Chapter Text
Almost a year of early morning training had conditioned Roy Kent that if his phone vibrated at 4 am, it was likely his alarm. But when the noise roused him from sleep this morning, it wasn’t his alarm. Someone was calling him. Dread curdled like dairy in his stomach. If someone was calling him this early, it wasn’t a social call; no, something was seriously wrong if someone was calling him this early. Briefly, he entertained the idea that some terrible car accident meant Ruth was called into work, but that hope was destroyed when Roy glimpsed the name on the caller ID.
Jamie Tartt.
“Jamie?” Roy answered on the third try, his shaking fingers missing the little green button the first two tries as nerves gripped him, diminishing his fine motor skills.
There was no answer on the other line, no Mancunian accent to allay his fears. Dread crawled up Roy’s spine when he heard rustling, then finally, fucking, finally, Jamie’s voice reached his ears though distant and muffled.
“Get the fuck out!”
Roy wasted no time pulling on his pants and boots; the phone lay nearby on speakerphone in case there was more to hear. Roy eyed it like a bomb, waiting for it to explode at any moment. Roy hoped to listen to a slamming door, to hear Jamie come back to the phone and relay he was shaken but safe, the person Jamie was yelling at on the other side of a locked and alarmed door. His anxiety grew with every second of silence, but the noise that greeted him eventually made Roy wish for the previous quiet.
The unmistakable sounds of a fight reached through the phone louder than a siren.
Roy heard as fists connected roughly with flesh and felt like they had hit his own.
The pain-filled grunts that filled the speaker tore through Roy like a knife.
Furniture, or something Roy hoped was furniture, splintered along with any sense of calm that remained with him.
All the while, Roy rushed from his house and prayed to hear Jamie’s voice again. The phone connected with the Mercedes Bluetooth as Roy threw the car into drive. He was thankful for the empty streets as he sped through West London towards Jamie’s house, his heart rate increasing in tune with the urgency of the speedometer.
“Jamie? Please, Jamie, fucking say something,” Roy begged.
Instead, the sound that greeted Roy was laughing. But it wasn’t Jamie’s laugh. It wasn’t the laugh that Roy had come to recognise even in a group of rowdy footballers; it wasn’t the laugh that relaxed him when he was worried; it wasn’t the laugh that made him smile even when he was in a shit mood. No, it was a laugh that made Roy grip the steering wheel so tightly that he worried it would break off. It was a laugh that sent shivers down Roy’s spine. It was a laugh Roy never wanted to hear again after Wembley.
It was a laugh that Roy wondered how many times meant danger for Jamie.
Roy hung up the phone, called 999 and prayed he wouldn’t get there too late.
The front door to Jamie’s house was open when Roy arrived, not ajar or unlocked, but altogether open as if someone had run to grab something from their car. Roy had been there more times than he could count since that first October early morning, and none of those times had the air been so charged with danger. Roy rushed from his car, slamming the door shut behind him as he ran the short distance, and through the open door, his head swivelled around, hands up, ready for James Tartt to pop out like Freddy fucking Krueger.
The first thing Roy heard when he entered Jamie’s house was deadly silence; the only noise was his boots on the hardwood and then the crunch of broken glass ground beneath his feet. Roy expected screaming and yelling. He expected more sounds of a fight. He expected chaos. But what met him was an alarming quiet, the ringing in his ears and his heavy breathing the only sound in the deathly quiet.
“Jamie?” he yelled, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. “Jamie?”
The first thing Roy saw when he entered Jamie’s living area was destruction. Roy expected overturned furniture. He expected broken tables. He expected chaos. But what met him was even worse than that because while the property damage was jarring, the only thing worse was property damage with Jamie nowhere to be found.
“Jamie?” he yelled again as he frantically scanned the destroyed room for threats or his friend. “Jamie?”
The first person Roy saw when he finally laid eyes on someone was the wrong James Tartt.
Roy expected Jamie to be waiting for him, breathless. He expected the men to be still fighting with each other. He expected Jamie would need his help. But what met him was a seemingly unconscious James Tartt and a missing Jamie.
“Jamie?” he yelled again, voice desperate as he stepped over debris to move throughout the room. “Jamie?”
“Roy?”
The voice was little more than a croak, but at that moment, Roy couldn’t remember hearing a better sound. Roy skidded to his knees in front of Jamie, who was on his hands and knees on the other side of the couch. Roy guided him to sit with his back against the glass walls that led to the garden, knowing Jamie would feel safer if he could see the room, see everyone who came in, and see his father still unconscious by the kitchen table.
“It's okay, Jamie. He can't hurt you.”
“I didn’t, I didn't, I didn’t mean to,” Jamie stuttered as he shook his head back and forth, not making eye contact with Roy, only staring at his father’s body.
“Hey. I know, it’s okay,” Roy said, moving his body in front of Jamie’s eyesline and blocking his view of James.
Roy’s eyes ran over Jamie’s body, looking for wounds or injuries. The footballer was curled into himself, seemingly smaller than his frame. His face was covered in swelling and redness that Roy knew would bloom into bruises and cuts bright red against too-pale skin. Roy wondered at the damage hidden beneath Jamie’s clothes and feared more the emotional damage hidden beneath the pliant personality.
“Hello? Did someone call 999?” came a shout from the entryway.
Roy had left the front door open, hoping help would arrive soon after he did.
“Back here,” Roy stood and yelled, and Jamie’s body began to tremble.
A man and a woman came into the room, each carrying a large bag. They eyed Roy and Jamie but stopped at the unconscious man first. The male paramedic said something into his radio, but Roy couldn't catch it. Roy held his breath as they knelt next to a prone James Tartt and checked for a pulse. Maybe Roy should have done that, but he hadn’t been able to muster a single care when Jamie was potentially injured. Still, Roy exhaled with a quiet relief when they found one. James Tartt might not deserve to live in this world, but Roy didn’t want Jamie to have to deal with the pain of being the one to remove him from it.
“Roy, Roy,” Jamie said quietly, hands desperately grabbing at Roy until he bent down and held Jamie’s shaking hands in his own.
“He can’t hurt you anymore. It’s okay. Just close your eyes. I’m right here, and I’m not leaving you.”
Jamie did as he was told, but Roy doubted he could do much more than follow Roy’s orders right now. Still, Roy moved his body again to block the view of the paramedics.
“It's okay, you’re okay, it's gonna be okay,” Roy repeated, rubbing a thumb across Jamie’s fingers, careful of the raw and bleeding knuckles.
“I didn’t, I didn't mean to,” Jamie said again.
A noise behind Roy startled him as the paramedics moved the loaded gurney from the sitting room towards the door, towards the awaiting ambulance, towards a hospital.
“Fuck off,” James said behind him, and Roy realised he was awake for the first time.
Jamie’s body trembled under Roy’s hands at his father’s voice.
“This ain’t over, Jamie. Don’t forget where you fucking came from, don’t you fucking forget–”
“Get him the fuck out of here,” Roy turned and stood faster than he thought his knee could move him, almost knocking a chair over as he rose, not that it would have mattered in the mess.
Roy didn’t turn back around until he watched the gurney roll through Jamie’s front door into the cold morning, James yelling the entire time. Before Roy could turn back to Jamie, the female paramedic moved in front of him.
“We should take a look at him,” she nodded at Jamie.
Roy turned to examine Jamie again himself. The cuts looked superficial, but Roy worried Jamie wasn’t simply in shock but had suffered a concussion. The erratic breathing could be from nerves, or it could be due to broken ribs. Could Jamie stand? Could he walk? All questions Roy needed answered before he would begin to think about Jamie being physically okay.
“They’re just going to check you over, Jamie; make sure you don’t need to go to hospital.”
“No, no, hospital,” Jamie said, eyes wide and scared. He stood quickly, and Roy thrust an arm to steady him. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”
“Mr. Tartt, we should really make sure you’re alright.”
“Roy,” Jamie pleaded, his fingers digging painfully into Roy’s forearm.
“The police will want to speak with him when we’re done,” the paramedic warned.
She heard the threats from Jamie’s father, smelled the alcohol on his breath, and cleaned the matching gashes on his bloody knuckles.
“Thanks,” Roy said and wished he could imbue just how much he meant it. “I’ll make sure he’s checked out.”
Whether by Ruth or someone at Richmond, Roy planned to make sure Jamie was examined head to toe. The woman took one last look at Jamie before pulling a couple of ice packs and butterfly bandages from her kit, leaving them on the table with a thanks from a grateful Roy. Roy guided Jamie to sit at one of the chairs at the kitchen table, nervous as to how unsteady he was on his feet.
The antiseptic smell the woman left behind still lingered in the air when a female police officer around the same age as him appeared in her place.
“We just have a few questions for Mr. Tartt.”
“Is he under arrest?” Roy asked.
“No, we just need to ask him a few questions.”
“I don’t think he’s in the proper head space right now to answer any fucking questions. You heard his father, Jamie, was defending himself.”
“That may be true. But we just need–”
“The only need I give a shit about right now is what Jamie needs, and that’s not to talk to you. If you have any questions, you can contact Richmond’s legal counsel, Dana Heinen, if you need her number, fucking Google it. Now get the fuck out.”
Roy followed the reluctantly leaving officer to the front door, looking back at Jamie as he did. He needn’t worry about Jamie going anywhere. Roy was unsure; the younger man even breathed the short time he wasn’t at his side.
“They’re gone,” Roy told Jamie, pulling his phone from his pocket to call Ruth. “It’s just us.”
“I’m sorry,” Jamie said; the dam finally broke open as tears fell freely from Jamie’s red-rimmed eyes.
Roy quickly cancelled the call, pulling another chair as close to Jamie as possible and placing his hands on Jamie’s knees. “Jamie, you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I let him in, I, I forgave him. For what? I’m so fucking stupid, Roy, why the fuck would I ever think he could change?”
Roy pulled Jamie into a hug, careful of any injuries hidden by the naked eye and rubbed his back gently as he whispered to him, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”
Jamie latched onto him like a life raft as he sobbed on Roy’s shoulder.
“It’s okay. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Roy didn’t know how long he stayed with Jamie crying on his shoulder, but the sun was rising by the time Jamie sat up and wiped his tears. It was a cruel reminder that it was a new day. Sunrises meant a new beginning and that anything was possible, but it was just the same old nightmare for Jamie. How many times had Jamie watched the sunrise while held hostage to the pain inflicted by his own father? How many times had Jamie watched the sunrise while hiding from his father?
This would be the last time, Roy vowed. This would be a new beginning. This would be the final time Jamie’s father hurt him, physically or otherwise. It wouldn’t be easy; if anyone knew it wouldn’t be easy, it was Roy. But he also knew how to support someone who was removing themselves from a bad relationship. Jamie had him. And Roy had Ruth.
He needed to call Ruth.
“Jamie?” he asked tentatively. “Is it okay if I call Ruth? Someone should look you over.”
Jamie sniffled loudly before he nodded, “Yeah.”
His voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and gravely like Ruth’s was that last time. Just as Roy stood, Jamie reached out a cold hand and grabbed his wrist, the blooded knuckles start against Jamie’s pale skin.
“Just, just Ruth, though, right?”
“Just Ruth,” he promised. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
Jamie nodded again, and Roy slowly separated himself from Jamie, feeling as if the act pained him more than it did Jamie. Roy walked towards the front door, the crunch of broken glass under his boots the only sound in the room, but he wasn’t even sure Jamie heard it.
Ruth picked up on the third ring, her voice thick with sleep, “O’Sullivan.”
Roy’s distress at the situation meant his stomach didn’t tighten at his sister’s married name the way it usually did.
“Ruth,” he said, betrayed by how shaky his voice sounded.
Jamie needed Roy to be at his best right now, and apparently, his traitorous voice thought that meant he could let down his wall for Ruth. But Roy knew if he stopped to think for even a second too long about Jamie’s father, Ruth’s husband, Phoebe’s dad, and how Roy failed to protect three of the people he loved most in this world, he might sit down and never get back up again.
And with Jamie inside, bruised, bleeding and who the fuck knew what else, that wasn’t an option. With all the people he failed, that had never been an option.
“Roy?” Ruth’s voice was solid but did little to hide her worry. “You alright?”
He swallowed the lump in his throat, stepped outside, and quietly closed the door behind him. The early morning air chilled his skin; he hadn’t even realised he had taken off his coat until the skin on his arms prickled with gooseflesh.
“Yeah, fuck,” Roy said, willing his thoughts into a clear order. “I need your help. It’s Jamie. He got in a fight with his Dad.”
“Is he alright?” she asked, and Roy could feel the worry in her voice.
Roy felt a stab of guilt at even calling his sister. He knew this would bring up memories for Ruth that she wished she could forget. Ruth deserved to be able to forget, but Roy knew she saw domestic violence cases in A&E all the time. She liked the idea she could help people in the same position she once was. It didn’t make it easier, especially the ones she couldn’t help, the ones she would never know if she helped or ended up a statistic, another name on a too-long list, but she always said she was a better doctor for it.
Working in A&E was like exposure therapy; Ruth told him once when he asked why she didn’t pick a different speciality or when he encouraged her to move to private practice. She would leave someday, she said, but she wasn’t ready to give up helping people this way. She also had her therapist to work through things that Roy could never understand. All he had to do was support her, and asking this of her, bringing her here, wasn’t an easy ask for him, but he knew his stubborn little sister and knew she would be pissed with him if he hadn’t called her.
“Yes. No. I don’t fucking know,” he answered honestly. “He’s beaten to shit, but he hasn’t let me close enough actually to check him out.”
“Is he in any distress? Have a head injury?” his sister left, replaced by Dr O’Sullivan. “Is he bleeding actively? Head wounds can bleed excessively.”
“Bleeding, I don’t think so, nothing too badly. I don’t know how bad his head is. I can’t fucking tell,” Roy admitted.
He replayed Jamie’s every move in his mind, trying to diagnose and assess.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at his house. It’s trashed to shit. They just took his father to hospital. I convinced the police to leave, but they’ll probably have to question Jamie later.”
“Fuck,” Ruth breathed. “Phoebe’s asleep, and I don’t want to bring her with me over there–”
“You can’t bring Phoebe here,” he blurted out.
“You can’t bring Jamie here,” Ruth replied.
Ruth’s house wasn’t overtly large, and he wasn’t sure they could get there before Phoebe woke up, if she saw Jamie, she would want to know what happened, and Roy wasn’t ready for that yet. Ruth wasn’t ready for that. Jamie wouldn’t be ready for that and it wouldn’t be fair to ask it of him.
“Can you get here after you drop Phoebe at school? You’re not working today, right?”
Waking in the middle of the night to your friend in a fight for his life had a way of disorienting you. Roy struggled to remember what day it was if he was picking Phoebe up after school if she was going to an after-school program, if his sister was free to help his friend, or if he would be rushing off to help strangers instead.
“No, I’m off, but I don’t know if he should wait for medical attention. Are you sure you can’t convince him to go to A&E?” Ruth asked, trying to keep the stress from her voice.
“Even if I could, I don’t know where they took his father…”
Roy trailed off but didn’t need to finish his sentence for Ruth to understand he couldn’t risk ending up at the same A&E James was being treated at.
“Fuck, right. Okay, then I’ll ask again. Do you think he has a head injury?”
“I don’t know,” Roy answered truthfully. “He’s dazed, but he might just be in fucking shock or some shit.”
“Okay,” Ruth said slowly, took a breath, and began speaking quickly. “But if he has trouble breathing or has a sudden, intense headache, or one-sided weakness, one blown pupil, shit, there’s a bunch of symptoms of a brain bleed that I’m worried about, I’ll text them to you. But if you see any of these, call 9-9-9. Immediately. I know you’re trying to do right by him by not bringing him to a hospital, but he can be pissed at you if he’s alive, not if he’s dead.”
“Fuck, Ruth. Okay, I get it,” Roy said, feeling slightly better at least knowing what to look out for and that Ruth was coming.
“Text me his address. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I will,” he said as he took a deep breath. “And Ruthie?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. I love you. I owe you.”
“No, you don’t; I love you, too,” Ruth said before she hung up the call.
Roy did as asked and sent his sister Jamie’s address as Ruth’s list of symptoms came through to his messages.
Slurred speech
Trouble breathing
Sudden, intense headache
One-sided weakness
ONE BLOWN OR OVERSIZED PUPIL
Confusion
Each word is a blade ready to drop.
Roy opened the door and locked it behind him as if it could keep the pain from entering Jamie’s house, but the pain lived here already. It lived inside Jamie, never leaving, threatening to eat him alive at any moment.
I can’t eat. And I can’t sleep.
The pain just went dormant until it woke at different moments in different ways, through unconditioned hair or prickish comebacks. The pain was as a part of Jamie as his God-kissed right foot. Roy could only hope to manage the symptoms; he could never cure the disease.
Not alone, at least.
Jamie looked up as Roy returned, his eyes wild, hands tightened into fists. The wild eyes filled with relief when he realised it was only Roy, fists unclenched. Jamie struggled to his feet. A grim look of determination crossed his face, which on the pitch meant he was about to bend an opponent to his will. But the only opponent left this morning was the ghost of Jamie’s father. There was no one left to fight, but no one seemed to tell Jamie.
“You can – I don’t need –” Jamie paused, swallowing visibly as if trying to work through what he wanted to say. “Tell Ruth not to come. I’m fine.”
Roy took the time to figure out his thoughts. He wanted to tell Jamie to stop being a fucking muppet and take care of himself. He also wanted to wrap him up in the tightest hug that would potentially crack any ribs that hadn’t already been damaged. He couldn’t do either.
“Someone needs to take a look at you. It doesn’t have to be Ruth; we can go to the club if you want, but I would feel better if someone made sure you were okay.”
“I’m not okay,” Jamie said, voice quiet before it turned steely. “But I’m fine. I’ve had worse. Nothing anyone can do.”
Roy begged to differ, knowing he could help somehow, and in whatever way Jamie needed him to, he could, but he wasn’t about to disagree with Jamie at the moment.
“Will you do this for me?” he asked instead.
Roy had asked a lot of Jamie. Run faster, run harder, more burpees, more prick, more goals, more passes, faster, quicker, more, more, more. But this; this he had never asked him. Jamie tried to read him to see if he could push this issue or if Roy would dig his heels in. Roy didn’t know when he learned to read Jamie so well, probably when Jamie learned to do the same to him.
“Whatever,” Jamie said with forced bravado that barely filled the word and died in the air.
But he agreed, and at that moment, that was enough.
“How about we go upstairs?” Roy offered, hoping Jamie's bedroom and ensuite weren’t as trashed as his downstairs level.
Jamie thought for a second, then nodded. But there was another problem. He was barefoot, and glass was everywhere between him and the stairs. Roy hadn’t noticed earlier, but now he could see the blood on the floor from the short distance Jamie walked to the table.
“Is there any glass in your feet?”
He looked down to his feet, seemingly just realising then he was barefoot, “I dunno.”
“Can I check?”
Jamie nodded, and Roy kneeled in front of him, carefully taking Jamie’s left foot in his hands. Roy tried not to gasp when he saw a chunk of glass in Jamie’s foot. He carefully lifted Jamie’s other foot, grateful to see no more damage to the sole of his foot at least.
“There’s a piece of glass in your foot, but if I pull it out, it’ll start bleeding more,” Roy said, looking around for something he could put pressure on once he pulled the glass out.
“There are plasters in the toilet.”
“I’ll be right back,” Roy said before he stood, ignoring the pain in his knee to raid Jamie’s bathroom for anything he could use for quick first aid.
Jamie was still staring into space when he returned, and Roy was unsure he even realised the older man was missing. Roy carefully picked up Jamie’s foot and pulled the glass out. Jamie didn’t even flinch. Roy pressed at the gash with tissue and then lowered Jamie’s foot to the floor, using gravity to keep pressure on the toilet paper and the wound while he opened the plaster. By the time it was applied, Jamie still hadn’t given any sign he had noticed at all.
One item was taken care of, but Roy still had to get Jamie through an ocean of glass to leave the room. Roy remembered a pair of slides by the door and rushed to grab them. He placed them in front of Jamie, and Jamie leaned a hand on him to slide into them before standing. Roy kept a hand on Jamie’s back as he crunched over the glass, and Roy tried to take in his gait, see if it was hindered or if Jamie was limping, either on the foot that Roy just pulled the glass from or on his wonky ankle.
Jamie was limping, Roy decided, and trying to hide it. Roy looked at the back of his ankles as he walked up the stairs, trying to deduce if either was swollen or if it was the glass in his foot or some other injury that made it difficult for Jamie to walk. When they reached the second floor, Roy was even more concerned, but he followed Jamie wordlessly to the bedroom. Jamie kicked the slides off by the door, and Roy realised he should take his boots off, too, lest he drag glass through Jamie’s bedroom.
By the time his boots were off, Jamie had collapsed face down on the bed, starfished.
“Did you get any sleep last night?”
“No,” came the muffled reply.
“Okay,” Roy said, pulling his phone from his pocket and rereading the list given to him by Ruth.
Slurred speech? No, it seemed fine enough when Jamie’s face wasn’t pressed against his comforter.
“Jamie, are you having any trouble breathing?”
“No,” came another muffed reply.
“Do you have a sudden, intense headache?”
Jamie lifted his head enough to peer at him questioningly, “the fuck?”
“Yes or no, you twat?”
“No,” Jamie said before laying his face back down.
He must be exhausted because, with the injuries to his face, it should hurt lying the way he is.
“What about one-sided weakness?”
Jamie lifted his head again, “Are these from Ruth?”
Roy didn’t answer, which in itself was an answer.
“I told you I’m fine,” Jamie said. Roy didn’t believe him, and when he said nothing, Jamie sighed loudly. “Fine. If I answer the stupid fucking questions, can I sleep?”
“Yes,” he said, then hastily added, “for now. Let me see your eyes.”
Jamie sighed loudly but turned his head more. They've all been through concussion protocol. Roy released the breath he didn't know he was holding when he saw both pupils were the same size.
“Can I sleep now?”
“Yeah, yeah, you can fucking sleep,” Roy said as he placed a blanket over Jamie, seeing as he hadn’t climbed under the covers. He slowly walked towards the door but stopped before leaving. “Ruth’s still going to check you out.”
“Whatever,” Jamie said into the pillow.
Roy waited for Ruth on Jamie’s front stoop after pulling his boots on and grabbing his jacket. He went to the kitchen first but caught one sight of it trashed and couldn’t sit there and wait. He couldn’t sit there and wait for someone else to come. He should get started on cleaning, but the exhaustion seeped into his bones, heavy and cold.
Ruth pulled into Jamie’s drive half an hour after he hung up the phone from her when she should’ve still been at home getting Phoebe ready for school.
“Mrs Nunes next door said she could take Phoe to school,” Ruth answered his unasked question as she exited her Range Rover.
Roy, of course, helped when he could, but he also travelled for matches, so Ruth’s empty nest neighbour sometimes helped out and had become a surrogate grandmother to Phoebe. Roy sighed with relief, knowing Jamie would be looked at sooner rather than later, and Phoebe would be none the wiser.
Ruth carried a large duffel with her, filled with who knew what supplies that Roy hoped she didn’t have to use.
“He’s sleeping,” Roy said, opening the front door for his sister.
Roy pulled his boots off, and Ruth followed his lead, toeing off her trainers.
“You got the list of symptoms I sent you? He didn’t have any of them?” Ruth asked.
Roy shook his head, and Ruth studied his face, the answer he wasn’t giving and the one he was.
“I should probably still check him, just in case. I hate to wake him but then he can sleep for a few hours at least.”
Roy had checked the list she gave him, but he would still feel better if Ruth looked Jamie over, too, so he led Ruth up the stairs and down the hall to Jamie’s room. He had left the door cracked and pushed it open slowly.
“Jamie?” he ventured, his voice quiet. “Ruth’s here.”
They could both hear the groan Jamie tried to hide as he pushed himself into a sitting position.
“Jamie, is it okay if I open the curtains?” Ruth asked, her voice measured but suddenly sounding loud in the room.
“Yeah,” Jamie answered, voice hoarse and quiet.
Ruth placed the duffel on the floor as she opened the shades and let the cloudy light stream in. The sun was out when it rose, but clouds had slowly overtaken the blue sky, and now it looked like rain was threatening to release.
“Jamie, would it be okay if I checked you over?”
“Not my choice, innit,” Jamie said, staring at his bloodied hands.
“Jamie, I’m not going to force you into anything,” Ruth said, her voice calmer than Roy felt. “But I just want to do my best to make you feel better. I promise you can tell me to stop at any time.”
“Fine,” Jamie said, looking away from the siblings.
“Roy?” Ruth turned to him. “Do you want to wait for us downstairs?”
Ruth inclined her head towards the door and widened her eyes. Roy wanted to tell her to fuck off, that he wasn’t leaving, that he couldn’t leave, but he had no reasoning other than not wanting to. He knew Ruth had Jamie’s best interests at heart, and Roy trusted her with everything in his life, and right now, that meant trusting her with Jamie.
“Jamie?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“I’ll be downstairs,” Roy managed to grind out through clenched teeth before turning and walking back down the stairs.
He pulled his boots on at the bottom of the stairs, double-checked the locked front door, and went to Jamie’s supply closet, pulling out his vacuum. He thought the situation needed him to be with Jamie, but right now, Jamie needed Ruth. So Roy thought of the next thing this situation needed and began to vacuum the broken glass. Roy forced himself to breathe, not turn off the vacuum and stand outside Jamie’s door, hoping to hear some of his conversation with Ruth.
An eternity later, Ruth appeared before him, placing the medicine bag onto Jamie’s island before washing her hands in Jamie’s sink. Roy turned the vacuum off and stared at her back, waiting for her to finish. His brain rattled through different things she might say when she turned around.
Call an ambulance.
It’s bad.
You shouldn’t have called me.
How could you let this happen?
“It’s not your fault.”
That was certainly not on the list.
Roy looked at his sister, trying to read her. Ruth had always been an easy book for him to read, pictures where other people were words, sometimes written in a different language. At least until she went to Uni. At least until she met Connor. Suddenly, the words were written in invisible ink, and he couldn’t read his sister any more. It’s become easier since she left him, but sometimes the book of Ruth is locked shut.
“I know you think it is like you’re somehow supposed to have been able to prevent this, but it’s not your fault,” she repeated.
“I’m his fucking coach,” Roy said, his voice filled with all the hurt and pain Jamie must be feeling, all the anger he felt at Jamie’s Dad, which he couldn’t risk showing Jamie lest he mistake it for anger at him. “I’m supposed to look out for him.”
“On the pitch, you’re supposed to look out for him on the pitch, Roy, and you do that.”
“Yeah, well, what about him being my fucking best friend,” Roy said, alarmed at how high his voice sounded. He swallowed, purposely lowering the register of his voice. “I’m supposed to watch out for my friend. And he’s upstairs with, with I don’t even fucking know, wrong with him. And I did nothing, Ruth, I did fucking, nothing.”
Ruth cut the distance to him faster than he realised she was capable of, maybe all the Kent genes hadn’t divided equally between physical and mental between them like he sometimes thought. She pulled him into a hug, standing on her toes, reaching up as far as she could to pull him tightly to her. Roy tried to pull away, he didn’t have time for her comfort, didn’t deserve it, not when she hadn’t even told him what Jamie’s injuries were. Not when the reason she was here was because of his failure.
Feeling Roy try to pull away, Ruth only pulled him against her tighter. He struggled again until Ruth squeezed again. And then, all at once, his body gave up, gave up struggling against her, and gave up struggling to hold anything together at all. His body shuddered involuntarily as the wall he had put up crumbled like sand. He rested his head on Ruth’s as he cried, not able to stop once it started.
Eventually, he pulled away, wiping his face with the back of his hands. Ruth left her hands holding his biceps gently before she wiped away a last tear from his face with her thumb. She guided him to Jamie’s breakfast nook and slowly pushed him to sit on the bench.
“Jamie’s going to be fine. Physically, at least. He has a few bruised ribs that I can’t be completely sure aren’t fractured without an x-ray; same with his hand, but he can move it, so it’s most likely just bruised. But if the swelling increases or he can no longer move his fingers, he should get it x-rayed. Other than that, he’s covered with a lot of cuts and bruises. I cleaned the cuts, and stitched his foot, but other than that, he’ll mostly be sore for a while.”
“You said physically.”
“He’s going to need you, Roy, and the team. But he’s also going to need professional help. I know the club has a psychologist, but Jamie might need someone more specialised. I just want you to be prepared for that.”
“Okay,” Roy said slowly.
This wasn’t a surprise, not really.
“I don’t think he has a concussion, so you can let him sleep. And he should get an x-ray at the club on those ribs just in case, but they’ll likely want to do that anyway before they clear him to train.”
“Okay,” Roy said again, processing it all.
“Roy, I want you to listen to me,” Ruth said.
“All I do is fucking listen to you.”
Ruth smiled at him sadly, “I want you to really listen to me. This isn’t your fault. Jamie’s father is not your responsibility. And neither was Connor.”
He looked at her, speechless. After that last time, after Connor left, they never talked about Ruth’s husband. Not really, not with any meaning. Ruth leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. She turned and started to help clean the rest of the room as Roy resumed vacuuming. They worked in tandem, cleaning what needed to, binning whatever couldn’t be salvaged. An hour later, almost everything was as clean as it could be. Ruth wiped at her brow with her forehead and turned to him.
“Anything else I can help with? Or I can stay until Jamie wakes if you want?” Ruth offered.
“No, that’s okay. I got it from here. Thank you. For everything.”
Ruth reached up to hug him and planted a kiss on his cheek, “I love you. Call me if you or Jamie need anything.”
He followed Ruth to the door, watched her wave as she got into her Range Rover. Roy locked the door and slid down to the floor, the only sound in the house his ragged breathing.
It’s not your fault.
Roy wasn’t sure how long he sat there, replaying everything that had happened since his phone rang—replaying everything that’s happened with Jamie since they met. It felt like days had passed, but it had only been a few hours. There was so much that had to be done.
He had to figure out what would happen with Jamie’s father. Would Jamie agree to a restraining order? Could Jamie be facing charges? How the fuck was he supposed to fix all of this?
It’s not your fault.
Had anyone told Jamie the same thing?
He texted everyone he needed to. Beard, Nate and Isaac about training. Keeley, in case what happened had gotten to the press or would get to the press, and because she would want to know what she could do as Jamie’s friend, beyond only her position at KBPR. Higgins and Rebecca because they, too, would have work to do. He wanted to text Georgie and thought about doing it so she could be here before Jamie woke next. He couldn’t decide if it was more selfish to text her or not.
Georgie would come in and take care of Jamie, taking that burden from Roy. Except it wasn’t a burden. Jamie could never be a burden, not now, not ever, after everything they’ve been through these past few years. Maybe Roy was being selfish not calling Georgie, so he could be needed and wanted by Jamie, and he could be the one to offer comfort and security.
Jamie grew up with only pain and terror from his father. Roy would spend the rest of his life replacing that with love and comfort. Roy could never completely fill that hole, but he could do his best to make it a little smaller. There was a place for both of him and Georgie here, and God knew Jamie would need every support system he had available to get through this. But Roy had to stop making decisions for Jamie and give that back to him. He would ask Jamie when he woke if they should call Georgie and offer to do it himself.
Roy glanced upstairs where Jamie lay sleeping, and climbed the stairs as quietly as his knee allowed. He opened the door slowly, letting the light from the hall fall onto Jamie, still asleep. Ruth, or Jamie, he’s unsure which, closed the shades since he was up there previously. Roy pulled off his boots, lifted the covers and climbed into the other side of the bed, closed his eyes, and prayed for forgiveness.