She's the Man / Roy Kent

Chapter twenty one.

Chapter twenty one,
Inverting the Pyramid of Success.
"THE PERCENTAGE OF WATER!"

DISCLAIMER: Some people said
that they'd appreciate a little warning before any ribald scenes, so here it is!!
The first part of this chapter could
be considered spicy, I guess.
(happy valentines day!)

   "DO THEY HURT?" Roy murmured as day softly broke, watching her body shift and gently tangle in the white sheets. She was half asleep and fully naked. The colour of her skin was warm, like the teak wood accenting the bedroom furniture, and her light hair was tousled like a fresh sheaf of wheat. She was blindly caressing the bruises on her hips and waist; subdued things in the shape of his fingers and lips, superficial and reddish.

  "I love them." She tiredly mumbled, pressing down on the contusion near her inner thigh. It was the darkest of the bunch, and therefore her favourite.

   The collection of splotches served as a bountiful token from last night. It was a reminder of what took place after the Vanity Fair crew took their anticipated leave – the only reminder, really, for neither of them could quite remember what happened after Ada dragged Roy upstairs.

    (She'd thanked him for his emotional support, those words of encouragement bestowed on her prior to the photoshoot. He'd kissed her on the cheek and said that she never had to thank him for anything. He said all he wanted was for her to be happy. She said she wanted him to be happy too. She then kneeled before him like he was a blessed altar, unbuttoning his black trousers and devotedly taking the whole of him into her mouth – from throbbing tip to solid base.

He'd whispered his praises and steadily pumped his thick shaft inside her delicate throat. She stared up at him the entire time, their eyes locked as she kittenishly licked and needily slurped and pitifully gagged. Roy called her a good girl every time she choked, and softly caressed her face when he started twitching inside her.

   Ada swallowed his warm spill with ruddy cheeks and dazed eyes. He said she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, and made sure to kiss her afterwards, lapping up the remainder of his seed from her swollen lips and then tonguing the inside of her sullied mouth. She told him that she loved him with her chin still dripping. He fucked her up against the wall. She said it again, so he fucked her on the vanity too. And then again, "Roy, I love you." He took her on the hardwood floor.

    Ada started crying after round three.

He'd kissed them dry, her tears of euphoric exertion, and he said he loved her more than he ever loved anyone. She smiled a pretty smile and kissed him on the mouth. He also said he would put a baby in her, like he always did when he was full enough to spend one more round. Ada called him stupid, like she always did when he let his erection speak for him. She then grabbed his hand and slowly started pleasuring herself with his fingers.

Roy had watched her tease and stroke her own body, completely transfixed. He swore that he was going to marry her one day, but she didn't hear him over her pathetic mews and breathy whines.

Still, heard or not heard, Roy meant every single word he spoke to her last night, even if neither of them could fully recall all that'd been said. The heady arousal and the emotional intoxication didn't rhapsodise or exaggerate any of it. They merely loosened his lips and verbalised his innermost thoughts.

    There were no lies.

    He was so in love with her.)

"I'm so in love with you." Roy let slip.

    Ada's fingers halted their prodding of the faint bruises, and her sleepy eyes lazily fluttered open.

    "I'm so in love with you." He said again, to let her know that he wasn't mumbling nonsense in his tired state – which she said was something that he often did.

    She felt her cheeks burn pink, and told herself it was from the warm beams of sunlight currently seeping in through the sheer, white drapes. "Are you dying?"

   "I love you."

(It was easy to, for lack of a better word, forget the intensity with which he loved her. After months and months of blissful commitment and routined domesticity, Roy's body had adapted to the rush. His brain had adjusted to the constant inpour of oxytocin. His heart rate was now permanently altered, beating at twice the average pace with each glance and thought and mention of her; Ada, Ada, Ada.

   He looked for her with his eyes shut.

   Thought of her when he wasn't thinking.

   It had become his new normal.

But then time slowed, as it often did in the mornings, and Roy would remember that his new normal was in fact a life of benison; he'd watch her wake, would watch as her chest rose and fell with each slow breath, would feel as her chilled feet sought out the warmth of his legs, would huff a quiet laugh as she smiled mid-dream, and he would fucking remember.)

"I love you, Ada." He whispered.

     She watched at him for a moment. Roy was sat with his back propped up against the headboard, his lower half covered and his toned, hirsute chest on display. His skin was fair, perhaps even fairer than the sheets that she'd discarded in her shifty sleep, and his dark eyes were gently trained on her.

"Yeah?"

He didn't joke as he was wont to do, and didn't point out the fact that he'd already affirmed his proclamation about four times. No, he just nodded, "Yeah."

Ada scooted over, crawling onto his lap as soon as she was close enough. She was quick to burrow her face in the heat of his neck, and her arms wrapped around him like they had a mind of their own.

Her boyfriend was a hard man, to the touch and to his core. His deep voice was naturally gruff. His mind was locked like the most secure safe. He was rough in bed, a vigorous lover. His clenched jaw could ground teeth. Still, he was soft. And gentle. And vulnerable. And his heart was a pure thing, selfless and so wholly hers.

"How much do you love me?" She coyly asked. He ran his fingers down the length of her spine, to touch her and to warm her up, and she had to bite back an instinctive shiver. "Because, me? I would do anything to end up with you. I'd give up chocolate."

Roy brushed his lips against her shoulder. "I'd give up coaching."

The answer was bold and very much unexpected. It brought her momentary pause. And then it brought a thrill. She pressed a slow, wet kiss to his throat. His pulse point thrummed against her lips; the pace was rapid, meaning that his blood was rushing. And it meant that they were competing again, as was an athlete's natural instinct.

"I'd break me leg all over again."

"I'd fuck up both knees." He challenged.

"I would choose knowing you over ever joining Arsenal. . ."

"I would choose you over football." He whispered. His tone was uninhibited, yet secure in its promise. Like he meant what he said, but truly didn't consider it to be that big of a sacrifice.

A warmth pooled in her belly, and she burrowed her face even deeper. He felt her smile against the space between his neck and shoulder. "I wouldn't go that far."

(She would. For him, she would.)

"You're it for me, Tartt."

Ada's heart skipped a beat. "What's going on with you?" She asked, pulling back and fingering the dark curls on his chest. "Did you dream a nice dream or something?"

"No," He lied. "I never dream."

"Not even of me?" She hummed with a little tilt of her head – it was a thing of mischief, a thing of childish play.

"I wake up to you," Roy grabbed her by the jaw. "It's much fucking better."

"Romantic." Ada grinned. "I dreamt that Beard went to space and brought back a weird, blue pineapple."

   He softly shook his head, "Shut up."

   (Talk forever.)

   "Make me." The girl shrugged, fingers still playing with his dark chest hair.

"Shut up." He repeated before ducking his head down and kissing her warm tummy. There was an amused look on her face when he straightened back up. Roy leaned forward and scraped his sharp teeth against her collar bone, the scruff of his cheeks prickling her smooth skin.

   "Make me," Her eyes fluttered shut as Roy licked a stripe along her clavicle, and she sighed a pleasured sigh as his cool lips began their slow descent. She felt him nip at her flesh, throat to chest, no doubt leaving more bruises; he was like a conqueror with a map, marking red dots as he tracked his quest.

     Neck and shoulders and sternum.

     South, South, South.

     And then he journeyed West.

Ada gasped as he started suckling on her breast, kneading the ample flesh with his lips and tongue. "Stop." Her fingers were tightly coiled in his hair, but tugging at the strands only spurred him on. "Stop."

Roy faltered, getting mixed signals. Her mouth was ordering that he halt, but there was a wetness seeping through the sheets and staining his lap. "Should I stop?"

"Yes." Ada nodded, but she was pulling him closer, relishing in the tender swelling and heated discomfort.

   He furrowed his brows before hesitantly latching on again. She was quick to cup his jaw, massaging the gnawing bone and gently coaxing him. Ada's mouth fell open as he lightly bit down. She shifted on his lap, and her sensitive core brushed against his covered knee.

   Her nerve endings caught fire.

    It was all far too stimulating.

    "Roy." She pathetically shook her head, nails digging into his broad shoulders.

    He pulled back, confusing her carnal frustration with irritation. "Do you--"

     Ada grabbed his face, took his bottom lip between her teeth, and quickly began tugging and sucking and biting – a way to channel her teeming lust. He instinctively sat up, grabbing onto her hipbones.

"I love you." She murmured.

Roy hummed, pulling her closer.

"I love you." The skin of his lip tore. She used her tongue to soothe the sting, and to blot the thin film of pooling blood. Similar grazes littered the length of his back and the width of his shoulders; some of the souvenirs were from last night, others were from a minute ago.

He felt her shift again, this time with a purpose. She was desperate for friction, panting and needy as she rubbed against his leg. His fingers left her hips and sought out her throbbing centre. She stopped him before he could think to touch her. He watched, rather intently, as she brought his hand up towards her mouth. And then he watched her pert lips part.

   Ada made sure that their eyes were locked as she began to slowly and thoroughly wet three of his fingers (if Roy Kent had his angled hips, then Ada Tartt had her expert tongue).

   "I want you inside me." She whispered. "I don't care how, okay? But I need it."

     He stiffened, pupils blown.

    "I need you, Roy." Ada cupped the side of his face, this man who ruined all other men. This lover who ruined every other love. "Just you. It can only ever be you." She dragged his hand down her body. "I want it to always be you and me."

   But it would never be just them.

   Ada's phone proved that fact as it began to loudly ping. The sound of a duck's obnoxious quacking, which served as the Richmond groupchat's notification alert, echoed around the room – twelve times, and in quick succession.

    Her eyes darted over to the device. It was vibrating on her nightstand, right beside the framed birthday card from Phoebe (it was a sweet drawing of four stick figures stood beneath a tree; two women, one man, and a young girl) and her copy of The Little Prince. Roy pursed his lips as Ada reached over to check her text messages. The bedsheet shifted with her and his erection was now on full display.

   "No." Ada whispered, wide eyes trained on the screen of her phone.

    "Jamie eat Sam's sandwich again?"

     "No, no, no." She immediately got up, quick to pull on whatever articles of clothing she could find; a cropped shirt, her twin brother's joggers, a striped scarf, and a long navy coat.

Roy slowly sat up. "Are you leaving?"

Ada ran back over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Love you." She then kissed the tip of his hardened shaft. "Love you."

He blinked, watching her rush towards the bedroom door. "Can't you just--?"

"It's Ted!" And with that, she was gone.

     Roy let out a pained groan, plopping back against the headboard. He pursed his lips and contemplated his course of action; a stiff cock, the lingering scent of vanilla, and a freshly lubed hand.

    The short itinerary wrote itself.

    He fucked his fist and thought of her.

Ada, Ada, Ada.

(It could never be anyone else.)

✷

The worst thing about betrayal was that, by the word's very definition, it could only come from someone you willingly took into your confidence. It stung. It hurt. It was cruelly common. And it was an inhumane concept, treachery, but that must have had something to do with the fact that it predated humanity; after all, the two children of Eden were cast out by their trusted God a millennia before God's own son was deceived by a kiss.

In this twisted reality, Nathan Shelley was both God and Judas. Which meant that Ted Lasso was no more than a progeny exiled from serenity and a man crucified before the masses.

IS TED DEAD IN THE HEAD?

That was today's headline, drafted and then published by Trent Crimm. The paper only hit shelves and front porches this morning, but Ted had received a preview last night, after his pinball tournament with Doctor Fieldstone and Ada Tartt; "My source was Nate," the journalist had informed him via text.

And so whilst the pain and confusion were still very prominent, Ted could at least appreciate the fact that his current dread lacked the sore factor of surprise. He'd already read the article. He already knew what to expect. He already saw it coming.

But he certainly didn't see this coming; a former model, crouched just outside the door of his building, playing a game of poker with two male paparazzis. Ada glanced over her shoulder, ready to greet him, and was quick to notice the man's stiff posture – no doubt it was the bulky cameras, already aimed and ready to shoot, that set him on edge.

"Don't worry." She softly assured, standing up. "They lost the fucking game. They only get one picture each."

Ted's brown eyes darted over to the aforementioned losers.

"I didn't lose." One of the men, with a bald head and pinky complexion, grit.

"Didn't win, though, did you, Mike?" Ada snarked before before looking to her friend. "Give a big smile, yeah? That way, the publications won't want it."

Mike and his partner glared at her.

She smirked.

Ted forced a grin.

The two photos were taken in less than a second; the brief flash failed to blind, and the sound of the flutters didn't even linger. Ada bothered not with parting words or gestures, merely linking arms with Ted and pulling him along (she made sure there was no time for him to utter his gratitude – Ted Lasso was the sort of man who befriended the journalists that wronged him, and who thanked the photographers that slighted him).

"You not gonna say anything?" He quietly asked as they walked down the cobbled road.

"About what?"

Ted glanced at her from his peripheral. There was a look of understanding on her face, like she knew what he was going through. Like she wouldn't prompt or push. "Thanks, Soufflé."

Ada shrugged, tightening her grip on his arm. "Dunno what you're on about."

But Susan Hayes, who ran the nearby coffeehouse with her husband, and who was mother to a devoted Arsenal fan named Shannon, was not playing the role of oblivious bystander.

"You alright, Ted?" The woman asked as she set up a chalkboard A-frame sign outside her cafe.

"Yes, ma'am." He nodded.

Susan raised a doubtful eyebrow, less like a nosy fishwife and more like a dubious parent. "You sure?"

"Throw in a free donut and he'll be extra sure, Susan." Ada hummed, picking up on the man's discomfort. They moved past the coffeehouse and walked through the collection of outdoor tables, most of which were occupied by locals reading today's paper.

Ted stiffened, and he bowed his head a bit as more and more strangers turned to stare. The arm tethered to his served as both an anchor and a lead, it grounded him to earth and guided him towards his desired destination; the bench by the telephone box, where Beard was patiently waiting.

"Hey, Coach." The other man nodded, two takeaway coffees in hand. It was only when his best friend sat down that he noticed Ada's presence. "Sorry, kid. Didn't get you a drink."

She plopped down between Beard and Ted, snatching the former's coffee and taking a careful sip. "Let me guess, you were busy looking for blue pineapples in outer space."

Beard slowly turned to face her, his eyes narrowed in obvious suspicion. "What do you know?"

   Ada squinted. "What?"

    They were interrupted by the familiar, demanding voice of Mr. Mann; he was a local resident, and a devoted Richmond AFC fan – as was proven by the fact that he never took off that blue and red scarf.

    "Oi, wanker!" He snapped upon arrival. "If my father had had a panic attack at Normandy, we'd all be speaking German."

    Ada lazily glanced up at him. "And if he'd had a panic attack in the sack about a century ago, then you wouldn't be here, mithering me." She shrugged. "See? Panic attacks aren't always a bad thing."

    Ted's eyes widened in shock.

    Beard snorted into his cup of coffee.

    Mr. Mann stared at her for a moment.

    Ada raised an eyebrow.

   "Tartt," He nodded before taking his leave. But then he faltered, as if only just discovering humanity, and took a single step back to looked upon Ted Lasso. "Just do the work, pal. You'll be alright."

    They watched him go.

    "I assume you know what that was all about, yeah?" Ted hummed as the three coaches rose from the bench. The question was clearly aimed at his best friend, who had yet to mention or reference today's headline.

    Beard, who had a fresh copy of The Independent folded in his back pocket, gave a little shrug. "Nope."

     Ada sighed, her eyes facing forward as they made towards Nelson Road. "Listen, I've never done it, but people say that it helps if you picture everyone in their underwear whenever you feel very. . ."

    "Seen." Beard supplied from her left.

     "Yeah." The girl nodded. "If you're feeling exposed, like everyone can see right through you. Like your secrets aren't your own, like your skin isn't your own, like your thoughts are being, like, fucking broadcasted or whatever." She lightly nudged Ted with her elbow. "Just picture all these strangers in their underwear."

    He gripped the straps of his backpack, looking to channel his anxiety. "Never done it, huh?" His eyes flickered over to her. "Sure sounds like you know a whole bunch about this tighty whitie trick."

    "I was an underwear model." She lamely deflected. And then she paused, feet glued to the ground, causing the two men on either side of her to halt as well.

    "What?" Ted frowned, visibly concerned. He didn't know if it was the reminder of her past profession, or if his observation had somehow offended her – either way, the discomfit look in her eyes made him worry.

    "I'm not wearing any underwear."

     Beard grimaced.

      "Oh," Ted awkwardly pursed his lips. "Well, why don't we just, uh, get to work? I bet Keeley or Rebecca could help you out."

    Ada slowly nodded. "Yeah."

    "Alright." He eagerly clapped before gesturing forward. "Shall we, my nearest and my dearest?"

   "We shall." The other two chorused.

    And so they journeyed the fair distance towards their place of work, passing the time by speaking of nonsensical matters – and avoiding any and all mention of the scurrilous article. The team was still getting ready when the three coaches arrived at the clubhouse (messing about and snapping towels at each other's balls), and so, as was customary, Ted and Ada made for Rebecca Welton's office.

"Hey!" Ted cheesed, pink box of biscuits in hand. "What's the story, Paul Shorey?"

Ada followed him inside and bit back a grimace; surely he could've picked a quirky rhyme that didn't mention a story?

The sympathetic gazes that greeted them felt no better than the strangers' turning heads and intrusive eyes; there was no doubting that Keeley, Higgins, and Rebecca woke up to the same news that everyone else did.

"Uh, let me guess." Ada spoke before any of them could express overt pity (their intentions were clearly pure and good, but as someone who knew what it was like to have your life plastered on every front page, she didn't want for Ted to experience the distressing compassion). "You're all frowning because you think I have no underwear on. Well, fret not, I found an abandoned pair in me desk."

They all blinked at her.

Rebecca's eyes then narrowed in obvious suspicion. "Why do you have under--"

"You lot hear about Ted's article?" Ada wondered, avoiding the man's incredulous stare as she cowardly changed the subject.

Keeley was the first to turn to him, a sad smile on her face. It was over a year ago that the two of them were avoiding a scandalous headline, and whilst she was thankfully able to maintain her own polished streak, it pained her to see him slandered. "I'm so sorry about the article, Ted."

   "Oh, that's okay, Keeley." He assured with a soft shrug. "You know what they say. No such thing as bad publicity, right?"

    "Well. . ." Ada tilted her head.

    Ted turned to her. "Oh, yeah, no. They were definitely wrong about that one." He faced the rest of the room's occupants. "Which is a bummer because they were spot on with the whole beer before liquor thing."

   "And the don't swim immediately after eating thing." Ada hummed.

    "Myth."

     Her jaw dropped. "Really?"

     "Yup," Ted nodded before setting the biscuits down at Rebecca's desk. "Here you go, boss."

    "Thank you, Ted." The woman smiled, quick to open the box up. "And you know that you have our full support."

    "I appreciate that." He acknowledged.

     "I still wish I could've done something." Keeley tutted from her perched position.

    Ada pulled back the band of her joggers and eyed the red underwear, the pair that she'd misplaced after her and Roy's janitor closet quickie. "They're actually quite comfortable."

     Keeley shook her head, "I mean about the article." She then turned to Ted, who'd taken to looking out the window after Ada voiced her underwear review. "I wish I could've done something before that dick, Trent Crimm, posted it."

    "Oh, no, come on." He shook his head, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Trent's a good guy. He's just doing the gig."

    Ada rolled her eyes. "You know who else is just doing the gig? Terrorists. Are you a defender of terrorism, Ted?"

     "Ignore her." Rebecca tiredly sighed, taking note of the man's lost expression. "Listen, I'm gonna speak directly to the owner of the paper and see who this anonymous source was."

    Ted felt his insides curdle, and this inexplicable need to hide the truth ("My source was Nate,") washed over him like a tidal wave of rubbing alcohol, stinging the litter of fresh wounds. There was still time to deal with the matter personally – and whether it be through confrontation or feigning obviousness, well, again, there was still time; he didn't have to figure everything out right now.

   "Who else did you tell?" Ada asked, halting his thought train. Her big brown eyes were trained on him, and they were naive things when they wanted to be.

    "Other than The Diamond Dogs." Higgins added, equally curious. Keeley and Rebecca exchanged a look and simultaneously mouthed Diamond Dogs?

   "Guys, look, there's no need for any of this investigating, okay?" Ted shrugged. "Fact is, everything they said was true. And, unlike Lieutenant Kaffee, I actually can handle the truth."

"I don't get that reference." Ada sniffed, fiddling with the strings of her brother's oversized joggers.

Higgins gaped in disbelief. "You never watched A Few Good Men?"

"Ironic title seeing as the movie stars Tom Cruise, innit?" She mused, earning many a raised brow. "We wasn't allowed to watch too many of his movies. Me mummy picked Nicole's side in the divorce."

"Ah." Ted nodded in understanding.

Keeley turned to him. "Well, my advice is no press until after the match."

"I agree." Rebecca said, breaking a piece of shortbread. "Concentrate on the task in hand, which is beating Brentford."

"Yes, because if we lose, it will kill me." Higgins was quick to concur. His eyes darted between the two coaches. "Please don't lose, I beg you."

Ada tilted her head. "Now I wanna lose just to see what happens."

"Hey, stop that." Ted chided before focusing his gaze on a perplexed Leslie. "Don't you worry, Hig Newton. You will live, my friend. I am on it like a bonnet."

"Okay, well, you focus on saving Higgins, from death, and I'll work on saving Bex." Ada squinted.

They all followed her line of sight.

Rebecca was choking on her biscuit, a grimace marring her face and a hand clamped around her throat. "Oh, God, these taste like shit."

"Oh, yeah," Ted winced. "Well, it was a rough night, and I am now absolutely positive that I switched the salt and sugar." He reached for the salted treats, visibly apologetic. "I'm sorry about that."

"No, no, no." The blonde raised a sharp finger. There was a contemplative look on her face as she savoured what was in her mouth. "This is interesting." Her eyes narrowed in mild concentration. "She's a sneaky, salty bitch."

    Ted blinked. "Like Heather Locklear on Melrose Place, right?" 

     "Oh, yeah." Higgins grinned.

    "That's exactly how you'd describe her!" Keeley gasped, very much impressed with his ability to make speedy comparison.

     "Fuck," Ada frowned. "I don't get that reference either."

     "Your mommy didn't like that Rhonda was written off the show?" Ted guessed with a curious frown.

    "No, I'm just too young."

     "Ahhh." They all nodded.

✷

     Jamie Tartt was born nine minutes after his twin sister, and so he liked to think that it was natural to be a tad behind on some things; he was still babbling when she'd taken to repeatedly squealing her first word (it was a giggly and enthusiastic "dada"), he was still crawling when she'd learned to toddle around the humble garden of their council home, he was still dribbling all over his stuffed animals when she'd started unsteadily kicking at footballs.

    As adults, it was Ada who'd discovered the art of humility first. And it was her who truly embraced the greyhound emblem. And it was Ada Tartt who'd proved herself worthy of chances.

    It was also Ada who managed to escape the glares and burning ire of Roy Kent.

   Jamie was all caught up on those first three things, and was now trying to achieve the hardest victory on the list. He and his former captain were no longer hostile, and had actually been somewhat friendly since the Welton funeral, but there was still a wedge; something that always lingered, something that shouldn't be there anymore – not if Roy planned on being with his sister for a very long time.

     "Is Roy here?"

     Beard didn't glance up from his book, but could sense the Tartt boy's nerves as he shuffled in the doorway. "I don't hear any grunting."

    "Right." Jamie gave a slow nod. "Well, I need to speak to him."

    "Hmm."

    "Yeah." The striker pursed his lips.

    Nate hurried into the room just as Jamie took his awkward leave. "Is Roy here?"

    (He wondered if that kiss, the one that took place in a dressing room about twenty four hours ago, would bring about his demise. He wondered if his face was about to get pummelled by a retired athlete's infamous fists. He wondered if he had to take cover, or book a flight to a deserted region, maybe undergo some sort of surgery, or invest in a serious disguise.)

   "No." Beard did look up this time, and he felt rage lick at his veins as he met eyes with Nathan Shelley. "You seen this?"

    "Uh." Nate stared at the proffered newspaper. "Oh, um, yes. It's awful."

    "Yeah." Beard blandly hummed, leaning back in his chair. "It was pretty awful."

     A thick silence began to settle. It was a suffocating thing; heady with potent tension, and weighed down by an invisible elephant that only spoke in tongues of betrayal. The two men stared at each other, both fully cognisant. Both expectant. Both impatient to different degrees.

It was Nate who eventually broke first, giving a hesitant nod in parting as he retraced his steps toward the connecting office -- only to bump into Roy Kent's bedrock chest.

"Oh." The former kit man blinked, fear bubbling along the lining of his stomach.

    Roy stared at him.

    "Uh, so--"

     "Jamie's looking for you." Beard interrupted as he continued reading. He didn't have to see the raised brow to know that it was there. "Yeah, no, I don't know what he wants."

    Roy rolled his jaw, spared Nate a brief glance, and then marched towards the locker room. His eyes immediately locked onto his girlfriend's brother; the only person wearing a cap indoors, the only prick bold enough to wear a red gilet made of pure silk velvet, the only one here who cackled like a hyena.

    "Oi, Tartt!" He barked. The entire team turned to him, and Roy remembered that he wasn't angry. It was just instinctual at this point, yelling at number nine – he'd done it every day as captain, and the urge had yet to wane now that he was a coach.

    Jamie blinked at him. "Y'alright?"

    He pursed his lips, recognising the look in the striker's red-brown eyes. It was the same look Ada unknowingly gave him whenever she wanted to talk, whenever she had something to say but didn't know how to say it. Roy gave into his instincts and begrudgingly tilted his head, gesturing towards the door across the hall.

    Jamie's gaze flickered over to the boot room. "Through there?"

    Isaac and Colin exchanged a look.

    Roy didn't bother answering. He merely waited for Jamie to exit the locker room before then trailing after him. The striker kept glancing over his shoulder, as if afraid that his neck would get snapped or that he would get knifed in the kidneys.

     His shoulders slumped in relief once he made it to the boot room in one piece, but his heckles rose again when Roy shut the door. "Okay, okay, look," Jamie raised his hands as if to defend himself. "We're just gonna talk, yeah?"

    Roy shot him a bored look. "What the fuck's wrong with you?" 

    Truth was that Jamie had been planning this conversation in his head for the last two days, and ten minutes ago, he was actually the one pursuing it. But that was before Roy Kent abruptly stormed in and yelled at him. There was now an invasive paranoia lining the inside of his bones, like some sort of sickly marrow, and it told Jamie that the man's hostile vulgarity was there for a good reason.

   "It wasn't me who told everyone that you wear fuzzy socks around the house."

     Roy squinted. "What?"

     Jamie paused. And then, "Exactly."

     "You fucking--"

      "Wait, wait, wait," He took a small step back, eyeing the quiver in Roy's jaw. "Can I just say something first, please?"

    "Yeah, okay," The former captain grit with a slow nod of his head. "That's a good idea. 'Cause when I'm done, you won't have any teeth left and you'll probably need them for the talking bit."

    "Right." Jamie sniffed. He was slightly intimidated, but was also grateful, because Roy's threat served as the perfect segue. "But, realistically, you wouldn't break me teeth. Because, you know, you're dating me sister. And if you're gonna be-- if you and Ades are gonna be-- like, if you and I are gonna be bro--"

    Roy squinted again.

    "Look," He sighed, adjusting the cap on his head. "When I came back to play for Richmond, Ades made me apologise to the team, yeah? In the locker room. And you wasn't working here at the time, but if you were, then I probably would've. . . like, said something to you as well, innit?"

     ("Make the prick apologise. And make him do it in the locker room." That was what he'd said to his girlfriend all those months ago, when she was ranting to him about her brother's controversial return. Roy already knew that she'd heeded his council, but when Ada told him that the plan had failed, he naturally assumed that it had something to do with Jamie Tartt's ego and his refusal to eat humble pie.

The fact that Jamie did apologise was surprising. And what was more, Roy couldn't believe that the prick was now looking to do the same with him. The only notable difference was that they were outside of the locker room and outside of their kits – because the two of them were no longer teammates. And they weren't rivals anymore either.

They used to be.

A lot had changed since then.)

    "I never apologised. And I think that I should. So that it goes away. And, uh, so that it doesn't make everything a little bit bad." Jamie continued, struggling with his wording a bit. It was times like these when he wished that he'd siphoned more of his sister's traits in the womb, like her diction and her eloquence.

(Ada was always the smarter twin.)

"So, yeah, I'm apologising. For last season's match, you know? I mean, it wasn't me fault or anything, it was your move," He winced when that earned him a hateful glare. "But I am sorry."

Jamie was sorry that one of his favourite players was permanently out of the game. He was sorry that he had something to do with it. He was sorry that he was a shitty teammate, and that he never respected Roy as his captain. He was sorry that he brought about Richmond's relegation just to come back the following season, when Roy's knee was still tweaking from his failed attempt at securing a win.

"And I just want you to know that I respect you." The striker went on to say. "And that I respect your relationship with me sister. I love her -- and you do too, I know that. I, uh, I think you two are really good together. Like pasta and sauce." He made a vague gesture with his hands."And I think it'd be a lot easier for her if we was alright, you and me."

Roy stared at him. He couldn't wrap his mind around this conversation, not even if he tried; the random timing of it all, the sudden accountability, the earnest glint in Jamie Tartt's eyes, the praising of his relationship, the fucking pasta and sauce.

Did this mean. . . ?

Did this make them. . . ?

"Fuck!"

Jamie watched, wide eyed, as Roy swept out of the room like a tornado. He stared at the door after it slammed shut, brows furrowing slightly.

"Wow." A pubescent voice spoke up.

    A glance to the left comfirmed that it was young William, the team's kit man. A sweet lad, if not a bit awkward. He always ironed Jamie's shorts the way he liked, and voluntarily polished the number nine on his locker – like it was some sort of artefact.

"I thought that was really nice." The boy said, red towels piled high in his arms. He noticed that Jamie staring at him. "Oh, sorry, I kind of froze when you two came in here and I just didn't know what to do."

"Alright." Jamie murmured.

"Are you and Roy friends?"

He went to respond, but was cut of by the aforementioned man's demandingly gruff voice; "Tartt! Training in ten! If you're not ready, you're running a million fucking laps!"

✷

Ted blew his whistle as soon as the team was done with basic drills; high knees and free kicks and laps – simple yet effective exercises, monitored by a zealous Ada and a stern Beard. The pre-training regimen had been designed to accommodate Nate's new play, and its main objective was to ensure that the boys' bodies were ready and adaptable.

"Circle up!" The man called out, moving to stand beside his assistant coaches as the players loosely huddled. "Hey, fellas. Before we get started here, I wanted to talk to y'all about the article you saw in the spread this morning."

Colin looked to Ada in confusion. She mimed reading a newspaper; licking her pointer finger and turning a massive, imaginary page. He nodded in silent understanding.

Ted caught the interaction and frowned. "Oh, yeah, I guess y'all are probably used to reading the news on your phones, huh?" He absentmindedly kicked at the grass. "I still get the paper, because, well, you can't cut cartoons out of a phone, right?"

Zoreaux shrugged. "Yeah, but you can screenshot them and text them."

Isaac put on his captain voice as he turned to face the goalie. "That's called copyright infringement, bruv."

"Oh."

"Hey, I hear you, Zoreaux." Ted smiled. "But, well, you can't hang a screenshot on a fridge either."

"My refrigerator has a television." Dani grinned, and his grin only widened with the influx of amazement and praise.

"Ada's television has a refrigerator." Jamie then felt the need to point out.

    The entire team eagerly turned to her.

"No, it doesn't." Ada frowned, looking to her brother. "Why would you say that?"

He could only shrug. "Just wanted to."

"Well, why didn't you say you had a fridge in your television?"

"Everyone's already been to me house." Jamie defended. His not-so-humble abode was the designated hangover home, a place for the team to crash after a night of intense partying.

"I've been to Ada's house." Jan Maas innocently hummed. "Very comfortable."

Roy glared at him.

    Ada kissed the underside of his jaw.

"Fellas, I love my Architectural Digest as much as the next guy, but we're getting off topic." Ted coughed, waving his hands around in order to garner their attention. "Point is, y'all found out about something from somewhere when you should've found out about it from me first."

Beard eyed Nate from his peripheral.

"But, I chose not to tell y'all, and that was dumb." He continued. "You know, fellas, we make a lot of choices in our lives. Every single day. Raging from am I really about to eat something called Greek Yogurt? To, you know, Should I leave my family and take a job halfway across the world?"

     "What's wrong with Greek yogurt?" Ada mumbled under her breath.

    "Right?" Beard quietly agreed.

      Ted didn't hear them. "Me choosing not to be forthright with y'all, that was a bad choice. But I can't be wasting time wishing for a do-over on all that. Because that ain't how choices work. No, sir." He gave a tight smile. "That choice, and my Chicago Bulls Starter jacket that I let Janelle Rhodes borrow during my sophomore year because she spilled ketchup all over herself and it looked like she'd been shot – well, those are two things I ain't ever getting back."

     Jamie pursed his lips before glancing over at his sister. As if sensing him, her brown eyes immediately locked onto his mirrored pair. The two exchanged an identically perplexed look and shrugged.

    Roy tiredly watched them.

    "Every choice is a chance, fellas, and I didn't get my chance to build further trust with y'all." Ted went on to say. "To quote the great UCLA college basketball coach, John Obi-Wan Gandalf, it is our choices that show us what we truly are far more than our abilities."

Ada gently pat him on the shoulder.

He pat her hand. "Now, I hope y'all can forgive me for what I've done. Because I sure as heck wouldn't want any of y'all to hold anything back with me."

Words of comforting affirmation and wise understanding immediately flooded the pitch, multiple variations of "We got you, Coach," and "You're alright."

"No problem, gaffer." Colin Hughes assured him before glancing around the group. "And when we sniff out the rat, permission to take socks full of soap to their stomach and chest?"

"Not soap," Ada reminded him. "It's butter. Socks full of cold, hard butter."

Isaac clapped his hands. "Butter socks! We're gonna find the rat and fuck em up!"

"Fucking kill em!" Jamie called out over the chorus of enthused agreement.

Nate shifted on his feet.

Ted immediately blew his whistle. "No, hey, fellas, look. I'm gonna nip that talk in the butt right now."

"Love a nip on the butt." Ada snorted, earning an eye roll from her boyfriend.

Beard clapped a hand over the girl's mouth and turned to his best friend. "It's actually bud, not butt, Coach."

"It is?" Ted squinted, eyeing the pair in mild amusement. And then the realisation struck. "Oh, because of flowers, right?"

"Horticulture, baby!"

"Whore-ticulture." Ada japed once freed, only for Beard to muzzle her again.

"Uh, look, gentlemen," Ted adjusted the visor on his head. "I want us to focus on something a little bit more productive. Like working on Nate the Great's false nine. How's that sound to y'all?"

The team applauded, all eager.

"Great. Any questions before we start?"

"Yeah, I got two." Jamie raised his hand. "First one's not actually a question, I'm just letting you know that Ada's eyes are telling me she ain't breathing." Beard noticed that his hand was clamped over her nose as well as her mouth and quickly relinquished his hold. "Second question is what are we gonna do with that fucking thing there?"

Everyone followed his line of sight.

The private helicopter, with the name Akufo ornamenting its tail boom in blocky white paint, was still occupying a large portion of their training pitch.

"Will said he wants to be a pilot." Ada supplied as they all began to think of solutions. "Why don't we let him fly it back to where it came from?"

The boy flushed bright red as many turned to appraise him. They were clearly searching for any outward and blatant piloting traits – and they would probably find none, because Will had actually said that he wanted to buy a new video game called Pilot Night, where the entire quest took place on an airplane, but correcting Ada Tartt felt borderline blasphemous.

"Fly it back. . . to Ghana?" Roy squinted.

Ada's hands were on her hips. "You don't believe he's capable, is that it?"

"Do I think he's capable of flying a company helicopter to another continent? Without actual provisions or a license?" He emphasised. "No, I don't."

"And you don't think that does major damage to his confidence?" She gaped.

"I think it's fucking mad that we're even having this conversation."

"I think you're mad."

     The team's eyes darted between the snipping couple, left to right, as if they were observing a tennis match. They watched as the two tensely stared at each other. They then watched as Ada tilted her head and blinked. Roy's nose begrudgingly scrunched. She grinned big.

  "What's happening?" Zoreaux whispered.

   Bumbercatch shrugged.

    "So. . ." Ted rocked on his heels. "Is Will flying this baby out of here or not?"

   "Nope." Ada hummed, not noticing how the kit man's shoulders slumped with the weight of immense relief. "We'll have to train somewhere else."

    He nodded and turned to his players. "Well, I'll tell you what, let's all head to the north field, and if you guys hustle, that'll count as our cardio for today, yeah?"

     The team didn't seem too sure about that. Despite the fact that their chosen professional mostly consisted of running, they still loathed the aerobic elements of their training.

    Roy, who retired not too long ago, understood their aversion. But he lacked any and all sympathy seeing as he'd had to train with a shitty knee. "Scram! Whistle! Whistle!"

     Ada shook her head as they fearfully scattered. She stuck her leg out when Jamie ran by, and snorted when he tripped over her foot. "You miss the bit where footballers have to be alert?"

    "You miss the bit where being a bitch makes you a fucking bitch?" He childishly grit, hauling himself up off the grass.

    "Yeah, I must have." Ada snorted before cupping her brother's face and pressing a dozen quick kisses to both his cheeks. She missed the days when they were pudgy. "Go on, then. Run your run."

    Jamie rolled his eyes and did as told.

    Roy slowly approached his girlfriend, hands folded behind his back. "You know, before training, he--"

     Her phone pinged. "Wait, sorry," Ada pecked him on the mouth, some sort of doting compensation, and fished the device from her pocket.

    "What now?" He asked.

     She just stared at the notification.

    

✷

    The invitation came in the form of a short email – a touch too formal for Ada's own liking, and yet perhaps too casual if one considered how things ended. There was a phone number typed out at the bottom; an alternative method of responding, because times had changed and so did their personal information.

    Ada's response was a drab one. She merely sent over the address to her chosen coffeehouse, the one ran by Susan Hayes (no doubt it was their brief run-in this morning that brought the establishment to the forefront of her mind), and said that she would be there during her lunch break.

    So that was where they were now, sat across from each other in an uncongested cafe, waiting for their orders to arrive. Ada was trying not to openly stare at the bulky, reconstructive leg brace – Leah, on the other hand, was unabashedly eyeing the greyhound crest on her white shirt.

    Young Shannon, who'd clocked into her shift as soon she came home from school, was blatantly staring at the both of them from her place behind the front counter. She'd been gaping as well, but her mother had clamped her mouth shut and warned of her of flies seeking shelter.

    "You look good."

     Ada dragged her eyes away from the television, where a toothpaste advert was now playing, and looked to the blonde sat across from her. "I have a boyfriend," She hummed in a rather bland tone.

      Leah quietly snorted. She'd been planning this whole thing out in her head for months, since Ada was asked to comment on her injury ("Williamson's fucking tough. So I'm not too worried,"). The prospect of reconciliation, and perhaps even rekindling their lost bond, was one of the things that kept her mind occupied during those tedious weeks of recovery.

A relief pooled in her belly as she stared at her former teammate. It was good to know that Ada was willing to jape and joke like the times of old.

"Roy Kent." Leah mused with a teasing sort of lilt. "Was kind of hurt that you replaced me with another number six."

"Being replaced just sucks, doesn't it?"

(Let it be known that when Ada Tartt agreed to meeting up for lunch, it had been with the intention of maturing and pushing aside all past ills. Ted Lasso's speech during training, the one about making decisions and not being able to take them back, was still ringing in her ears when she'd received the invitational email; "Every choice is a chance," He wisely spoke.

So she chose to change.

But that was before her lunch break rolled around. Before she left Nelson Road and made for the cafe. Before she walked past the youth-filled football pitch in order to get here. Before she saw that familiar blonde ponytail and was made to sit down in relative silence. Fact was that Ada didn't want to do this anymore, and the stiff feeling in her gut, knotting her intestines and solidifying all fluids, made it impossible to entertain the whole thing.)

"You weren't replaced." A small frown was now marring Leah's pretty face. "You left the team. We needed a striker. You remember how shit the reserves--"

"I didn't leave." Ada sat up straighter. "Me fucking leg got snapped in half. I gave up me position because I had to." The only response that garnered was a hesitant silence. "What? You thought I chose to stop playing?"

Leah chewed on her cheek, seemingly guilty. "Tartt, we thought you hated us."

(And it was a fair assumption to make. Ada had stopped showing up to team meals. She preferred individual training to the productive group sessions. She spent cross continental bus rides alone, sat towards the back and brushing up on surprise tactics – plays that she wouldn't tell the rest of the team about.)

"And when those rumours came out about you looking for an excuse to leave, how could we not believe them?" Leah continued. They were hard words to hear, she acknowledged that, but Ada deserved to know the truth of things.

The fall that ended her career was nothing compared to past tackles, and so the team didn't think to crowd her for anything other than the hope of a penalty. And when it was announced that Ada Tartt's femur was broken, they figured it was best to send baskets and cards rather than visit – after all, the girl didn't like them when she was healthy, and the last thing any of them wanted was to add to her discomfort by showing up at her hospital room or at her door.

The plan had always been to check in some time after the surgery, as per the team captain, Kim Little's, considerate demand. But then those articles came out, the ones about Ada clubbing and partying barely a month into physical therapy. Nobody with a serious injury could do that, not unless they were numbing themselves with medication (which they would never assume of a athlete such as this one).

And then came the news of a former star player signing modelling contracts.

There were so many signs, collected and assembled by gossip conspiracists, that pointed to the whole thing being a calculated swindle. But staring into Ada's brown eyes, vulnerable and indignant, told Leah that there had been so many signs pointing to so many other things.

"Football means everything to me."

"I know." The blonde nodded with a barely visible smile. "I forgot for a bit, and I'm sorry, but I know." A thin stretch of quiet. "I mean, you wouldn't be coaching men's football if you weren't desperate to be around the game."

Ada opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the arrival of their food; two cups of tea and three cheese toasties – one was to be divided, as was tradition. She waited for the waitress (a trembling Shannon) to depart before voicing her mild defence. "Men's football isn't all that bad."

"But it isn't women's." Leah pointed out, watching the former striker stir her scalding brew.

"Yeah, no tits in men's football." She then paused, lips pursed. "Unless you count me baby brother, he's a bit of a tit."

Leah snorted, earning a small smile in response – the first smile she'd received since sitting down. "That wasn't what I meant, and you know it." She broke her sandwich in half, allowing the cheese to cool a bit. "Women's football isn't. . . You don't get accepted by the players because you play well. You play well because you get accepted."

"Yeah." Ada murmured.

"It's not about being the best."

An odd silence settled over them then, one that was equal parts calm and terse; contemplative was the only appropriate way to describe it. Ada took a slow sip of her tea before meeting eyes with the blonde. "I was the best, though."

A wide grin, "You little shit."

✷

"Hey!" Ada panted, tripping on her shoelace as she rushed into The Crown and Anchor. Her lunch plans with Leah had turned into post-lunch and pre-dinner plans, which meant that they'd spent a large chunk of the day together, walking around town (with routine breaks so that the blonde's knee joints didn't swell) and lightly reminiscing. It also meant that she was now running behind schedule; being late to drinks with Ted and Beard meant that she would probably be late to dinner with her boyfriend, which also meant that she'd miss the opening credits to whatever film her mother picked tonight (the twins and Georgie had facetime movie nights every week, for old times' sake).

"Don't run, Ada." Mae sighed, arriving with two pints in hand. She watched as the girl plopped down beside Ted and shot her a stern look. "You're looking thin. What do I get you?"

"Nothing." Ada pat her belly. "I need room for whatever me old man's making tonight. Praying it's nothing French."

"Roy's experimenting again?" Beard guessed with an inquisitive frown.

"Says I have an immature palette." She sighed, resting her head against Ted's shoulder. "Could do with a water, though, Mae. Thank you."

"Yeah, thanks, Mae." Ted smiled as he took a sip of his freshly pulled pint. But his smile wavered as he caught sight of something; a man, sitting a little ways away, reading today's paper.

Beard and Ada exchanged a look.

Mae glanced over her shoulder before softly shaking her head. "Don't worry about it, Ted. It'll all wash out in the cycle, it always does." She picked up a discarded napkin and looked to Ada. "You remember when everyone was talking about how you didn't eat?"

"Yeah." Ada sighed, recalling the time when journalists were obsessed with her eating habits. They would search her trash for wrappers, would ask waiters what she'd ordered, would take photos any time they caught her consuming anything – in public, and occasionally in the comforts of her own home.

"You should order something." Mae then sneakily suggested. "Make sure the rumours don't resurface."

Ted huffed a quiet laugh and handed the girl his packet of crisps, just to appease the stubborn bar owner. Ada shoved a handful in her mouth and dramatically chewed.

Beard tutted like a mother as she got crumbs all over herself.

Mae rolled her eyes and made for the back of the bar, making sure to snatch the newspaper from her tone deaf patron as she did so. She scrunched it up into a thick ball on her way towards the kitchen.

"So. . ." Beard began once a comfortable silence was established, nursing his pint and watching his companions munch on their shared snack. "You gonna say anything?"

Ted paused mid-chew, acknowledging that the question, as well as his best friend's attentive gaze, were aimed at him. "I mean, eventually, yeah." He swallowed what was in his mouth. "You may have noticed through the years that I can be quite loquacious."

Ada nudged him. "He's not talking about that," She huffed, earning a grateful nod from Beard. "He's asking if you're gonna say anything to Nate."

"Wait." Beard blinked. "You know he's the anonymous source?"

Ada fiddled with a crisp, shoulders slumping slightly. "I'm not stupid."

She didn't want it to be him. And she'd managed to convince herself that it wasn't. But the signs were all there; Ted only ever told The Diamond Dogs, Nate kept mentioning the desire to be boss, he'd been acting off for most of the season. He was her friend, one of her most trusted, but there was no point in pretending anymore.

Success had changed Nathan Shelley.

The way it once changed her.

And the desire to help him was still there (she knew it would never really leave her), but the universe was built on order, and there was a fucking order to things. Accountability came first. It always came first. He had to apologise to Ted (the way he'd apologised to Colin, the way she'd once apologised to him, the way Leah just apologised to her) and it was only then that they could move forward.

"What makes y'all think it was Nate?" Ted asked. His tone was soft and his expression was even softer still.

Beard shot him an obvious look.

Ada just leaned on his shoulder again.

"Yeah," He sighed. "Well, you know my philosophy when it comes to cats, babies, and apologies. You gotta let 'em come to you."

"You need a three for three." Ada mumbled with a touch of scorn. "Nate's been a pussy and a baby recently, but I don't think he's all that apologetic."

"It's not happening." Beard seemed to agree – but he wasn't best friends with Keeley Jones, and so his supportive and philosophical wisdom lacked a tasteful crassness. "Sometimes people need a little bit of a push."

"Yeah, well, I ain't pushing nobody." Ted murmured, resting his head on Ada's.

Beard watched them. "I think it'll help."

"Nate'll be fine." He assured.

"He means it'll help you." Ada sighed, earning yet another nod for her skilful deduction. "You're hurt. And you deserve an apology."

"Coach, you keep trying to hold all this in, I'm afraid your moustache is gonna pop off." Beard told his best friend, earning a hoarse chuckle.

Ada pushed off Ted's shoulder and inspected his facial hair. "That moustache has genuinely changed lives."

"Oh, yeah?" He brushed it down with his pointer finger, ensuring it was neat. "I lose it and I'll look like the fella from The Hangover, right?"

"Bradley Cooper?" Beard guessed.

Ted turned to him with a gasp, visibly touched. "You're too good to me."

✷

Ada left the pub just as the sun began to set, and made it home in time to help her boyfriend set the table. He was already dressed in comfortable clothes, a black short-sleeve and joggers, so she changed into a white camisole and silky, pink shorts; garments that were easy for her to slip on, and therefore just as easy for him to slip off later.

The two had kissed and talked as they set down crockery. They then kissed and talked all throughout dinner (which was a bountiful repast of buttered vegetables and honeyed meats and tart deserts). And they kissed and talked some more whilst doing the dishes -- well, it was actually Roy doing the dishes and her wiping them dry from her place on the kitchen counter.

The domestic simplicity of the task reminded Ada of how her mother and Simon operated in the kitchen, and the thought of her mother had the girl glancing down at her phone to check the time.

Less than an hour until movie night.

"This morning," Roy suddenly spoke, turning off the tap and garnering her attention. "Jamie apologised to me for everything that happened last season."

Ada blinked. "What?"

"Yeah," He slowly nodded, wiping his hands dry with a dishcloth. "Weird, right?"

His question was one of incredulity, but Ada mistook it for something much more cynical. "I didn't ask him to do that." She swore, parting her legs so that he could stand between them. Her hands found his shoulders and his hands sought out her thighs. "I'm not lying to you, babe."

"I know." Roy softly nodded. "He said he did it on his own. Said he wanted to move past all the old shit or something."

"And what did you say?" She had to ask. There was an anticipation in her eyes and a gentle hope in her belly. Ada had always tried to be patient when it came to the slow budding whatever between her boyfriend and her brother, but it had been over a fucking year. The lack of hostility was fine, and the quiet breakfasts were peaceful enough, but she wanted more.

Jamie was her best friend, her other half, and Roy was . . . well, there was no denying that he was the love of her life. All she wanted was for the two of them, her favourite boys, to talk and to laugh and to have inside jokes. She wouldn't even mind if all they did was complain about her. She wanted to be annoyed by them. She wanted them to be friends, brothers. She wanted them to protect each other the way they always protected her, the way she tried to protect them in turn.

She didn't want to walk on eggshells every time she brought up one in front of the other. She didn't want to invest in those boundary dividing cushions for her sofa. She didn't want to pass the potatoes to two people sitting on opposite ends of the table.

Ada wanted a home full of warmth and mutual love, like the one that her mother had built despite the stacked odds. She could never be content with meagre indifference, she could never settle for sophisticated quiet.

And she knew it was possible, because the three of them had been so content the night of the funeral, curled together on the couch and watching Flushed Away; her boyfriend's head on her chest and her brother's head on her blanketed lap, the two of them arguing over the symbolism of an animated ruby and discussing the hierarchy of a fictional rat society.

That was all she wanted.

Ada wasn't asking for the impossible.

She was just asking for more.

"What do you think I said?" Roy softly wondered, his head tilted to the side.

"What I think is totally different from what I hope you said." Her hands moved from his broad shoulders to the back of his warm neck. "I'm guessing you went fuck! and just marched right out."

He stared at her.

"Did I get it right?" Ada hummed in mild amusement, taking in his obvious disbelief. "Because if you hit him for any reason then you and I are definitely breaking up."

It sounded like a joke, but Roy knew that it wasn't. "I did something worse than hit him." He scoffed, rubbing the smooth skin of her thighs. "I fucking forgave him."

She could only stare.

"It's disgusting, innit?"

Ada's eyes darted across his face. She was on the prawl for anything hostile, anything that warned her against hope. Anything that hinted at inevitable disappointment. What she found was this; beneath a layer of begrudgement, coating a prickly foundation, was a strange sort of acceptance.

(It was enough for her.)

"Fuck's that face--" Ada was kissing him before he could blink. Kissing him in a way that warmed, in a way that thrilled. He felt her fingers coil in his hair. Felt her use her tethered grip to pull him closer and closer, only stopping when his hips were flushed against the marble counter.

"That's all I ever wanted." She hummed, peppering wet kisses on his lips and chin and cheeks. "Roy, I'm so happy."

He spoke without his mind's approval and without his tongue's consent. "All I want is for you to be fucking happy."

That made her eyes grow teary for some reason. "I love you. . ." She bit her lip and lightly caressed his face. "Fuck, you're such a good man, Roy Kent."

A warmth pooled in his belly as he stared at her, taking in the reddening nose and the swollen lips and the kind eyes. He leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to her cheek. Ada's eyes fluttered shut, and she scratched the back of his head as he expressed his doting devotion.

(She loved him, she loved him.)

"Hey, listen, speaking of cute former teammates and their accountability--" The girl mumbled, pulling back slightly so that they could see each other.

"I didn't call Jamie Tartt cute."

"He looks just like me." Ada rolled her eyes. "You definitely think he's cute."

Roy grimaced in disgust.

"Anyways," She continued. "You know how I said that I had lunch with Leah Williamson today?" Her boyfriend gave a small nod. "Well, she said that Arsenal is looking to start a training program for underprivileged girls. . . And they need someone to coach."

Leah had casually touched on it towards the end of their afternoon stroll. She sneakily mentioned the basis of the program and studied Ada's response to it – the reaction was, naturally, a very impressed one. After all, she was once an underprivileged girl looking to go pro. After appraising her approval, Leah let slip that she couldn't do the gig with a tightly braced leg, and had asked Ada if she was remotely interested in taking over.

Remotely was an understatement.

She was fucking thrilled.

Roy was quick to notice that, as well.

"Holy fucking shit, that is huge!" He immediately pulled his girlfriend off the counter and tossed her over his shoulder. Giggles poured out of her as he spun around. "You're gonna inspire the fuck out those girls. That's fucking amazing!"

"It is amazing, innit?" Ada's head spun as he set her down on her feet, and she grabbed onto him for stability – both literal and metaphorical.

"Yeah," Roy softly nodded and pulled her even closer. There was an odd pulse in his gut, but Roy brushed it off. Because she wanted his support. She needed his assurance. And he would give her whatever she fucking wanted. "Coaching on your own. You're gonna do so well, you're not gonna want to come back."

"Program's only an hour away." Ada snorted. "And it's only a few weeks long."

"A few weeks?" He teased, chewing on his cheek. "You're definitely not gonna have time for me anymore."

    She felt herself stiffen. Ada didn't like that, not one bit. It didn't matter that he was japing, it didn't matter that his words bore no truth. She needed him to always be sure of her love, the way she was so sure of his. This relationship was equal, it was loving, it was fair, it was true – on both their fucking parts. Teasing or not, he wasn't allowed to rebut that.

    "Don't even joke like that." She grabbed him by the jaw. "They'd have to chain me to the fucking moon to keep me from you."

"Yeah." His thumbs snuck up the hem of her camisole and softly rubbed at the warmth of her stomach. "So, how do you wanna celebrate then?"

Ada pretended this think really hard. "I'm gonna go upstairs and watch a movie with me brother and me mummy."

Roy smiled a mild smile, "Ada Tartt."

(He loved her, he loved her.)

"Apparently." The girl shrugged. She went to kiss him again, because his mouth was truly one of her favourite things in the world (equal parts rough and soft, equal parts warm and cool, equal parts gentle and demanding), but the sound of her phone pinging forced her to change course.

Roy released his hold on his girlfriend and watched her reach for the device. It was still on the counter, and the screen was now lit up. The light caught her face as she studied the newest notification.

"Oh," Ada glanced over her shoulder to look at him. "Keeley just sent over a preview of the Vanity Fair article."

Roy noticed that she was very casual about the whole thing, and wondered why he wasn't the same; goosebumps littered his entire upper body, a strange whirlpool formed at the pit of his stomach, and he felt his fists clench all by themselves.

"Oh, shit. They better not have used any pictures of me smiling." He mildly warned, approaching from behind and then looking over her shoulder.

     "Yeah, and they better not have used any pictures of me wearing a Man United shirt." Ada snorted, waiting for the article to load. "Oh, wait, neither of those things would ever fucking happen."

He went to offer some sort of rebuttal, but lost his breath when the Vanity Fair article finally showed up on her screen.

ADA TARTT,
THE NORTHERN LIGHT.

It opened with a picture of her in blue boxer shorts and a ribbed white vest. Her boyish hair was lazily tousled, and a milk moustache over-lined her lips. It was a commentary on youth and gender, and what accompanied it was an extract from one of her answers; "Football was never a boy's game. People might think it is, because the most popular players are men and because the most viewed matches are men's matches, but there is a women's division. Women play in it. Women watch it. It changed lives. It changed mine."

    "Wow." Roy marvelled.

"Dumb title, innit?" She hummed, skimming over the lengthy paragraphs which followed the declaring headline.

   Ada didn't care to study any of the pictures, and was mainly focused on scanning the article for Keeley's mention and credits -- but then her finger swiped at the screen, to turn the page and continue her search, and suddenly the picture was all she could focus on. Because there she was, sat on that couch in that white suit, dewy cheeked and wet haired, alone.

     "What the fuck?" Ada mumbled.

      (Roy bit back a frown.)

      She swiped again, and felt her brows furrow in genuine confusion. "Why aren't you in any of them?" Irritation began to bubble along the lining of her stomach once she heard her question back. Because what could the answer possibly be? What was their excuse, their reasoning? Why would an industry such as this, one which always demanded Ada's complete cooperation, hypocritically waste someone else's valuable time?

And not just someone, but Roy.

Her boyfriend.

    The man who made sure to be here, suited and prepped, to take those stupid pictures. Who heeded their directions and posed the way they asked him to pose. Who crouched down before her, when she was stressing out upstairs, and comforted her; he'd called her an angel, and told her she was loved, and made her laugh with his niece's charcoal breasts, and assured her that she would see the whole thing through ("You're not gonna walk out," He'd promised, because he knew of her deep rooted fear – that she was a Tartt, and that Tartts were fickle people who always left, and that Ada sometimes felt like she wasn't programmed to stay).

    "That's not fucking cool." She sniffed, eyeing the professionally photographed pictures. "You took time out of your day and you fucking showed up. I'll tell Keeley to sort it out. No, you know what? I'll get London--"

   "Don't you dare." Roy softly interrupted, reaching over to zoom in on one of the pictures. It was of Ada on the couch; a test shot, taken just before he plopped down beside her. She was seemingly lost in thought, and her content gaze was trained on something just out of shot. "Don't you dare change a fucking thing."

    "But we were--"

     "You look beautiful." He swiped to another picture, one of her in a vintage Man City shirt, hands clasped beneath her chin in worship as she kneeled before a poster of Liam Gallagher. "You look. . ."

     She looked like Ada Tartt.

     A girl that all girls wanted to be.

     A girl that everyone wanted to know.

     A girl that so many people wanted.

     (He wished they'd used the pictures.)

     "You look fucking powerful." Roy told her, swallowing thickly as he tried to clear his mind of thoughts. "You look amazing. I already told you yesterday, everyone's gonna fall in love with you."

    Ada shut her phone off before he could swipe again. She turned to face him, her back pressed against the counter and her front pressed up against his own. "I don't care about anyone else, Roy."

    "I know."

    "Doesn't feel like you do sometimes." She confessed, tonguing the inside of her cheek. "You're it for me, Kent."

    He shot her a small smile.

    She wrapped her arms around his middle and kissed the flushed crook of his neck. "You're it for me."

    "Not leaving me for Williamson?"

    "Fuck off," She snorted, pulling back slightly so that she could look into his teasing eyes. "Babe, get over it. You're not the first number six I ever had. Or the first Roy. Fuck, you're not even me first Kent."

    He raised a brow at that last part.

     "Clark Kent role play," She waved her hand about. "It totally counts."

     Roy rolled his jaw, and the next thing he knew, he was leaning down to kiss her. It was a possessive thing, bruising on the lips and hot in the mouth. She welcomed it without hesitation. His tongue tangled with hers. His hands cupped the sides of her frail neck, thumbs caressing her skin.

    "Upstairs." Ada panted as he began sucking on the flesh of her throat. She tugged on the hem of his black shirt, already desperate. "Let's go upstairs."

    He picked her up again. She wrapped her long legs wrapped around his waist and urgently tilted his chin upwards. Their lips met in a hasty and wet clash of teeth and tongues. Her fingers pulled at his dark hair. He moaned inside her mouth. The sound travelled down her internal body.

    "Upstairs." She murmured again.

     Roy heeded, blindly walking towards the wooden staircase with his girlfriend in his arms. She was now nibbling on the lobe of his ear. "You have the movie thing with your mum."

   "Jamie likes to play adverts before the credits." Ada whispered. "Makes him feel like he's at the cinema."

    The twins didn't go to the movie theatre much as kids, not after the ridiculous increase in ticket prices. Instead, they would watch films at home (occasionally a pirated film that was yet to hit DVD, if Skinhead Sid was feeling generous enough to share his bootleg collection – which he was, if you promised him a decent selection of snacks), and would create their own little cinema; a shitty projector, popcorn, and, Jamie's most favourite detail, the ten minute pre-show adverts.

    The Tartts could afford to go to the theatre now, but found that their weekly Factime movie nights were a nice (albeit modern) way of keeping old traditions alive. Adding Georgie to the call made the whole thing even better, especially when considering that she'd always been too busy to join back when they were kids. Their mother also had the patience of a saint, so she didn't mind Ada and Jamie's constant bickering – nor did she complain about all the fucking commercials that her son would play via screen-sharing.

    "Your brother's an idiot."

    Ada snorted, licking a stripe along his scruffy cheek. "You're his friend."

     "I wanted to hit him today."

      "But you didn't."

       "Can I?" They were halfway up the stairs, both breathless and needy. She pulled back to shoot him a look. "What if I hit him, but then shake his hand?"

      Ada stared. "What?"

      "Yeah, you know. . . No pain."

       "Men." She rolled her eyes. "You're only good for plowing, really."

     Roy took that as a reluctant okay.

     And as a silent order to plow.

     He sprinted up the stairs.

     Ada laughed.

✷

      Ada cried.

     It was the morning of the Brentford match, the match which determined whether or not Richmond got promoted to the Premier League, and all she could do was fucking cry. Her pathetic sniffles filled the lavish office, accompanied by the hysterical sobs of Keeley Jones and the sophisticated weeping of Rebecca Welton.

   "Why does everyone keep leaving me?"

    "I'm so sorry." Keeley bawled.

      "No, don't be," Ada quickly took it back, still crying. "You deserve this so much, Keels." She crawled onto her best friend's lap and wiped the mascara from her cheeks.

    "Thank you." The blonde sobbed.

     (And Keeley truly wasn't just spewing grateful nonsense in her emotional state. She truly was grateful to Ada, for all of it.  For the years of friendship, and for never passing judgment. For introducing her to Jamie, who'd been a pivotal love, and who was now a true friends. For taking her on as an unofficial publicist, and for unknowingly opening so many doors. For properly introducing her to Rebecca Welton at the gala, which brought so much good.

   And for agreeing to the Vanity Fair article, which earned her a mention and credit. A mention that was spied by an influential editor, who happened to have connections in the field of venture capital. One such capitalist was apparently familiar with Keeley's most recent PR work, particularly the branding that she'd done for Bantr, and had offered to finance her staring up her own firm.

    She took them up on the generous offer, because things like this, fairytale things, rarely ever happened to Keeley Jones.)

    Rebecca reached over and grabbed both their hands, not caring that her fingers were now stained black. "This is good."

     It wouldn't be the three of them anymore. Sure, there would be abrupt visitations and discourteous intrusions once Keeley got herself all set up, but they wouldn't see each other every morning. They wouldn't sit in this office and talk of sex positions, and hair dye, and what they had for breakfast. They wouldn't gossip during their free time. They wouldn't cuddle on this sofa at the end of the day and recap; what Ada saw in the locker room, what Keeley heard near the water cooler, how many times Rebecca locked eyes with Sam Obisanya.

    Those wouldn't be regular things.

    They wouldn't be routine occurrences.

     Still, it was good.

    Keeley looked to her boss-turned-friend, jaw quivering. "You helped this panda become a lion."

     Rebecca wept. "I'm so proud of you."

     "You're all grown up." Ada nodded, nose very red and eyes visibly swollen.

     "I'm older than you." Keeley let out a wet laugh and pulled them both into a tight embrace. The three person hug was a touch uncomfortable, what with the heat and the running makeup and the fact that Ada was now being suffocated in the middle, but it was what they all needed.

    It erased all the bad.

    But then the bad showed up again.

    "Holy fucking shit!" Rebecca gasped as she caught sight of her lit up screen. The notification on her phone was bold, and it was so staggering that it managed to instantly catch her eye – even with two girls clinging onto her.

    "I told you," Ada rolled her eyes and pulled out of the embrace. She wiped at her mouth and showcased her tinted palm. "It's blue because of the food colouring. They don't make blue pineapples."

     Keeley leaned forward and lightly sniffed her lips. "Smells citrusy."

    "Pineapples aren't citrus fruits."

     "Really?" She tilted her head.

     "Beard said--"

     Rebecca waved her phone around to garner their attention. "Rupert's just bought West Ham United!"

     "What?" Both girls leaned forward to look at her screen. They studied the headline with wide, incredulous eyes.

    "And to think for a second I thought that him giving me his shares in the club was a kind gesture." Rebecca inhaled a sharp breath, tears of irritation now mingling with the ones of woeful mirth.

     Ada frowned.

    "You know," The woman continued. "I'm quite reassured to find out that he is still just a selfish conniving cock."

      "Does return a certain balance to the universe, doesn't it?" Keeley hummed.

     "Balance?" Ada scoffed, reaching out to wipe the wetness from Rebecca's face. "I felt the world tilt a bit. His wrinkly balls must have drooped some more."

     "Have you been talking to Sassy?" 

     "Just twice. . . a day."

     Keeley and Rebecca laughed before the latter turned to the former. "Promise me you will not go and work for him."

     "I'd kill meself." Ada declared.

      Keeley gaped as if offended, eyes darting between the two women. "He can't afford me," She jokingly huffed. "Besides, Richmond is my football club. You guys know that."

     Her best friend owned this club.

     Her sister coached it.

    "Let's hope we get promoted." Rebecca sniffled before she teasingly nudged Ada. "Trouble, if we lose today, Keeley might not want to work with us anymore."

      "I'll do me best." She promised, eyes welling up again as she stared at Keeley. And it must have been contagious, because everyone was suddenly growing teary eyed.

    "A bit of advice for being a boss," Rebecca shakily spoke, earning an eager nod from her former protégé and a curious look from her surrogate daughter. "Always hire your best friends."

     Ada sobbed.

     Keeley did too, "Fuck you." She pulled Rebecca into a hug, just as tight as the last one, and poor Ada had no choice but to suffer through it. "Now I'm crying again."

    "You never stopped." Ada pointed out.

      "Fuck you."

     

    

    

    

✷

   
    Ada was perched on the edge of Beard's desk, eyeing him as he eyed the framed pyramid of success. The greying hair and black suit, that gleam in his eyes – the aesthetic amalgamation, added onto the recent unearthing of truths, made Nathan Shelley resemble Rupert Mannion to a concerning degree.

    Maybe she was right earlier.

     Maybe the world had tilted a bit.

     She glanced over at the door when her boyfriend made his appearance. His eyes were also trained on Nate, studying the man's polished wardrobe and clenched jaw. Roy then glanced at her and Beard, looking for an answer to an unknown question; he received nought but two identical shrugs.

     "Alright!" Ted excitedly clapped, entering through the diving door and making for his desk. "We all good to go on running Nate's false nine today, yeah?"

     "You'd be fools not to." The former kit man let them know. He had his hands folded behind his back, and there was an alien smirk on his face.

     Ada and Ted exchanged a look.

    "I say we ought to give it a shot." Beard sighed, refusing to showcase any hostility. This was his best friend's plight, and even though the betrayal stung them all, it was Ted who got to decide whether or not the matter was to be addressed.

    "Why change it now?" Roy agreed, taking a step back as a hostile blur of black brushed past him. He turned his head and watched Nate approach his usual seat on the nearby shelf.

    "Me head hurts." Ada mumbled.

     "I agree!" A sweet voice chirped. They all turned to see Higgins, leaning in through the window of the equipment room. "I meant about the false nine. Not about the headache. Although, I could recommend a few good remedies, Ada."

     "Cheers." She grinned. But then she frowned, wearily eyeing her friend's chosen backdrop. "You homeless again?"

     Ted was equally curious, leaning his head out the window and searching for boxed belongings and a makeshift desk.

  "No, no, no. Just temporary relocation while they change the carpet in there. It was absolutely covered in dog shit." Higgins had been tasked with finding Richmond's new mascot, a young greyhound to replace the late Earl, who was tragically footballed to death at the beginning of the season. Seven puppies had been brought up to his office for observational consideration. They all had different coats and characteristics, but seemingly shared a speedy metabolism.

    His carpet could attest to that.

    A knock on the door suddenly sounded, stopping anyone from offering up their thoughts and opinions on the dog shit debacle. They all turned to see Jamie leaning against the doorway, his fist raised lest he needed to knock again.

     "Hey, dickhead." Ada lovingly grinned.

      "Need your help." He nodded over his shoulder. "Colin's saying that apples are the best fruit."

     She scoffed. "What is he, a horse?"

      Ted and Higgins exchanged a look. They'd recently talked about how apples were their favourite fruits as well.

     "That's what I said." Jamie eagerly nodded. "Mind defending me out there?"

     "What am I supposed to defend?"

       He shot her a look.

      "Strawberries." They both answered.

      Ada slid off Beard's desk and glanced around the room. "I have important business to take care of and a Welshman to abuse. See you lot in a few, yeah?"

      "Bye!" Higgins grinned.

     She returned his smile and approached her brother. "JJ, this is gonna sound mad, but what if we say that blue pineapples are actually the best fruit?"

      "Fuck's that?" Jamie snorted as Ada linked their arms together and lead him into the locker room.

     "You have not lived, bubby."

     "Boy, oh, boy." Ted hummed, watching the twins walk off. "Now that's a duo." He leaned back in his chair and looked around at his fellow men. "I ain't one to debate produce, but y'all go ahead and say whatever you want to say before we head out there." 

     The invitation to rant or vent was a mere courtesy, and yet someone decided to step up to the metaphorical podium and voice their quandary. It was someone who never really sought council, someone who tended to keep his burdens to himself; the infamously closed off Roy Kent.

     "I could, uh. . ." The former captain cleared his throat, earning bewildered looks. "Use some. . . advice."

      Beard gaped.

     "Hold on," Ted raised a hand. "Roy, wait, wait, are you saying you wanna become a Diamond Dog?"

     "Fuck no!" He grit. "I'm just saying I wouldn't mind being in the room whilst it fucking. . . happens."

       Nate rolled his eyes. It was so like Roy Kent to infiltrate every institution that was deemed sacred (the coaching staff, the connecting office, the Diamond Dogs), and it was so like him to act ungrateful once granted entry (he'd refused to coach Jamie at first, always complained about Ada's messy side of the desk, and was now acting like being initiated into the Diamond Dogs was hell.)

     "Yeah, okay," Ted slowly nodded, an inviting smile on his face. "Well, how about a one-time visitor's pass for our junkyard dog here, yeah?"

     Roy shifted as a chorus of affirming howls echoed around the office; three eager barks, and one begrudged woof.

     "Diamond Dogs, mou--" Ted halted his preamble when he remembered that a vital member was missing. "Hey, wait, let's call the puppy back in here."

    "No." Roy immediately vetoed.

     Nate stiffened – was it about the kiss?

     "No?" Beard echoed, exchanging a confused look with his best friend.

      Roy rolled his jaw. "You remember the last time I asked for fucking advice?" It was before he and Ada got together, when he was having problems accepting some things, like the fact that she was Jamie's sister. It had been this group of men that helped him see past that -- no, not see past, but accept the truth for what it was; unchanging, defining, foundational.

   "So the puppy can't be here because we're gonna be talking about the puppy." Ted mused, putting the pieces together. He received a single grunt in response. "Diamond Dogs, mount up!"

    Beard leapt up as soon as the four words were spoken, immediately booking it towards the office door. He paused before shutting it, though. Ada was stood in the middle of the locker room, holding onto a tupperware of blue fruit. The team was sat on the floor around her, forming a semicircle as they watched her showcase the dyed pineapple (Beard had presented the treat to her this morning, chopped and coloured; a way of bringing her strange dream to life).

    "Coach," Ted called over once his best friend shut the door. "A little hand over here, yeah?" He was gesturing towards Higgins, who had yet to climb in through the window.

     "No, no, Ada said I shouldn't." Higgins quickly shook his head.

      "And she's always right." Ted agreed. He pat Leslie on the shoulder before plopping down at his desk chair. "Then again, she said Roy would be joining The Diamond Dogs in four months. Look at him now."

     "I'm not a fucking--"

       "Gotcha." Ted winked and perched his chin on his fist. "Bark away." 

     Roy took a deep breath. There was no point in dragging this, not with a pivotal match taking place soon, and so he got straight to it. "Remember how I had to do that photoshoot thing with Ada?"

     "Yeah, yeah." They all nodded, audibly attentive and visibly invested.

      "And you know how much she hates doing them." More nods and hums. "Well, I know I said I fucking hated that shit too, and I do hate it, but in the end. . ." He paused – because his heart hurt, and his stomach felt wet, and his nostrils were tickling for some reason. "They didn't use a single picture with me in it."

     (And after hours of contemplation, Roy was able to see past his hurt and think a little more rationally. He understood why they cut him out. It was obviously an article about women, for women. But at the same time, he had to wonder when their vision changed. It had to have been during the editing process, because then why invite him in the first place? Why wait until after his picture was taken to establish their female centred concept?

What was it about seeing him and Ada together that had a group of writers and photographers scrap an entire spread? That had them discard hundreds of photos?

   What was it that they didn't like?

    It couldn't have been Ada.

    So it had to have been him.)

    "And it hurt my. . ." Roy hesitated, struggling with his wording. "Feeling."

     They all exchanged a look, making sure that they heard the same thing. They were stunned. And it wasn't the fact that Roy Kent was expressing hurt, but the fact that he said feeling. As in singular.

     "Yeah, yeah." Beard slowly nodded.

      Higgins sighed. "In year five, I was not allowed in the class photo because I developed a rare smile allergy."

     "Oof," Ted sympathetically frowned.

     Beard squinted. "Okay, well, that's just not. . . the same situation at all." He then focused back on Roy, who was seemingly in his own world.

     "The thing is. . ." The notoriously gruff man continued. There was a small smile on his face, almost sad. "She looked so fucking great. On her own. Without me."

      Ted felt so much pity in his heart.

Beard felt disbelief.

      "She looked so. . . Natural." Roy pursed his lips. "It would've actually been fucking weird if I was the in the pictures."

      He knew Ada truly loved him. She told him every day, a million times a day. She kissed him like it was prayer, like it was breathing. She held his hand whenever she could. She hugged him just to hug him. She listened so intently. She spoke so carefully. She was the best girlfriend he'd ever had, and he'd had plenty.

     But the mean part of his brain (the one that called him mediocre, the one that had been with him since he was seventeen), liked to point out that he probably wasn't her best boyfriend. Because Ada Tartt was still so young. And she probably hadn't met her favourite one yet.

   ("You're it for me, Kent," That was what she'd told him. But how could she possibly know that to be true?)

     Ted took in his lost expression and gave an understanding nod. "Okay, well, Roy, we appreciate you barking at us."

      Roy sniffed and nodded back.

     "Um." Nate cleared his throat and deepened his voice slightly. "There's something I have to confess as well."

      Beard's eye subtly widened as he awaited the admission – it was about time he owned up to it; being the anonymous source. It was the only way they could all move on and forgive, the only way Ted Lasso could properly heal.

     "Go ahead, Nate-dawg." Ted gestured, just as expectant as his best friend. Except the confession never came, and neither did the accountability. At least, nothing pertaining to the matter in mind.

     "Er, Roy." Nate shifted in place. "When Ada and I went suit shopping the other day. . . Well, I kissed her."

     Higgins choked.

     "What?" Ted squinted.

     Beard felt his aggressively eyes roll to the back of his head, equal parts frustrated and incredulous. It seemed like Nathan Shelley was constantly taking advantage of his kindest friends; one of whom was sat in this very office, whilst the other was still demonstrating the wonders of blue fruit.

     "Yeah," Roy's face remained placid. "She told me about it. It's okay."

     "I kissed her." Nate repeated rather indignantly. The seed of humiliation was there again, sprouting in his belly. It was being sowed beside its counterpart, the pip from the dressing room, where Ada had pecked his mouth like it was nothing.

   He didn't understand why nobody was taking his advance seriously. Sure, he wasn't pursuing Ada Tartt, but did he not pose a threat to the relationship? Was he not a man? Did he not make a move?

   "I kissed her, I kissed your girlfriend."

     "We're good." Roy reassured.

     "Jan Maas said she had a nice house the other day and you wanted to kill him." Nate furrowed his brows. "Don't you at least wanna headbutt me or something?"

       Beard bit his tongue.

       "You made a mistake, Nate. Don't worry about it." Roy sighed. He still felt slighted, but the matter had already been put to rest; Ada had told him immediately after it happened (because she thought it was a friend kiss and wanted Roy to know that it wouldn't happen again – "Because I'd hate it if you were kissing your girl friends," She'd considerately said), and Roy acknowledged the fact that kissing a beautiful girl did wonders for the self esteem.

Although, the laugh which followed the sisterly peck surely canceled that out.

"No. I deserve to be headbutted."

"I'd be happy to headbutt you, Nate." Beard blandly hummed. Because pride was an ugly thing, and for Nate, the desire to be perceived as competition was more important than maintaining friendships.

"Okay, you know what?" Ted coughed. "I think that's enough right now. We got work to do. Diamond Dogs dismount?"

Nate stalked off just as the other three members let out their individual howls.

"Wait," Roy frowned, watching Higgins swivel away on his chair. "So sometimes the fucking Diamond Dogs is just chatting about shit, and no one has to fucking solve anything, and nothing fucking changes?"

Ted zipped up his jacket and gave a wide smile. "Sometimes, yeah."

Silence. And then, "That's cool."

Beard and Ted waited for Roy to glance down at his phone before they exchanged excited looks and started silently cheering. Their celebration was cut short when a hesitant knock sounded.

All three coaches glanced over to see Ada stood there, hand on her stomach and blue dye covering her mouth. "I did something a little bit bad." She moved slightly to the side so that they could see for themselves; the team, particularly Sam, Dani, and Jamie, looked rather sickly as they wiped at their tinted lips.

"I told you not to do too much." Beard whispered, eyes wide as he took in their sorry states.

"You said it was food colouring." Ada pathetically whimpered.

"I lied." Thankfully it wasn't anything illegal, and so there was a zero percent percent chance of disqualification.

Roy rubbed a tired hand over his face and waved her over. She dragged her feet as she approached him. He wrapped an arm around his girlfriend's shoulder and pressed a kiss to her temple. "So, no last minute training before the biggest match of the season?"

"Well, you know what they say," Ted shrugged. "No swimming after you eat."

Ada smiled. "Myth."

✷

Richmond had played a total of eighty three matches against Brentford, but the tension and stakes had never been quite this high before. They were forty five minutes into the West London Darby, and the Bees were currently surpassing the Greyhounds with a mildly painful one-nil.

Ada bit her lip as she watched the team struggle. It had been hours since the "blue pineapple" mishap, and after applying soothing creams to their tummies and ensuring that they were hydrated, the boys were now fit like steeds. That wasn't the reason for of their current floundering. The fault lied in their footwork; they were not secure in their false nine tactic.

"We just need to even it up before the half." She mumbled under her breath, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "If we can get one point in one minute--"

Bumbercatch lost the ball and Brentford now had possession – and with the Richmond strikers sticking to midfield, the opposing team had the numbers to ensure another goal.

And just like that, two-nil.

"Fuck!" Roy snapped.

Ada rubbed her eyes in irritation.

"Stay back!" Nate aggressively called out, not caring that the team had done their best. "How many times do I have to fucking tell you? Stay back!"

"It's okay." Ted wearily pat him on the shoulder before glancing over at the pitch. He met eyes with as many players as he could. "Hey, we're alright! It' okay!"

But it wasn't okay.

Halftime found the coaches inside the main office, silent in their stress. Roy was stood by the dividing door, Nate was leaning against it, Beard was sitting at his desk, Ted was by the window, and Ada was pacing by the doorway. She couldn't help but gaze into the locker room every and then; the slumped shoulders and dejected frowns and lost expressions – they wanted to win, this team.

She wanted them to win too.

"I'mma shoot y'all straight." Ted sighed, hands stuffed in his pockets. "This is bleak, yeah? I mean look at them out there." He gestured towards the locker room. "Looks like a Renaissance painting portraying male melancholy."

Ada looked over and studied them again. "It's the sad gay porn eyes."

"Hmm." Ted hesitantly agreed before anxiously brushing his hair back. "So now what? What we gonna do?"

"We should abandon the false nine." Nate huffed, like it was the most obvious course of action.

Ada squinted. "You want to give up?" As a strategist, she couldn't imagine not wanting to see things through. Sure, there came a point where it was selfish to keep insisting on your own play, but they'd already made it this far; the tactic was good, the team was good, they were playing on the dogtrack. Sure, odds looked bleak right now, statistically, but victory was--

"It'd work if we had players who knew what the fuck they were doing."

Beard and Ada stared at him.

Ted scratched at his brow, eyes trained on the former kit man. "I don't know, I think we gotta stick with it. You know, they just had forty five minutes to figure out what not to do, yeah?" He then turned to Roy. "What do you think?"

"You should ask them." Roy pointed to the locker room. He was a footballer to the fucking bone. He walked the earth like it was midfield. He took players' feelings and thoughts into deep consideration. He prioritised their perspective; as a captain, as a pundit, and now as a coach. "They're the ones out there actually doing this shit."

Ada bit back a soft smile.

(She loved him, she loved him.)

"Yeah, okay." Ted cleared his throat and made for the door. The rest of them were hot on his heels. "Alright, fellas!" He called out as he approached the angsty team. "Coaches and I were having a little debate and wanna get y'alls take on it."

    Their expressions were curious.

"Should we stick with the false nine or switch it up?" Ted posed.

The looks on their faces were laughable; different degrees of flabbergasted. They clearly didn't know how to deal with decision making, they clearly didn't know how to handle the responsibility.

Isaac scratched at his temple.

Jamie, a little brother to his core, quickly turned to Ada – like he was expecting her to spoon feed him the answers. The way she'd done their entire lives. But this wasn't school. They weren't conveniently sat next to each other during exams. She wasn't going to mouth things out. Because he wasn't being tested. He was just being asked.

The baffled silence stretched for an uncomfortably long time, and its spell was broken as Jan Maas rose from the bench and took to the middle of the room.

"The tactic is sound." The Dutchman fiercely declared. "And we're all perfectly capable of executing it. It'll work."

Ada slowly nodded, a proud smile making its way onto her face.

"Hey, if Jan Maas says it, you know its the darn truth, right?" Ted pointed out.

"I wouldn't lie to you." Jan agreed. "For instance, Zoreaux, you should have saved that first goal."

"Okay, yeah, that's enough." Ada clapped before he could say more. "You losers are losing right now, but I always had a good feeling about this season."

"You just jinxed it." Beard hummed.

"I don't believe in jinxing." She nudged him with her elbow. "I believe in this team. They're gonna fucking win."

The boys grinned.

"Y'all heard her." Ted laughed. "We're gonna stick with Nate's false nine, and we're gonna stick it to em!" He held his hand out. "Come on, bring it in. Let's go."

"Here we go, Greyhounds!" Beard cheered as the boys began to huddle up.

Ada made room for her brother and pressed a kiss to his dewy forehead. "I'm proud of you either way, yeah?"

Jamie nodded. "I know."

They all threw their hands in.

Well, all except one.

"Hey, captain?" Ted called out in a concerned tone of voice. "You joining us?"

Isaac hesitated for a moment. And then he stood from his seat and approached the huddle -- but he didn't join in. Instead, he walked through the team and their joined hands, brushing past them all (first teamers and reserves and coaches alike), until he made it past the huddle. They watched him make for the office doorway. And then they watched him bask under the yellow sign, like a follower of the old religion, worshiping the sun.

Isaac splayed his hand on the poster, right on the word believe, before glancing over his shoulder. He met eyes with Ada for a moment ("I don't believe in jinxing," She'd said. "I believe in this team.") and then gestured for his teammates to join.

Jamie didn't hesitate.

And when one domino fell, the rest were sure to follow. About two dozen men approached that crooked sign. They pressed their hands against the blue inscription.

Ada rested her head on Ted's shoulder.

"Richmond on three." Isaac whistled. "One, two, three. . ."

"Richmond!"

✷

They were eighty minutes into the game and still tallying at two-nil, but the false nine formation was becoming a more fluid tactic with each pass and nab. Brentford, secure in their lead, were focusing almost entirely on offence. Richmond, on the other hand, had their showboat strikers at midfield, where they could sneakily apply pressure.

And with some perseverance and patience, Dani and Jamie were finally able to get the ball to Sam Obisanya.

"He scores!"

"Go on!" Ada laughed, wrapping an arm around Beard's shoulders and giving him a good shake. "Did you see that?"

"Uh. . . Yeah."

She ignored him, focusing back on the pitch. If Richmond could somehow manage a draw within the next minute, then they could go back to being a Premier League team. And their chances looked promising, what with the way that Jan Maas was able to hit a long ball. It soared over heads and landed by Jamie, who was quick to gain possession.

But he never made it to the box.

Because Brentford's goalie grabbed him by the fucking leg and pulled him down.

"What the fuck was that?" Ada snapped. Arms wrapped around her waist before she could stomp off the sidelines and onto the pitch. A quick glance confirmed that it was Ted. "Aye, referee!"

"Referee!" Roy called from her left.

The whistle blew in their favour.

A penalty.

"Go on, Jamie!" Ada clapped, watching her brother take his position. "That little shit hasn't missed a single penalty all season, you know that?"

"Yeah." Beard blinked at her. "I work here too. You know that?"

She ignored him again and kept her eyes trained on the pitch. His brown hair was tousled from the intense playing, and the number nine was stretched tight on his stiff back. But then he was turning around, briefly locking eyes with her before he started waving someone over.

Dani Rojas was just as capable a striker as Jamie Tartt, but he hadn't kicked a penalty shot since striking a dog. The therapy had helped him heal, but there was always the fear of morbid nostalgia coming back whilst he was under pressure.

"You got this, muchacho." Jamie whispered to his friend, handing the ball over. "It'll be fun. Trust me."

"This is. . ." Roy squinted.

"It's okay." Ada mumbled, grabbing his hand and squeezing tight. "It's actually amazing. I can't believe we won. Great." He shot her a look from his peripheral. "Oh, I'm acting like we already won so that the universe thinks we did."

"Hmm."

They all focused back on the game. And they watched as Dani Rojas kiss the soiled football. And as he set it down on the vibrant grass. And as he took a few steps back. And as he leapt into his notorious running start.

      "Goal!"

The roars of elation were deafening.

Fans were on their feet.

The reserves were cheering.

      Roy pulled Nate into a tight embrace, because this was his tactic and therefore his win. But Nate didn't match him in enthusiasm. Because this wasn't him team anymore.

     Ada clapped a hand over her mouth. She felt her blood rush. She felt her skin prickle with goose pimples. She felt Ted ruffle her hair and Beard obnoxiously poke at her sides. And then she heard the whistle blow. It all felt like a dream, and she didn't want to wake up.

    "Richmond have done the impossible!" Arlo White narrated from his shared booth. "Through grit, determination, and most of all, through belief!"

The final whistle blew.

     The coaches immediately ran onto the field to celebrate their victorious win and their deserved promotion. Ada ignored the pinch in her leg as she waded through the players, grabbing and kissing as many cheeks as she could – it didn't matter if they were kit men, or benched players, or first teamers who totalled zero touches. They were all apart of this team.

    Ada was rocking Winchester in a tight embrace when she finally caught sight of her twin brother. He was approaching Roy, clearly eager to celebrate this pivotal win with his childhood hero. And her boyfriend seemed equally keen, holding his arm out.

    They clasped hands.

    Roy pulled him in and headbutted him.

     ("What if I hit him, but then shake his hand?" He'd asked as they made it up the stairs and towards her bedroom.)

     "Fuck's sake." The girl groaned. She made sure to kiss Tommy's cheek in parting before marching over. But her stride faltered as the scene slowly transitioned. Jamie wiped the blood from his nostrils. Roy pulled him in again. This time, it was into a tender hug. And then the two of them began jumping up and down like ecstatic little kids, screaming all the while.

Certainly more than a hand shake.

    She wondered if she was seeing things.

    "What the fuck did he put in that pineapple?" Ada was now close enough, and her boys turned as soon as they recognised her voice. They stared at her for a moment. And then they were each grabbing one of her arms and forcing her to jump with them. The giggles poured out of her mouth almost immediately. "What are we doing?"

     They just screamed.

✷

   The surgical mask was secured over her mouth and nose, ensuring that the chemical fumes stayed out of her system. The gloves were itchy against her skin, and she was sure that she'd shoved two fingers in the same slot, but there was no time to correct that mistake now.

    "Scalpel." Ada demanded, holding her hand out towards her assistant. A chubby hand passed her the tint brush. She dipped it in the bowl and went on applying the second coat. Her patient moved slightly. She slapped him. "Sit still."

    "It's cold." He whined.

     "Jamie." Phoebe sighed, small face completely hidden behind her own mask. "Uncle Ada said sit still, so sit still."

     "She's not an actual doctor." Jamie felt the need to point out, in case her youthful imagination had managed to convince her of such a thing. He already knew the girl to be fanciful, despite only meeting her last night (Roy's sister got called into surgery at the fall of dusk, so he'd brought his niece over to spend the night, she'd slept between him and Ada in the big bed seeing as Jamie had taken the guest room).

    "And walnut mist isn't a colour, but I'm still supportive." Ada hummed, to which he rolled his eyes and kept still. She liked to tease, but this was all very exciting. The twins were finally going through with their childhood plan; having the same hair colour again, for the first time since they were both blonde-ish babies.

   (And this specific shade of light brown had actually been selected for her brother two days ago, after a video consultation with Mrs. McAdoo. It was apparently the closest match to Ada's own hair.)

    "Forceps."

   Phoebe handed her a juice box.

     "Hey," Three pairs of eyes darted over to the bathroom's open doorway. "I gotta get the little shit home. . ." Roy's deep voice trailed off as he took in the scene before him.

Let it be known that when Roy Kent left the house early in the morning to run a few errands, he knew to expect something ridiculous upon his return. But whatever he had in mind certainly wasn't this. Jamie was sat on the edge of the bathtub, with a towel wrapped around his neck to keep his clothes and skin from staining. Phoebe was stood to the side, beside a retired bar cart that was now serving as a procedure cart. Ada was stood behind her brother, holding onto a plastic bowl of hair dye and a juice box. Her mask was pulled down to accommodate the paper straw.

     "It's Doctor little shit." Phoebe huffed in an indignant manner. She pointed to her mask for emphasis – it was one of her mother's, and she'd been tasked by Ada Tartt to snag a pack of them, as well as a pack of surgical gloves, before coming over.

(This was all planned.)

     "Right." Roy snorted before looking to his girlfriend. ""Can I talk to you?"

     "I'm in surgery." She apologetically winced, gesturing towards Jamie with her purple juice box.

      "He'll live."

      Phoebe frowned slightly, not catching onto the dry humour routine. "We're only dying his hair, Uncle Roy."

     "Here," Ada handed the bowl over to the little girl and pulled off her surgical gloves. "I'm gonna talk to your uncle. You wrap this up for me, yeah?"

     "Um, no." Jamie scoffed.

     Ada ignored him and left the bathroom. She grabbed her boyfriend by the hand and pulled him a little ways away, to escape her brother's onslaught of nags.

   "Go on, beautiful boy," She lightly hummed. "What is so important that you had me abandon me own patient?"

    "Wanted you to see your present."

     Ada smirked. "There's kids here."

    "Fuck off." He rolled his eyes and reached a hand into his leather jacket, procuring a white envelope. "It's a happy our-club-got-promoted present."

    "Bless." She cooed, pecking his mouth before taking the envelope into her hands. Two airplane tickets slipped out once the light packaging was unsealed, and Ada could feel him eyeing her with childlike anticipation. "Disneyland?"

    "Marbella." He corrected.

    "Is that Spanish for Disneyland?"

     Roy bit back a laugh, "Shut up."

      "Go on," She pulled him by his leather jacket, not stopping until they were stood chest-to-chest. "What's in Marbella?"

      "You and me are in Marbella."

     "Are we really?" Ada tilted her head, playing coy. "Bit gloomy, innit?"

     But he wasn't annoyed by her incessant need to joke. No, Roy was just in love. And he was so incredibly excited to do this with her. "Tomorrow, you and I are going to a villa by the sea--"

      Ada stiffened. "No."

      A thick silence began to settle.

      His gut twisted. "No?"

     "Roy, there's a reason I've never been to the fucking sea, okay? It's terrifying. Me dad let Jamie and I watch Jaws when we were five years old and I never--" She took in his amused expression. "Why are you laughing at me, you idiot? I'm not kidding! I don't even eat fish!"

    "Wait," Roy couldn't hold in his laughter that time. "You don't eat fish because you're fucking scared?"

    "The body's sixty percent water!" The girl hissed, tone very defensive. "What if the little shits come alive in me?"

    "You know what? I'll protect you from all the fish." Roy promised, cupping her face and caressing her cheeks. The urge to tease was strong, but his instinct to comfort her was always stronger. "I used to love the beach as a kid, okay? I wanna take you. I want us to enjoy it." He ducked his head to ensure that they were at eye level. "And I'm going to take the first holiday I've taken since I was twelve, where I don't have to stay in shape or rehab my fucking knee."

      "Twelve?" Ada frowned. She was also training and playing professionally by that age, but her youth was a peaceful one. Her brother was in the same club, playing on the adjacent field. Her mother protected the both of them from exploiters. She made sure the twins stayed in school, and that they hung out with their rascal friends, and that their diets weren't restrictive, and that they always had time for mischief.

She'd loved being twelve.

     "Yeah. Twelve." Roy nodded. "I'm gonna gorge myself to death on tapas, and it will take fucking ages."

     "We'll burn it off." Ada laughed, standing on her tiptoes and softly kissing him on the lips. He rested his forehead against hers once they pulled apart. "All I want is for you to be happy."

Roy felt a tranquil warmth fill his bones and flood his internal body, it made his tendons hum and his heart thump. He felt his nose unconsciously scrunch. And he felt himself smile as he gently pecked her pert mouth.

"How long is fucking ages?" She then asked, scratching the scruff of his cheek.

    "Hmm?"

    "How long are we staying over there?"

     Roy shrugged. "Six weeks?"

      "The whole summer?" She laughed, shaking her head. "Can we tolerate each other for that long?"

     "You don't think we can?"

      "I think we'll break up."

       He snorted. "Yeah."

       Ada grinned up at him.
     
       "Aye! Fuck's sake! You got it in me fucking eye!" They heard Jamie yelp from inside the bathroom.

     "That's two pounds, Jamie." A young voice haughtily chirped.

        "Ada!"

⚽️: Remember to vote on chapters if you like them because the reader to voter rate is not adding up and I'm a validation seeker lmfaoooo.

⚽️: OH MY GOD!!!! LAST CHAPTER OF SEASON TWO!!! Thank you to everyone who's been so patient, I know the updates have been a tad sporadic (especially when compared to my original posting schedule), but your girl's moved four times since starting this fanfic. All that aside, I'm glad so many of you stuck around, because season three is gonna be a total fucking BLASTTT . . . kinda

⚽️: I didn't write in the Nate / Ted confrontation because that was central to their dynamic and development. I didn't see any reason for Ada to be there, really. The aftermath of his major betrayal (abruptly leaving the team and joining Rupert Mannion) is much more pivotal to her own relationship with Nate.

⚽️: Roy saying he's going to marry Ada one day and then wondering if she's gonna have another boyfriend in the future. . . He's honestly so me. Cannot wait for him to sign up for therapy next season.

⚽️: Speaking of therapy, all the Jamie content that's coming is gonna heal me. Act three is pretty much gonna revolve around the twins, and it's gonna make up for the fact that my baby boy got NO screen time in season two.

⚽️: How are we all feeling rn? 👀