woman was clearly talking out of a need to do so, rather than a want. And what could Ada do other than grant her the courtesy of listening?

   "But, he wasn't talking about himself or me or who would get the dog. Wasn't even talking about the divorce." Rebecca sighed, her eyes leaving the wall to meet Ada's once more. "He was talking about a girl he knew who was in a bit of a bind. Said that he knew her well, and that her career was starting to take off. That all she needed now was a little help. "

    "I thought it was one of the women he was seeing. But then he said that she was a good kid who got herself in a bad situation. Driving under the influence, he said." The woman let out a dry sort of laugh. "He always used to call you that, you know. Rebecca, meet this sixteen year old girl who's starting out. She's a good kid. Or Rebecca, I'm thinking about getting Ada her first car. She's a good kid. She deserves it."

     And Rebecca had never denied that Ada was deserving of such a moniker. Because Ada Tartt was a good kid, and more than that, she had always been a good person to have around.

   There had a been a time not too long ago when they were incredibly close. Practically inseparable at social events and on rare weekends. But that was back when Ada was a young girl trying to make a name for herself and Rebecca was a woman still adjusting to weight of the name she had taken. Back when Rebecca would slip her a flute or two of champagne at boring functions and galas. Back when Ada had football and Rebecca had Rupert.

   But, all too soon, all Rebecca had were divorce lawyers. And all Ada had were physical therapists

    They hadn't spoken since then.

    "I crashed that car. The one he got me." Ada laughed. It was wet and she wasn't amused, but the laugh escaped her anyway.

    "And now you don't drive."

    "It's me leg."

     A silence enveloped the room for a moment, one so tense that you could almost hear it crack under the pressure.

   Ada felt it was her duty to break it. Even if she didn't feel entirely comfortable saying all that she was going to say.

   (If her conversation with London taught her anything, it was that the difficult talks were important to have. They were the ones that sucked to get through, sure, but were also the only talks that provided relief.

   Ada could only wait and hope that this talk brought the same end result; relief and nothing but relief.)

   "It was me leg." She repeated, watching as Rebecca subtly sat up straighter in her seat. "I wrapped that car around a fucking lamp post, fractured me femur. I had that match against Manchester coming up, and the last thing I needed was to be pulled out for a small injury -- or for me bad image. Me dad said he would be there, for the game. Said he'd be sitting front row. I couldn't fucking miss it."

      This was worse than that suffocating, dazed feeling from earlier this morning. Because now Ada was present.

    Completely and totally present.

    Way too fucking present.

"So Rupert helped cover it up."

     "He didn't want to." Ada felt compelled to point out. "Said he wasn't interested in getting involved in that kind of thing. I had to convince him."

  "And then you played the match while injured." The motherly tone was back, sans amusement and twice as firm.

   "Played my arse off. Scored three goals in the first half."

   "And broke your fractured leg."

    "It was stupid," The young woman swallowed. She didn't realise she was crying until the first tear was already dangling on the end of her chin. "I know that. But I wouldn't have played if I wasn't up for the position of captain, okay? But I was up for it, Rebecca."

    Ada couldnt remember the match. Couldn't remember the the fall or the break or the pain either. But, she remembered the aftermath. How nobody knew about the fracture, and therefore believed that she had been exaggerating her pain.

   The fall wasn't even that hard, they'd all said, We've seen her take worse.

   The public thought she was lying. Her teammates thought she had given up. Her father thought she was weak.

     "And the pills?"

     "Also stupid, yes. Fine. I can admit that. But, it was a one time thing." And it had been, back then.

     Another silence fell over them. This one just as tense, but there was an underlining sense of understanding there. Which was good.

     Still, if Ada had known that she would end up discussing her fall from grace, then she never would have offered to accompany Keeley to Nelson Road.

    "I was so scared when I overheard that call, you know." Rebecca suddenly confessed, leaning back once more. "Not because I thought something horrible happened to you. Rupert sounded far too calm for that. But, when you didn't call me, I thought. . .well, I don't know what I thought."

    Rebecca remembered that night. Remembered the flash of worry overcoming her at the thought of Ada being injured. And how that worry turned to confusion when she herself didn't receive a similar call.

   The question of Did she choose Rupert? had echoed in her mind for months after that.

    She knew from Jamie Tartt, who was notoriously loud in his nagging, that his sister had gone through a period of abrupt silence. Apparently, she had stopped replying to messages and was horrible at returning calls. It wasn't long after that complain was voiced that everyone figured out the reason for her withdrawal.

   Because whilst Ada was cutting off everyone associated with football clubs, she seemed to be rubbing shoulders with everyone involved in the night club business.

    Every week she was on the front page of a paper, drinking and dancing and having her wild nights. People had theorised that it was all a big stunt; that she had given up football to pursue modelling, and that she began clubbing to catch the eye of agencies.

    Rebecca knew better than that, though – knew the real Ada. The girl was always good at playing roles; the cherub with a golden foot and the socialite with a bad liver and the model with an attitude. But, none of those girls were Ada Tartt.

    The girl sat before her now, with teary eyes and blotchy cheeks and a lazy smirk on her face. That was Ada.

   A sad Ada, yes, but Ada nonetheless.

    "I didn't want anyone to know." The model shrugged, wiping at her eyes. She never thought to feel bad for not calling Rebecca after the accident. Never had the time to be. "I found out about the divorce from the Independent, though, so we're even."

    (The mention of paper lit a bulb over Rebecca's head, her mind flashing to Trent Crimm. And then she immediately felt guilty for scheming, what with Ada sat in front of her so vulnerably.)

   "Have you taken any pills since then?" She couldn't help but ask. Her tone was soft now, as though a firm tongue was not strong enough to stably hold up the weight of such a question.

   Only a ductile tongue could manage.

    Ada didn't bother answering, giving Rebecca a telling look. Nobody went from a star athlete to the Paris Hilton of England with just a bit of drink in them. She had taken more pills than the doctors prescribed and went out more than the physical therapist advised.

     "I'm sober now." Was all she thought to say.

    And she really was. Ada knew she didn't have to be, given the fact that her desire for alcohol never prodded the line of addiction, but it was a choice she made months back. It was a personal journey, rather than a professionally recommended one. She never even went to rehab; hadn't thought to do so and was never advised to.

    Because she didn't have a problem.

    (And Ada didn't want to make her non-problem a problem for anyone else either, hence why only Jamie and Keeley knew of her decision to cut out drinking. And now Rebecca, too, she supposed.)

   "I didn't care about the dog."

     Ada slowly looked up from where she had been staring at her own hands, eyes squinted at the sudden change in topic.

    Rebecca sighed, a slight sheepishness to her posture. "Rupert and I, we never had children. But, our lawyers wanted to add custody battle to the list of wars he and I were already fighting. So they had us fight for that stupid dog." She looked to Ada. "I never cared about who got it. I only really cared about. . . which one us got to keep you."

   "Me?" Ada blinked.

    "He always used to joke about how we never had children because we had you. Don't think it was much of a joke."

    The two shared a laugh. It was still tense in that room, and the laughs were still a tad forced, but it was a laugh. And it felt good.

   "So when you didn't call that night. . ." The older woman began to admit once they both quietened down. "I thought you'd chosen him."

   "I didn't know about the divorce then." Ada reminded her lightly.

    Rebecca smiled tightly. "Yes, I suppose you didn't."

     "I had no idea, Rebecca. I swear."

      "But you knew about the other women he was seeing."

    Rebecca had to say it. These thoughts and theories and questions had been piling up in her head for months. She didn't even care if Ada knew, but she needed to hear it be said. Wanted to hear it be acknowledged.

   Accountability mattered to her now.

    "I did," Ada started hesitantly. Her eyes subconsciously flickered over to the carpeted floor, where a coffee stain once sat. It was gone now, no doubt having been scrubbed many a time by many a cleaner since it came to be, but Ada could still see it if she looked hard enough. "I came to visit him here after I found out. Told him I'd tell you."

    She looked back to Rebecca, eyes damp once more. "He was so angry. Said he'd never speak to me again."

     Despite feeling a sting of betrayal at having her suspicions confirmed, Rebecca couldn't help but reach out and grip Ada's hands in her own.

   Rupert had been like a father to the girl. The two had talked about it many times – or rather, Ada had talked whilst Rebecca listened. She'd talked about how James Tartt was an absence, and how cruelty typically followed him on the rare occasion that he chose to be a presence. Talked about how she felt liked God was making up for the cards he had dealt her in childhood when he made her a footballer and gave her a man named Mannion as some sort of guardian angel.

   "A rich bloke named Mannion and his tall wife who take me out for dinner." A teenaged Ada had once laughed. "Sort of like the parents I would have had in another life."

    Rebecca didn't doubt that Ada was afraid that day, the day that she confronted him. Not for fear of being harmed, even she knew Rupert wasn't the sort, but rather a fear of losing him.

    Ada was always afraid of losing people, it seemed.

    "I didnt tell you, even though I said I would. I don't know why. But I stopped talking to him, I promise."

     Rebecca sighed. "It's okay."

     "No," Ada shook her head. Was this how Keeley felt earlier that day; this overwhelming guilt, and deep hatred aimed at yourself for having contributed to someone's pain? "No, Rebecca, because I still called him when it benefited me. When I needed help with the car thing."

    Rebecca released Ada's hands from her grip. The girl expected her to yell, maybe even slap her for being so horrible.

    She should have known better.

    The blonde softly grabbed Ada's face and pulled her forward, placing a delicate kiss on her forehead when she was close enough. The soothing touch reminded Ada of her mother. It made her long for Manchester – for home.

    She supposed Rebecca and this football club could do for now.

    "Are we okay now?" Ada couldn't help but mumble.

    Rebecca laughed, placing another quick kiss on the young woman's head before leaning back in her chair. "Yes, we're okay."

   "I'll make up for it. For real, this time."

    "I'm sure you will."

     It would no doubt take a while for Rebecca to properly get past everything, but she would eventually. Because she cared for Ada Tartt more than she cared for her own pride.

    She would always forgive her.

   "Anything you wanna share, Bex?" The girl sighed, rubbing at her stained cheeks in exhaustion.

     (Rebecca could tell her about Ted. About how she planned on destroying this club. About how she was the one responsible for the article.)

    "No, Trouble."

     She could only hope Ada was just as forgiving.

 

    

    

✷

    The talk with Rebecca did, in fact, end up providing a sense of relief for the involved parties. Just as Ada had predicted that it would.

   Granted, she didn't think it would turn out anything like that, but relief was relief and who was she to complain?

The women ended up talking for the rest of the afternoon, indulging in post-cry tea and recapping all that had happened since their last proper conversation. Training had already ended by the time Rebecca got done telling Ada about her scandal filled cooking classes, so the girl made sure to text Ted as soon she got home, promising that she would make it up to him by attending tomorrow's session. She also texted Jamie to ask if they were still on for dinner tomorrow night.

Ada Tartt sent out two messages, and she received two in return. Neither of which came from the expected persons.

The first was so obviously from Roy Kent, another anonymous message in which he spoke to her as if she were her brother's keeper.

He bullies Nate.

+ Colin and Isaac.

Fucking stupid. She didn't even have time to wonder how he got the number to her new phone, too busy trying to decode his message. Did it mean that Jamie was bullying all three, or that the other two were acting as sidekicks to her King Prick of a twin?

The second text was from London Abara.

Headline was very bad today.

Always one to state the fucking obvious.

Dress cute tomorrow.

Dress cute to yell at a bunch of sweaty men? Ada knew her manager was a fashion guru, but was she not aware of the fact that the clothes you wore to a football pitch were up to be destroyed by flying mud or quick-to-stain grass or surprise rain?

London didn't even offer her tips on what to wear, or offer any explanation as to how dressing good for training would help make up for the headline.

The confusing messages put a damper on her mood. So, too, did the fact that Ted and Jamie were apparently too cool to respond to her texts. So why the fuck did the universe think it would be funny to add Trent Crimm into the shit mix?

And why didn't Rebecca tell her about it when Ada stopped by her office that very morning?

(Guilt.)

He had already greeted Ted and Beard by the time she made it to the pitch. Her blood boiled at the sight of him, and boiled even more at the sight of him stood in her place; the space between Ted and the refreshment table.

(Okay, so, maybe Ada was looking for any excuse to hate Trent more than she already did. She'd only attended training once this season and wasn't attached to any place in particular. Plus, she was pretty sure she didn't even stand there last time.)

"Ada Tartt." The journalist greeted when she approached.

Ada didn't bother greeting him back. She moved to stand by Beard, crossing her arms and keeping her eyes on the team.

    Ted gave an uncomfortable little laugh, moving towards the girl in small, pigeon-like side steps. He leaned down to whisper once close enough, "Great to have ya."

   "Beard, please tell your friend that I refuse to speak with him until he responds to me message." She said, gaze firmly planted on the pitch.

   Beard blinked.

    Ted, who had subconsciously been trying to come off as incredibly professional in front of Trent Crimm, felt his façade slip and crack "I didn't know I had to respond to that," He frowned.

   "Beard."

   "He said he didn't know he had to respond to that."

   "Hm."

    Ted looked to his partner for aid, but all Beard could do was shrug. He did not want to get involved or, God forbid, pick sides.

   This was worse than when his parents separated.

   Trent, who had scooted closer in order to listen in on their conversation (journalistic urges would always come before social etiquette for him), watched as Ted sighed and reached for his phone. A glance over the coach's shoulder confirmed Trent's suspicions; that Ted Lasso was going out of his way to reply to the day old text.

     He watched as the man typed out a rather redundant "Great! See you tomorrow!"

   But, what truly caught Trent's eye was the fact that Ada Tartt was saved onto Ted's phone as Coach #3.

    Coach?

    And she was here for training as well?

    Ada looked rather out of place, aesthetically speaking. She was dressed like one would expect of an off duty model; distressed jeans and a white camisole, with a black leather jacket to shield her from the morning brisk. No doubt it was all vintage, and no doubt the whole outfits was worth more than the upkeep and maintenance of this star-studded pitch.

   But whilst she dressed like a model, Trent couldn't help but notice that she was stood there with the posture of an all-knowing coach.

   And that she was watching the team's drills with the trained eye of a player.

    Three dense professions crammed into a body so young. Three heavy roles being performed, simultaneously, by a girl who had only just taken to the stage.

    It was hard for Trent to accept the fact that she was coaching, if indeed she was. He had been present for her ever first game; had written of her impressive skills as an up and coming player, and even credited her for Manchester's win that day.

    Trent was also there at her last game, when she was at the peak of her career as Arsenal's striker. It was with a heavy heart that he credited her for Manchester's win that day, too.

   When she left football, he had written a summary of her career. It was somewhat a passion project, chronicling her rather short journey as an athlete; the good, the bad, and the ugly.

   And then there was the partying. He hadn't wanted to get into that, because Trent had considered himself a journalist of some integrity and it was obvious that the only sports Ada Tartt was engaging in were beer pong and shot runs. But his editors had demanded it of him; they wanted to broaden their audience and increase their sales.

    Apparently, the public really wanted to know about how the most notorious female striker of the twenty first century was downing vodka and waking up at youth hostels.

    She had kept her image clean in the last few months, though – if one ignored the tales of divadom and general tabloid gossip, which Trent did. The girl was busy these days, he knew. Plastered on billboards and campaigning for just about every respected brand there was.

    And now, she was coaching a football team? A male Premier League team, at that?

    Ted noticed the journalist's sudden presence and followed his short line of sight. He laughed when he realised Trent was looking at the contact name, "It's a nickname. Cool,  ain't it? Don't think she likes it."

    Trent gave a tight smile. The two men turned their attention back to the phone when three dots popped up on the screen; Ada was replying via text despite standing two or three paces away.

    "See you then," Her message read. She then added a rather passive, "Hope it's not bring your journalist to work day tho. Fucking hate them."

    Trent moved back to his previous position, farther away from the girl.

   Soon enough, they were all focused on training. Ada couldn't help but smile as she watched them run through Nate's play.

    They were all quick and fluid. Their kicks were measured and accurate. The players passed each other like parting waves, and passed to each other like transporting currents.

    Bumbercatch was a bullet.

    Jamie was a decoy.

    Sam was a fucking star.

     And Roy -- well, Roy didn't matter. But Ada couldn't help how her eyes would occasionally wander over to him. Probably a subconscious urge to make sure that the old man didn't keel over from the strenuous exercise or something, she didn't know.

    The ball was suddenly Obisanya's, and he didn't hesitate to dribble and book it towards the goal. And just like Nate predicted, all those with the ability to stop or intercept him, such as a burly Isaac or a quick Colin, were too busy on the other side of the pitch; blocking and guarding Jamie.

    A rather useless Jamie.

    (Okay, so, Ada was still a little bitter about him leaving her on delivered.)

    "Oh!" Ted cheered as Sam kicked the ball into the net. "Snuck it by 'em!"

     Ada couldn't help but laugh, "Yeah, he fucking did!" She clapped the man on the shoulder, to show him that all was well (and to wipe the dead mosquito she'd just killed onto his jacket).

    Ted grinned at her before running onto the pitch. He blew his whistle excitedly as he approached Sam. "Thataway, Sammy! How'd that feel?"

    The Nigerian boy laughed, just as excited as his coach was. "Oh, wonderful, Coach! I felt that one in my penis!"

   "Is it weird that I know exactly what he's talking about?" Ada mumbled from her place on the sidelines.

    "No," Beard assured her.

    "Yes."

     "Nobody asked you, Trent Crimm, the fucking Independent."

    "Right."

    (How did she make everything sound like a vile insult?)

    Ted was still nodding at Sam, smile never wavering. "Yeah, no, that sounds about right. That's good, yeah!" He then turned to look at his striker. "Hey, Jamie, you gotta sell that run-through hard, baby!"

    "Fuck," Ada groaned. She knew this wasn't going to go well, and so with a nod to Beard and absolutely nothing for Trent, she began her jog towards the centre of the pitch.

    A few of the players noticed the model making her way over, and they moved to make room. Ada went to stand by Colin, where she would have the best view of Jamie and Ted.

    Ada leaned her head on the boy's shoulder, hoping nobody could tell that her leg was aching. She should have known that nobody sucked more at minding their business than Roy Kent, though. The man gave her a look, clearly calling her stupid for running with a leg that would never properly heal.

    (Roy also watched as the skin of her forehead brushed against the warmth of Colin's neck, but she turned her eyes away from him before she could notice.)

     "Make the defence believe you!" Ted was saying to her brother. Each word seemed to be plucking at Jamie's nerves like a guitar. And in case that wasn't enough, the man clearly thought some visual aid would help.

   "Watch, like this!" Ted began doing some sort of foreign jig, waving his arms around and tightly kicking at the air as he ran around. "Ball! Ball! Give me the ball! I want the ball! Give me the ball! I would like the ball please!"

     Ada had to burrow her face into Colin's shoulder to hide her laughter. She felt the boy shake with her, and heard Isaac's loud snort of amusement.

    "Make it a performance! I want you winning an Oscar at the ESPYs next year!"

   "I think you should win best choreographer, Ted."

    The man turned to her, visibly touched. "Oh, wow, thank you. Would you believe me if I said it was improv?"

   "Shut up!" Ada gasped.

    Jamie was not half as amused. "Hold on," He scoffed, face marred with betrayal and disbelief as he met eyes with a pair identical to his own. "You want me to run decoy?"

    "It's a good play." Ada shrugged.

    Ted nodded. "Yeah, that's right."

    "It's a joke." Jamie hissed. "Unfortunately for you, though, no one thinks it's funny."

     Ada was familiar with this routine. Prickish in practice, yes, but it stemmed from a place riddled with insecurity. This was how Jamie snapped at teachers when they corrected his work. How he talked to aunts and uncles who asked after his relationship with their father. How he occasionally treated Keeley when she teased him too much.

    It was as though he never knew whether or not someone older than him (ages ranging from two to forty years his senior) was being malicious with their intention.

    So it was no surprise that his expression curdled like dairy when Roy Kent stepped forward.

   "Agree to disagree. I find it hilarious."

    (Was his voice always that deep?)

    "I thought it was funnier than Step Brothers." He continued.

     Ada, noting how her brother's face was reddening in irritation, couldn't help but scoff out loud. "A lot of things are funnier than fucking Step Brothers."

    She saw Richard nod in agreement from his place across the pitch, and caught the look of mild offence on Ted's face.

    "High praise." The coach nodded to Roy.

     The captain was now looking to Ada. "That scene where the bunk bed collapses, I used to think that was the funniest thing I'd ever seen. Just those two siblings being absolute idiots."

    Jamie and Ada met eyes.

    Was that a fucking dig?

    "But then I just saw that," Roy turned to look at an annoyed Jamie. "And now I'm gonna have to rethink my order of what I think is the funniest thing I've ever seen."

    Ted, who was completely oblivious to the subtle barbs and glares, smiled at Roy. It was hard to get the captain's attention, and he would relish in this moment now.

    "Yeah, that's when sports and art combine, as far as I'm concerned." He laughed. He then turned to Ada. "Anything you wanna say before we go again?"

    "Just that people over a hundred should be sitting on the bench."

    Ted nodded. "Yes, I agree. They play, they get injured. And what do we call that, fellas? Elderly abuse. Say it with me."

   A scattered chorus of "Elderly abuse. . .?" echoed around the pitch.

   "Exactly." Ted clapped. "Alright, let's run it again. Let's go!"

    The coach blew his whistle once more and jogged over to his position by Beard and Trent. Ada moved to follow him at a much slower pace, her leg still aching.

   "Cheers," She heard Roy say to her brother, followed by the sound of him passively clapping Jamie on the shoulder.

   And then, the dreaded sound of grass crunching as someone approached.

   "Something funny happened last week," His deep voice rang in her ears as he began walking to her left.

   Ada scoffed. "I very much doubt you have a proper sense of what constitutes as funny."

    "My watch got stolen."

    The girl halted her stride, turning to face him. She took a moment to properly look upon Roy Kent. He looked like a statue; beautiful, yes, but stoic. His eyebrows were set, his mouth was in a firm line, and his nose was incredibly defined.

     Ada couldn't think of a single moment where she'd seen him laugh.

    Maybe he only did that when she wasn't there.

    "You're right." She nodded. "That is hilarious."

    "I didn't even to the best part." Roy grinned bitterly.

   "Oh?" The model raised an eyebrow. "On a scale from the bunk bed scene to Jamie as decoy?"

   "Breaks the scale. It's why I didn't mention it in my list of funny things, wouldn't have been fair."

   "Well now I'm excited, Roy."

    (Roy felt a pull at his naval at the sound of his name leaving her mouth. He felt the urge to bend over at the waist and vomit right on the grass.)

     "Get this," He leaned his head down as though sharing a delicious secret. "I come into work the next week and Obisanya's got my fucking watching on."

   "Anyone ever tell you that you have the perfect voice to narrate a nature documentary?"

    His eyes narrowed. "Anyone ever tell you that stealing is a felony?"

    "The lion stalk his prey," She began to narrate, voice comically deep as she tried to mimic Roy's.

    The impression hurt her throat, but it would be worth all the pain in the world to see that look of irritation flash across his face and ignite his dark eyes.

    Except the look never came, and Ada found herself desperately wished that it would. He was now staring at her, the way she had stared at him only a moment ago.

(Roy was only now realising how close they were stood. And with this newfound proximity, he couldn't help noting many things.

He had never noticed that she carried hints of red in her brown eyes. Or that her left cheek carried more freckles than right. Or that her eyebrows, intimidating things when they wanted to be, were so dark; well, darker than her hair, but light enough that they didn't contrast to heavily with her sun kissed skin.

He never noticed that her hair ended right where jaw met neck.

Or that her neck was that long. It was bare, he noted. Despite the fact that she was the face of a jewellery line. No doubt it was an athlete's instinct that her forgo wearing any to a football pitch.

She was tall, Ada Tartt. He already knew that. Had absentmindedly observed that she was shorter than him, but was of a height with her twin brother. Perfect for modelling, he supposed.

Roy remembered how she'd called him short when they first properly spoke. Remembered how confused he had been at her abrupt hostility when he had been nought but decent.

He was used to her attitude by now, though.)

"Are you just going to stare at me?" Ada scoffed. "Because I will not be intimidated."

Roy grunted in irritation. It was obvious that she wasn't going to apologise for stealing his Rolex, because Ada was a Tartt and they never fucking apologised for anything.

He turned to march back to his set position, but would have to go around Colin Hughes in order to do so.

"Didn't think I'd see you standing up to our captain." The Welshman grinned.

Ada raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think I'd see you standing at all – given the fact that you'd be my pick for the bench."

"Says the girl struggling to stand on her two legs."

Roy's eyes flickered between the two of them, stunned at the speed (and familiarity) of their back and forth. He found that he didn't like being in the backseat of this conversation.

"Hughes," He snapped. "Game's about to fucking start."

The boy nodded. "Right, yeah, can I just talk to Ada for a moment."

"No."

"Sure."

Roy turned to look at her with yet another sarcastic grin. "Sorry, didn't realise I loaned you my captain arm band."

"No, I'm sorry," Ada's smile mirrored his in sentiment. "I didn't realise we were six years old and that the colour of our Jelly Bracelets still mattered."

Roy Kent did not have the honour of being a young girl in the year two thousand and two, and therefore was unaware of the playground hierarchy of that era. He didn't know that Jelly Bracelets were currency, like cigarettes in a prison.

The reference flew right over his head.

"Fucking what?"

Colin had a good laugh, though. He used to trade marbles on the playground back then.

His amusement and understanding seemed to only further annoy Roy. The captain grabbed the Welshman by the shoulders, pushing him towards the centre of the pitch.

"Back."

Ada watched them go, thoroughly amused by their opposite nature.

And from his place by Ted, Trent Crimm caught the way she smiled to herself. And how her gaze seemed to never stray from number six.

She didn't look an in-demand model then. Or a retired athelete. Or a former party girl. Or a potential coach.

"She's just a girl." The journalist found himself muttering out loud.

   Ted and Beard, who had been discussing how the next run through of Nate's play should go, halted their talk to glance at him.

    "Standing in front of a boy."

     "Asking him to love her."

     Trent's eyes immediately darted to Roy Kent. He didn't look like someone who just had Ada Tartt profess their love for him. But, then again, Trent assumed he did look much lighter than he did during the previous practice match.

    "Is that what just happened?"

     Ted laughed, "1999, amigo."

    "Notting Hill, baby!" Beard nodded.

     Trent blinked. "You mean. . . the film?"

     "Why?" Ted turned to him, seemingly empathetic. "Did you think you were quoting Shakespeare just then? I always think that when I quote 10 Things I Hate About You."

    Beard turned to his partner. "Did you know that it was a Shakespearean adaptation?"

    "No way!"

    "I swear."

    "What are we doing?" Ada asked as she finally made her way over, making sure not to spare Trent a single glance.

    "Oh, nothing." Ted shrugged with a nice smile. "Our friend here was just quoting things and it got us swearing."

    Ada blinked. "I meant what are we doing about the game -- they're waiting."

    "Right." The moustached American quickly nodded, blowing his whistle and getting back into it. "They're getting it, they're getting it."

    And they really were.

   The second run through was already turning out to be just as, if not more, clean than the first one go.

    "Interesting play, Ted." Trent couldn't help but observe.

   The star player being underused.

   The notorious captain lagging.

    The freshly discovered Nigerian serving as their champion.

   "Did you come up with this?"

    Ted turned to the journalist, quick to deny any credit for the play. "Oh, no, no, no!" He shook his head. "This is all cooked up by our very own Nate the Great."

    Trent slowly nodded. He leaned forward, looking past Ted and Beard. Ada Tartt stood at the end of the line. Nobody stood near her. Where was this illusive Nate?

   "Who's Nate the Great?"

    Ada and Beard, with their gazes firmly planted on the pitch, simultaneously lifted their arms to point to the right of them. Their index fingers swivelled in the direction of greatness, like compasses pointing North.

    "Oh, yeah," Ted nodded with a grin. "There he is!"

     "Someone's been walking their dog here! Found another poo!" Nate dropped one of the many balls he was carrying as he gestured to the fecal waste.

     "Don't touch it!" Ada called over to him, eyes still on the match. She then murmured to the men beside her. "Hate when people touch poop and make it my problem."

    Beard frowned, "Who does that?"

     "What exactly does Nate the Great do?" Trent had to ask, squinting as the short man who was now kicking at poo and juggling footballs.

    "He's just great," Ada huffed. "Maybe you should ask for some pointers, Rita fucking Skeeter."

   Ted laughed, reaching out a hand to ruffle the model's short hair. "Oh, she don't mean that. She's just protective of him because they're buddies now. She's a darn good buddy to have, our Ada."

    Beard made a noise of vague agreement before answering Trent's question. "He's a kit man."

    The pen which he had been fiddling with nearly slipped from his fingers. Trent couldn't believe his hears.

    A kit man.

  These two were coaches. Shitty ones, yes, but coaches nonetheless. Professionals, tasked with leading this team to Premier League glory. And they were allowing for a kit man to voice his opinions and come up with plays?

    Ada Tartt was finally looking at him, he noticed. Her eyebrows were raised, daring him to ask what he wanted to ask. And as a man whose job heavily relied on investigation, Trent did just that.

    "Do you mean to tell me that you're entrusting a Premier League team's attack to the kit man?" He wondered incredulously.

    Beard clapped a hand over Ada's mouth before she could speak. They already had one angry Tartt here today, they certainly did not need two.

    (There was also the need to protect her image in front of this journalist. He may have teased her about the diva headline, but Beard didn't want her sailor mouth to land her in a tight spot. Not when he knew that she was made for greater things than garbage gossip.)

    "That young fellow's forgotten more about this sport than I'll ever know." Ted confessed, adjusted the visor on his head. "Heck, he might be a genius."

    "Oh, for. . ." Ada huffed, slapping Beard's hand away from her face when she noticed that Nate was still prodding the dog shit. "Aye, stop touching it!"

    The kit man jumped. "I-I'm trying to clean it up!"

    "Not with your shoe! Use Kent's towel or something."

    Nate shook like a leaf, the prospect of offending and angering Roy Kent scaring him just as much as denying Ada's demands did.

    The young woman scoffed, marching over to him.

    The three men watched her go.

    "Anything to add, Coach?" Ted asked.

      They watched as Ada pushed Nate towards the benches, where the players would leave their belongings during training. Their bags and water bottles and emergency change in boots.

    And towels.

    "Good kid." Beard nodded.

     "And Ada Tartt?" Trent couldn't help but ask.

     They watched as Nate cowered beneath the bleachers, hoping to get away from Ada and her ploy.

   "Ada?" Ted laughed. "She's the best."

   "Coaching here, potentially?"

   "Man, I mean, I'd give her my spot. Coach?"

    Beard simply nodded once more.

    "Good kid."

✷

    Ada thought her morning would end after training, but with ten minutes left of post-match drills, she received a text from Keeley asking her to go to the parking lot.

It was there that she was met with the sight of her best friend, her manager, and a cactus.

"What the fuck?"

Keeley grinned. "Do you like it? It's a cactus."

Ada gave a slow nod. "Yeah, I see that. Is it for me?"

"No," The blonde frowned, glancing down at the potted plant. "Why, did you want one? Because I can go buy another. They're not extinct or anything." She then turned to London for reassurance. "Right?"

"No, cacti are not extinct," London sighed.

"Well, we're not talking about them, we're talking about cactuses."

Ada interrupted before they could go. "Listen, I'm glad to see you, don't think I'm not, but is there a reason you asked me out here?"

"We just wanted you to see the cactus." Her best friend shrugged. "It's for Rebecca, as a thank you. Do you think she'll like it?"

"No, Keeley," London shook her head. "We're here to tell her about the school thing. With Trent, remember?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Wait," Ada scoffed. "You knew that Trent Crimm, the fucking Independent, was gonna be here and you didn't warn me?"

London offered no apology. She merely nodded her head firmly, hands clasped behind her back.

Ada often thought that her manager had the strict presence of a politician. No doubt she would have excelled in that field had she not decided to go down the path of model management.

Even now she was dressed professionally, in a white button down and a grey pencil skirt. She still made sure to add little London-esque touches, though – to ensure that everyone knew which sector of art she managed. Butterly clips adorned her braids, baby pink stockings stood stark against the dark skin of her legs, and a golden brooch sat at her bosom.

"You look a Bratz doll running for parliament." Ada couldn't help but let slip.

London was not impressed. "And you look like you ignored my message. I said dress nicely."

"This is nice."

"I like it," Keeley nodded.

"Ada," London groaned. "You look so junior. They're gonna think you're one of the students!"

"What fucking students? What's this school thing?" She looked to her manager's outfit once more. "Are we recreating a Britney video? Banging lockers shut and singing about broken hearts?"

London wasn't given the opportunity to chide her client for being childish and too familiar, because the entire conversation was interrupted by the sudden sound of a door slamming open and banging against the brick wall.

The three women jumped.

Keeley nearly dropped her fucking cactus.

"Oi!"

Ada didn't know whys she was surprised. This man was fucking everywhere.

"Did you say anything to him?"

"Trent Crimm? Yeah, I told him your penis was made of rubber."

He was marching closer, not caring about the fact that she was stood with two other people. Or the fact that he was half naked.

(His shorts must have shrugged lower in his rush to get outside. Ada noticed the sharp contour of his hips, and the trail of hair below his naval. A sharp, V-shaped valley.)

"Don't act smart."

Ada's eyes narrowed. "Well, one of us fucking has to. You clearly left school before they taught you how to speak in full sentences."

"Your brother." He snapped. But then he realised how short that sentence was, and quickly added, "He's terrorising Nate, did you know?"

(Yes, of course, Ada fucking knew. Who didn't? And she wanted to so something about it, maybe confront Jamie in the way that she should have after he was bitch to Sam, but Ted had asked her not to.

   He told her that the team already had a captain, and that dealing with this matter fell within his list of duties.)

"I remember receiving an anonymous tip from a stranger about it, yes." Ada nodded.

"And you're doing nothing?"

"Pot," She firmly pressed a finger to his defined chest before gesturing to herself. "Meet fucking kettle."

He glared at her. "Do you know why I'm out here?"

Ada glanced at his naked torso. "Looking to mate with a fellow creature of the wild?" She guessed innocently.

"I'm looking for your prick brother, actually. Because I'm going to do something about it." Roy snapped, taking yet another step closer.

Keeley and London exchanged a rather perplexed look.

Were these two going to brawl?

Or fuck right here on the gravel?

"Oh, wow," Ada couldn't help but scoff. "Want another fucking armband? Maybe a sticker? Why should I congratulate you for doing your job?"

Roy felt his eye twitch. He didn't like being belittled, and by a Tartt no less.

What was it about their family and its genes that had Jamie and Ada Tartt become national sensations despite being absolute cocks? Was it just the fact that they were pretty? And that the both of them had a right foot kissed by God?

He had approached Jamie yesterday. Had asked to him to lay off Nate. Told him to call off his fucking lackies. And as captain, he had thought that his words would be heeded. Maybe even respected. But, he should have known better – Jamie Tartt didn't care about anyone or anything.

And, clearly, it was genetic. Because Ada was supposedly friends with Nate, and here she was, not giving a fucking toss either.

He glanced at Keeley Jones, who appeared to be beyond amused at the show taking place before her. She'd know the answer to their apparent fucking appeal.

"You know how to pick them, don't you?"

The blonde blinked. "Are you questioning my taste?" She asked, affronted.

  Keeley had never even spoken to Roy Kent before. He was always quiet whenever she visited the locker room, only ever opening his mouth to engage in a battle of bitter wits with Ada.

"Didn't your last girlfriend steal your Rolex and sell if for drug money?

Roy's eyes flickered over to Ada, and he felt his neck flush at the amusement on her face.

"Leave him alone, Keels." She snorted, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her jacket. "Rolexes get stolen more often than you'd think."

"I don't need a phone and a watch." Roy hissed.

London slowly shook her head. No wonder her family wanted her to move back to Africa.

"Look," He turned to the former striker, a cool glare in his eyes. "I didn't sign up to be your brother's minder, okay? But the new gaffer's trying to make me feel responsible for fucking Nate -- whose last name I don't even know!"

The veins in his neck were bulging as he ranted without taking a breath, and the skin of his chest was flushed. The deep scarlet shade was visible even through the dark chest hair. It was all enough for Ada to conclude that he was talking bullshit.

Roy cared. He wouldn't be this angry if he didn't. Wouldn't be annoyed at Jamie for being Jamie or at Ted for not being Ted if he actually didn't give a shit about Nate.

Ada couldn't help but be amused by the act.

She tried to smother her building smile, bringing a ringed finger up to fiddle with her lower lip.

(Roy couldn't help but catch the movement.)

"His last name's Archibald."

"No," He scoffed. "It's Shelley."

Keeley let out a soft laugh, leaning back against the bonnet of her car. "Yeah, she knows."

Roy looked to her for a moment and then turned his attention back to Ada. He had to fight back a smile for some reason, he didn't really know why.

(A single sliver of sun was poking out of the cloudy sky, shining down on the four adults. Roy thought it seemed to especially favour Ada. Her hair was a sandy blonde now, skin shining bronze.)

He pointed at her. "I don't like being tricked. Not by you, and not by that idiot you call a friend." And maybe it was the way she was looking at him or the fact that he was drained from training, but Roy found that he had no control over the word vomit. "Howdy y'all, cowboys! My name is Ted Lasso and I'm from Kansas!"

The little pow-pows which accompanied the miniature air pistols were what did it for Ada. She couldn't help the way that the laughter poured out of her. Couldn't stop herself from bending over and clutching her stomach. Couldn't help the wheezes and childish giggled spilling from her mouth like rain from the skies of London.

If Ada didn't know that London would chop her head off for dirtying her clothes, then she definitely would have collapsed onto the parking lot floor in her laughing fit.

Roy had to blink. He couldn't remember ever seeing her smile so wide or laugh this hard.

Maybe she only ever did it when he wasn't there.

"Wow," Keeley squinted at him, trying to speak over her best friend's laughter. "You're, like, really bad at impressions, man."

London nodded. "I concur. Fucking awful."

"I know he's trying to push my buttons, but I cannot be manipulated." Roy tried to get back to the point, clenching his jaw firmly as he gestured to the building behind him.

(The stoic look wasn't fooling Keeley, though. She could see the underlying emotions there; faint amusement, maybe even a semblance of pride at achieving what he thought was impossible.)

The blonde scoffed. "Come on, I've seen you get your buttons pushed."

"No," Roy shook his head stubbornly. "Impossible."

Ada wiped away her tears of amusement, nodding in agreement with her best friend. "She's right, I've seen it, too."

He turned to her. "Who?"

"Who?"

"Yeah, who pushes my buttons?"

"Your buttons?"

"Yes."

"Who pushes your buttons?"

"Yes." He repeated, biting his tongue.

"I don't understand the question."

"I didn't ask a--"

"Stop fucking shouting at me, I can't hear you."

"I'm speaking in--"

"And speak slower, too, please."

He blinked. "What--"

"Who did you say pushes your ruttons?"

"Fucking ruttons?"

"Sorry, buttons. Who did you say pushes them?"

"Nobody," Roy snapped. "Nobody can--"

Ada started making high pitched beeping sounds, pretending to press multiple little buttons. Like a pilot in a cockpit, flicking away.

Roy was not amused. Not like he was a moment ago, or even as amused as he'd faintly been on the pitch -- before Colin interrupted. He was just annoyed now.

It was good to remember why he and Ada Tartt never got along.

Keeley's eyes flickered between the pair, her ears ringing with the loud quiet which had befallen the parking lot.

"Okay," She coughed, using the potted cactus to gesture between herself and London. "Well, we're gonna go see Rebecca."

London frowned. "Actually, I was gonna drive Ada to--"

"Roy!" The blonde interrupted. Her smile didn't waver as the man turned to her with a blank face. "You're going to the school thing, aren't you?"

(Everyone ignored Ada's question of What fucking school thing?)

"How'd you know about that?" Roy scoffed.

He was only going because his niece had asked it of him. She said that her primary school's football team won some sort of award, and that him attending their assembly would score her points with her classmates.

It wasn't like Phoebe needed the cool points. She wasn't being bullied or anything (Roy would know if she was, and he would give all the perpetrators a beating), but what kid didn't like being the centre of attention?

"Well, Ada's going, too!"

"I am?"

"She is?"

London nodded. "Yeah, the school's announcing their girl's football league. The headmaster was so honoured to hear about her offer to attend the assembly."

"I offered?"

"She offered?" Roy was not at all amused by how obvious this publicity stunt was.

Keeley grinned. "The girls love you, Ades! The art teacher sent over some of the drawing they did for sport's day – thirty seven Ada Tartts!"

"God forbid," The Richmond captain huffed. "We already have bloody two of them."

"Amen." London quietly murmured.

But not quietly enough. Three faces turned to look at her; one offended, one annoyed, and one amused.

The annoyed one plastered their shiny smile back on their face. "Anyways, you two have fun with the kids! We're off."

Keeley, with her left hand gripping London's wrist and her right hand wrapped around the potted cactus, marched into the building. Right through the door Roy had left open.

It was now just the two of them.

"Let me guess," He said with a tight smile. "Your good deed has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that that prick is coming along to write about the coaches of this club."

Ada's brows furrowed. "I'm not a coach."

"Please," Roy scoffed. "You're only missing the fucking whistle."

The model hesitated. And then she reached her hand into the back pocket of her jeans, slowly pulling out a whistle. It was small in size and light in weight. Metallic rather than plastic. A drawing of a vague dessert was inscribed on the side of it.

   ("It was supposed to be a soufflé, but it looks like a muffin, don't it? Sorry about that," Ted had told her when presenting the gift that very morning.)

Roy gave her look.

"Listen," She said defensively. "I didn't even know that Trent Crimm would be here, okay? And I didn't about this stupid school thing either. London just told me about it now. It has nothing to do with the team or with football -- it's about that stupid article."

He didn't say anything, and Ada suddenly felt really stupid. She hated how their conversations always ended with him knowing more than he needed to and her knowing absolutely nothing.

"Why are you going anyway?"

It took Roy a moment to answer, as though he dreaded the idea of sharing this detail with her. "My niece asked me to."

"Oh," She blinked. "I didn't know you had one."

"Okay."

It was amusing, how uncomfortable he was with discussing his personal life. Ada could respect it, though. She had made the mistake of letting the public into her life at a young age.

By the time she grew up, everyone felt like they were entitled to every piece of her.

Ada didn't want to push him into speaking about things he clearly didn't want to, despite her overwhelming curiosity. So she just shrugged, "I'd like to meet her."

Roy rolled his eyes and moved to go back inside. He hesitated once he was by the door, though.

"Meet me here in ten minutes." He told her, not bothering to turn around

Ada wouldn't be Ada if she didn't get the last work in.

"I'm already fucking here, you meet me in ten bloody minutes."

Another eye roll, another grunt, and he was gone.

"Fucking caveman."

"Fucking diva."

✷

Roy made her sit in the backseat.

Well, actually, he didn't make her do anything. It was Ted Lasso, really, who took the rules of shotgun! incredibly seriously and refused to give up his claim to the front seat (and refused to risk a year's worth of bad luck, apparently) just so Ada didn't have to sit beside Trent.

Roy had laughed, though. So Ada was mad at him as well.

And perhaps it was that childish anger that had her laughing at him now.

The two were stood just outside the assembly room at the primary school. A modest, blue curtain kept them hidden from the children's sight. And whilst Ada was slumped against the wall, waiting to get the entire thing over and done with, Roy was pacing like some sort of wind up toy.

"You're nervous." She smiled.

"Shut up."

"Don't worry about it, Roy, there's absolutely no way that your public speaking is any worse than your private speaking."

The man ignored her, still pacing. And whilst Ada normally would've loved to see him suffer for much longer, the marching routine was giving her a serious fucking headache.

"Would you calm down?" She asked. "They're kids, Roy. Now, I can't claim to possibly know why, but they fucking worship you."

Roy paused to stare at the curtain, as though he were willing for it to disappear. "I don't care about the little shits," He scoffed. "It's that big shit that's annoying me."

Big shit?

Ada had to wrack her brain for who that could be, and wanted to slap herself on the head for not figuring it out sooner.

"Trent."

He didn't respond, just went back to pacing.

"Crimm's not here for you, Roy. He's writing some shit on Ted."

Ada didn't know why she was trying to comfort him, or offer reassurance. She genuinely didn't care about Roy Kent. But, maybe this was hitting a little too close to home.

She knew exactly what the man in front of her was feeling. Whenever Trent was in the room, Ada found herself incredibly conscious of every move she made and every word word she pronounced.

The fact that Roy was feeling the same way kind of shocked her, though. He was Roy Kent, wasn't he? The same man from that poster in her childhood bedroom? She had tried to tear that thing from her wall many a time, to no avail. And every inappropriate doodle made with marker seemingly melted right off; silly facial hair, devil horns, cocks and balls.

She had even contemplated burning their council house down to be rid of it.

And he was just like poster when she met him; unmovable, difficult to tear down. Both on and off the pitch.

   So why was he so nervous now?

And why did it make her stomach twist to witness it?

"Look, can I offer you some advice?" Ada found herself asking rather impulsively.

Roy halted his movements. He turned to look at her, discomfort and even a hit of offence in his eyes.

"I'm not taking advice from a child."

Okay, ouch?

"Says the man afraid to talk to children?"

He rolled his eyes, and Ada had a half a mind to tell him that they were likely to get stuck that way. But telling him would lower the chances of it actually happening, and so she kept her warnings to herself.

Let his pupils get stuck in the inside of his empty fucking skull – what did she care?

"Fine. Listen or don't listen, I don't care. It's not my advice so I'm technically not even helping." She stood from her slumped position. "Just go out there and play the fucking role."

He squinted at her. "The fucking what?"

"The role. You know, the Roy Kent role. The deep voice and the scowl. That whole you think you do."

"It's not something I do." Roy grunted.

"Whatever."

He walked towards her, not stopping until they were eye to eye. Or rather, eye to chin.

"Listen-"

"Wanker!"

They both turned to look at the curtain, listening as Ted Lasso got berated by a roomful of (seemingly nationalist) children.

"Jacob!" An adult voice chided. The headmaster, no doubt.

    "It's alright!" They heard Ted laugh. "Look, I just wanted to come down and congratulate y'all on a heck of a season. But, hey, I know some other folks who are real excited to meet all of ya."

    "That's our cue." Ada mused, turning to look at Roy.

    He was standing much closer than he was before, she knew that. The toes of his trainers kissed her heels. The scruff of his beard brushed against her forehead.

   She put her hands to his chest and gave him a little push. "Personal fucking space."

    But Ada didn't drop her hands even after he was a step back.

    "So, if you please," Ted was saying. "Help me welcome the captain of your AFC Richmond squad and the benefactor of your new Richmond Primary Girl's League, Roy Kent and Ada Tartt!"

    Ada blinked at the curtain, "Did he say benefactor?"

    "It's the role, Ada," Roy grinned sarcastically. "Play the fucking role."

    (The sound of him saying her name made her want to bend over at the waist and vomit onto the waxed floors. But she chalked it up to the sound of his voice being generally nauseating.)

    Two female teachers pulled the curtain open in a rather ceremonial manner.

    Ada thought he would let her go first, seeing as it would have been the gentlemanly thing to do.

   Roy thought she would let him go first, seeing as his name had been announced before hers was.

    "Oi," He grunted as the two of them struggled to make it through the doorway at the same time. "Go back and let me through."

    Ada scoffed at him. "How about you fucking go back?"

    One of the teachers, who had introduced herself as Helen prior to the assembly, gasped at the use of tart language.

   What, were they being loud?

   Ada glanced into the auditorium to see the children staring at them, wide eyed and gaping. She really hoped they were starstruck and not at all traumatised.

    Roy seemed to notice the same thing, and reluctantly let her have this win. He slipped back into the hallway, allowing for Ada to walk in first. He caught up with her as they approached the centre of the room.

   The kids blinked and gaped for another moment before clapping and cheering. Some children in the front row even reached out to poke at them, trying to reassure themselves that these iconic figures were flesh and bone rather than holograms.

    "Oi," Roy called out to a particularly handsy kid. "Ask the lady for her permission."

    The boy, with eyes the size of globes and hair as black as coal, turned to Ada. "Can I touch you, miss?"

    She glanced down at his outstretched hand, taking in how his sticky fingers (why were children always sticky?) hovered over her chest. "Um, no."

     "Alrighty!" Ted coughed, moving to stand back with the headmaster and the honoured staff members.

     It was hard for him to remember how big of a deal this was to these people; the children and some of the adults as well. To him, it was just Ada and Roy. The girl who helped him come up with plays and teased him over his vernacular, and the man who groaned more than he spoke.

    But they were more than that to these people.

    He watched as the little girls squealed at the sight of Ada Tartt. How they shook each other's shoulders at the fact that she was here. Some knew her from her time as an athlete, others from her inescapable media presence.

    And Roy Kent. His career was by far the most impressive out of all the Richmond players. No doubt the kids here admired him greatly, and no doubt they had heard his name be uttered by all the men in their lives. Father and brothers and uncles.

    From his place in the back, Trent Crimm watched as a blonde whisp of a girl excitedly spoke to her seat partner; "Ada Tartt just looked at me!"

    "Right," Roy cleared his throat when multiple eyes immediately looked to him. "Never been much for public speaking."

    "Or speaking." Ada shrugged.

    "Hm. Or school, really. Always seemed like a waste of time to me."

    The model bit back a laugh, but quickly remembered why she was there in the first place. Her eyes flickered over to Trent Crimm.

    "But school is important." She announced, ignoring Roy's glare at her interruption. "And, um, drugs are bad."

    "Yeah. Alright. What she said."

     "So don't do them. Do love instead."

      The captain slowly turned his head to face her, an incredulous look in his eyes.

   Do love? He mouthed.

    Ada just shrugged.

    The sound of sniffling filled the room. One child even coughed. It was definitely what she remembered primary school sounding like.

    "Right. . ."

    The two adults turned to each other, both waiting to see what the other had to say.

    "Why don't we get out of this stuffy auditorium? Go out on the pitch and have a proper fuck-about?"

    Ada heard crickets this time.

    The children shifted their seats, clearly not used to having an adult swear so openly at school. Some of them exchanged looks, wondering if they were being tested.

   Ada clapped her hands twice when she noticed that nobody was moving. "Go on, then."

    Another moment of hesitation, and then chaos. They all began cheering and whooping excitedly. Two girls immediately jumped from their chairs, dashing towards the doors and pushing them wide open.

   "I think it's really cool that you do this." Ted said once they were all outside, the three adults sat on a picnic table.

    Ada shrugged. "London made me," She said, tying the laces to the trainers she now had on. They were loaned to her by a PE teacher named Emily, who said that she was beyond grateful to Ada for offering to fund the girl's league.

    As if Ada had consented to that.

    "Sure, but you've done this before."

    Roy, who had been tying his own trainers, stilled at Ted's words. His ears perked up as he pretended not to be listening in.

   "Yeah, well," Ada sighed. "Me old school was a right shit hole. I helped out sometimes or whatever. And some other schools called, wanted to get more girls into athletics."

    Ted nodded. "Mhmm, there's a deficiency."

   She shrugged, finally sitting up. "I guess, haven't really done this sort of thing since leaving Manchester."

     "Well, how about you?" The coach then asked Roy.

    "Only doing it 'cause my fucking niece goes here." The man replied gruffly.

     "Oh, yeah?" Ted asked excitedly, looking around the playground for a grumpy, dark haired child. "Which one is she?"

    Roy pointed forward. "That idiot."

    Ada unintentionally leaned closer to him as she tried following his finger. She didn't notice how he tensed, only focusing on finding the girl who was supposedly related to Roy fucking Kent.

   There were two girls holding hands, a blonde and a brunette. The former would occasionally glance over, relaying any and all exciting details to her friend.

    What could possibly be exciting about Ada Tartt tying her shoes beside Roy Kent?

  (A lot.)

   When she noticed that they were looking over, the blonde began waving with a childlike enthusiasm.
    
   And imagine Ada's surprise when the notorious grump sat beside her waved back with a mirrored energy.

     Ada couldn't help but poke at the divot in his cheek. "Look at that beautiful smile," She cooed. "Didn't know you had a dimple."

    Roy turned to bite at her finger. His teeth just barely missed her smooth flesh.

    "Hey," Ted scolded them. "None of that. She's coming over!"

     And come over she did.

   The little girl ran towards them with the speed of a potential athlete, blonde pigtails flying behind her like a rippling flag of youth and childish smile proudly on display.

    "Can we do some headers, Uncle Roy!" She asked with coy sweetness, rocking on her heels.

   Ada grinned at the act, impressed.

   She's fucking good.

   How could Roy deny her? How could anyone?

   "Can I come, Trouble?" She leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

    The girl blushed. "My name's Phoebe, not trouble!"

    "Oh, sorry, your uncle Roy was telling me you were trouble. I just assumed it was your name."

    Phoebe stared at her in wonder. "You're Ada Tartt."

     "I'm also trouble." She whispered conspiratorially.

    "Too fucking right," Roy rolled his eyes. He stood up from the benched seat and swiftly threw his niece over his shoulders. "Come on then. Headers! You lot, come on, headers!"

    The children all ran after him.

    Roy turned to Ada and Ted when he noticed they weren't following. "Come on!"

    The model smiled. "Ay, ay, captain!"

     He nodded to her, a faint look of amusement on his face as the eager school kids pulled him in the direction of an open space.

    It was there that all of them lined up, each child awaiting their turn to butt a ball thrown by Roy Kent. No doubt it would be a tale they'd go on telling for many years to come.

   Ada sat a little ways away, a circle of little girls huddle around her. She told them about how she was in a little league once, and how her brother was in one, too.

     "You have a brother, Ada Tartt?"

      It was a good fucking day.

    "Oi!" Roy called over. "I'm not leaving until I hit every child here! Let's go."

      Ada laughed, gesturing for the girls to go join the line. But Roy didn't turn away yet.

     "I said every child."

      Her smile dropped.

      She was not amused. And she couldn't help but feel a horrible pinch in her gut at the fact that he was calling her a kid. It was as though he didn't see her. Like he didn't respect her.

    And the grin he was wearing, it was nothing like the one he had given Phoebe. The pretty dimpled one.

   It wasn't even half as genuine as the faint one he'd given her and Ted earlier, either. No, this particular smile was the one that he seemed to reserve especially for her. That dickish grin. All sarcasm, all irony. Nothing more.

     Fuck that.

     Ada stood from the ground and marched over, immediately snatching the ball from him.

    "Go on," She nodded. "Back of the line."

    "What? No." Roy laughed.

     "Do you think I won't make a scene? Because I fucking will. Get in line."

    He blinked. Where was this coming from?

   "You're holding up the line, Kent. Hurry up."

    So he listened, albeit begrudgingly.

    Soon enough, Ada was throwing the ball at the children. Encouraging and applauding them for all their individual efforts. A few kids butted with accuracy, others missed, and some caught the ball with their hands.

   "Perfect, Lucy."

     "Nice."

    "Great catch, Jamie -- sorry, James."

    "Oh, yeah o-okay, yeah, you can hug the ball, Henry. Don't kiss it, though, it's dirty!"

    Ada couldn't help the excitement that washed over her when it was Phoebe's turn. She wondered if the girl made up for the lack of Roy in her face by inheriting his sturdy cranium.

    (She would never admit it out loud, but Ada used to watch hour long compilations of Roy Kent's headers when she was a child. Study his exact neck movement and mimic his technique at school the next day. It was almost his signature move, she remembered. Until he mastered the rabona and made that his go to instead.)

    "You ready, Phoebe?" She called.

     The girl grinned. "You can call me Trouble, Ada Tartt!"

     "And you can call me Uncle Ada."

    She heard Roy groan from his place in line.

     Ada gave the girl a wink and the threw the ball with a delicate precision. She had to bite back a frown when Phoebe caught it with her hands.

     "Nice one!"

     But Phoebe wasn't done. She immediately dropped the ball to the ground, and pulled her leg back before giving it a fierce kick.

    Ada's instincts urged her to duck, and so she listened. Unfortunately, Ted Lasso had no such reflexes. The ball struck him in the face with a loud smack and a worrying crunch.

    She didn't have time to turn and worry about him, though. Ada rushed over to Phoebe, grabbing her face and checking her over.

    "Are you alright?"

    The girl leaned to the left, looking around Ada and over to the damage she caused. "Did I kill him?"

    "What? No, of course not!"

     "I didn't mean to!"

      "I know," She pet her blonde hair gently, the way her mother used to do to her and Jamie whenever they got anxious. "You were brilliant."

    Anxiety quickly turned to excitement. Phoebe turned to look at Ada with an electric grin. "You really think so, Ada Tartt?"

   "You don't have to call by my full name, Phoebe. You and I are friends now."

   "Some friend," Roy scoffed from behind them. "Look at poor Lasso. Where's his support?"

    The three turned to see Ted clutching at this nose. Rivers of red were gushing from both his nostrils, staining his fingers. The gold of his wedding band was turning rustic. The hairs of his moustache were clumped and clotted.

    Still, he was well enough to sign some memorabilia for the children before they left.

     Ada had taken him to the bathroom beforehand (dragging him across the playground by the hand, just as she'd seen the teachers do to the diapered children). There, she had given him the smallest tampon in her purse and told him to shove it up his nose in order to soak up the blood.

    "Oh," He chuckled as a drop of scarlet stained the ball he was signing. "I should've asked her for the Super Plus, amirite? I got a mega flow."

    The little boy just blinked up at him.

    Ted gave him the ball. "Alright, there you go. Don't use my blood to clone me!"

     The headmaster watched as the three waved goodbye to the last child, a smile on his aging face as he approached them.

    "That's the longest anyone's ever stayed for something like this."

    Ted shook his hand, "Hey, thanks for having us."

     "Yeah," Ada nodded. "I can't wait to come back and check on the girls."

     It scared her how honest she was being when she said that.

    "Maybe even coach?" The headmaster grinned, shaking her hand as well.

    "I mean, I'm busy, but I'll get Roy to do it when he retires. Just give him a month or two."

    They exchanged a laugh, but the man choked on his when he noticed the annoyed look in Roy Kent's eyes.

    "Thanks again." He nodded to them, making sure to give Ada a cheeky wink.

    "I like him." She laughed.

     "Too bad nobody fucking likes you."

     Ada turned to him. "I know you're not talking. Even your niece is starting to like me more."

     "She does not," Roy scoffed.

      They turned to the swing set where Phoebe still sat, the ball which she had only Ada sign cradled to her chest as though it were a predacious treasure.

      "None of that," Ted scolded them playfully as they all began walking. "We're all buds here! And I tell you what, Roy, that niece of yours is a real cutie patootie!"

     "Enough." The captain suddenly grit, turning to face his coach. "I've had it with your mind games and your stupid gifts."

     Ada frowned. "What gifts?"

     Ted kept his eyes on Roy and he slid a hand into his back pocket, pulling out a palm sized book and handing it over to her.

  Ada glanced at the title. The Little Prince.

   "Cute."

  "I mean what even is A Wrinkle in Time?" Roy continued, not paying any attention to the mini gift exchange taking place in the middle of his rant.

    Trent Crimm, ever the slippery fucking eel, slid into the conversation with an ease that could not be taught or replicated.

    He waved his glasses around as he calmly answered Roy's question, "It's a lovely novel. It's the story of a young girl's struggle with the burden of leadership as she journeys through space."

    "Yeah, that's it." Ted nodded.

     Roy blinked. His eyes darted between the two men, and he even let his gaze wander over to Ada Tartt, who was now completely immersed in her own story.

    "Am I supposed to be the little girl?"

   "Ugliest little girl I've ever seen, that's for sure."

    Okay, so, maybe not completely immersed.

    "Hey," Ted chided her for what felt like the tenth time that afternoon. "I'd like you to be the little girl, Roy, yes."

     The gruff man glared, taking a step closer. "Right. None of this matters, because I'm just doing what everyone in this town is doing, and I'm counting down the days until you're gone."

    Roy then turned to the journalist. "Trent, you're a colossal prick, you always have been."

    "Amen." Ada nodded. She stood straight when Roy looked to her next.

     "Tartt," He scrunched up his face as though it brought him physical pain to ask. "Do you need a ride?"

    "Huh?"

    He clenched his jaw. "Listen, I'm only doing this because Phoebe's been talking about having ice cream with Ada Tartt since you made that rancid ice cream cake on Bake Off for Red Nose Day. I don't like you, and if you get any ice cream on my fucking car then you're a fucking goner."

    She raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you gonna kiss me goodnight when you drop me off?"

     Roy grunted and turned to march towards the car park. "Phoebe, come on!"

    The little girl leaped off the swing, running to catch up with him. She slid her hand into Roy's, asking, "Is Uncle Ada coming, too?"

    "I'm coming, Trouble!" Ada promised before turning back to the two men. "Because I love children and always want to see them happy."

   "Nice." Ted grinned.

    Trent wasn't so easy to fool, though. He gave Ada a knowing look.

    "Oh, fuck you!" She scoffed. "You owe me! Bet you paid your bills for months because of that hate campaign you ran on me."

    "It wasn't a hate campaign."

    "Ada Tartt Falls Apart. It was, like, twenty pages long."

    Trent shook his head. "Six pages."

    "Wow." Ted blinked. "What did you do?"

      "Nothing worth remembering, but I'll tell you what I'm about to do now." She pointed over her shoulder with a fierce look on her face. "I'm going to go have ice cream with that little girl and her mean uncle. Maybe even tell her about the fucking league I just funded with me own money."

    Trent stared at her for a moment before giving a small, hesitant nod. "Flavour?"

    "I'll probably get a fudge or something, but you write that I had one of those healthy flavours. Fucking. . . green-mint-matcha whatever the fuck. Me trainer reads the Independent."

    "Right."

   "Uncle Ada!"

     "Coming!" She grinned over her shoulder, and then turned to them again. "It's like I'm a million different people."

    Ted shrugged, smiling his soft smile at her. "To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world."

  

   

    

    

   

⚽️: I must be God's strongest soldier because what do you mean I rewrote this entire 20k word chapter from memory after wattpad abruptly deleted it????

⚽️: If you read the chapter the first time around, then I don't think you need to read it again. There are added details (to help push the plot) and little bits I added for future call backs, but that's it.

⚽️: I honestly wouldn't have gotten through this dreaded rewrite if it wasn't from the support of my favourite people and the kind tumblr anons (one of you sent me three dollars??? That was crazy I literally wheezed for hours)

⚽️: But, yeah, shoutout tartt9 bvbyteeth alicentsallure somerset_ pastelorangeskies floraswp alivingfantasy1 cannibalsrider