Chapter Text
and it isn’t over, unless it is over
I don’t wanna wait for that
it’s gotta get easier and easier somehow
but not today
not today
there she goes, in front of me
take my life, set me free again
we’ll make a memory out of it
– Imagine Dragons, Not Today
He’s been in Kansas for eight months – after leaving Richmond, after leaving London. And one day, near the end of January, there’s a knock at the door.
It’s weird – the majority of the people he knows would call him beforehand, would text him, maybe, so he drags himself to open, already dreading the moment when he’ll have to send away whoever it is – because he probably doesn’t know them and since he doesn’t, this can’t be good.
It takes him a moment, because Henry has misplaced his outdoor boots this morning, and Ted almost tumbles over them and almost breaks his neck in the process, but he gets to the door eventually. And when he opens, the person he finds on the other side is maybe one of the most unexpected sights.
“Hi, Ted,” Keeley says, and she brushes past him, already inside as she says, “can I come in?”
He eyes the porch, where there’s a small pink suitcase next to a couple of duty-free bags.
“Oh and, Ted, please carry that stuff in, thank you so much, my feet are killing me.”
He ends up in the kitchen, where Keeley is already perched on a stool, enveloped into a fuzzy green coat.
“Hi, Keels.”
“Hi.” She has her arms crossed, and he just now notices she hasn’t even hugged him.
“Are you, uh, staying for long?”
“I don’t know, Ted, that depends.”
“On?”
“On you, you absolute fucking moron.”
He raises his eyebrows, because it’s not like her – he knows Keeley tends to swear, sometimes, but it’s usually not directed to him, so this is new.
He looks at her. “And, what can I do for you?”
She’s not looking at him – she’s looking around, at the blanket thrown across the sofa (insomnia is kicking his butt, most nights), at his unkempt hair, at the basket of dirty laundry in a corner (he’s been meaning to take care of that), at the pile of dishes in the sink (yeah, that too).
At the –
God.
Keeley’s sharp inhale of breath is all he needs, to know that she clearly noticed it – the small biscuit box he has left open on the counter, next to his peanut butter jar. A single biscuit inside, the only remaining survivor of a batch he’s made last week.
“You still make them?” she whispers, and he looks at her, and there are tears in her eyes. “You…”
“When I, uh, miss R– … when I miss Richmond, sometimes, yeah.”
“But she said you didn’t even like them.”
“I like the memories,” he says, with a shrug. It clearly is the wrong thing to say.
Keeley narrows her eyes. “Not enough, though,” she mutters. “Not enough to call us, or answer our texts, at the point that it feels like you’re ghosting us. Not enough to attend your best friend’s wedding, apparently.”
“I told Beard I’m sorry about – ”
“Yeah, I know, there was Henry’s match.” Her voice is so sharp it physically hurts a hidden part of him. “As if Henry would ever miss Uncle Beard’s wedding. You didn’t even tell him, did you? And it’s bullshit. But, Ted, that’s not why I’m here – not the only reason, anyway. A pretty fucking big reason, but not the only one.”
“Well then,” he says, and sits on a stool too, because he’s starting to feel like a criminal in a courtroom. “What is the other reason?”
“You can’t imagine?” Keeley looks at him, and her eyes are sad and full of sorrow and heartbreak. “Rebecca, of course.”
“Oh.” He can’t sustain her gaze, so he drops his eyes down, focusing on the wood of the counter. “How is she?”
“As if you care, Ted. She told me what happened when you left. And – well. Do you honestly think she’s fine?”
He feels his heart plummet – it hurts, it physically hurts, because he genuinely thought he’d be leaving everyone in a good spot, better now than when he’s found them for the first time, he thought…
“How… what happened? She isn’t… hurt, or – ”
“You broke her heart.”
Keeley’s words are so simple – so beautifully, painfully elegant, like she’s carving an inscription on his soul. An accusation that feels like power and pain, and a caress and a slap, all at the same time.
He looks at her – at his friend, one of his friends, that he ignored during these past few months because he thought a clean cut would be better for everyone involved, and look what happened now. She’s come all the way to Kansas just to tell him that he broke Rebecca’s heart.
“That woman is…” Keeley sighs, presses her hands on the counter, closes her eyes briefly. “She’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. After Rupert, she’s closed herself off from the world, she became an ice queen, an Amazon of steel, and then – Ted Lasso comes merrily around, brings her biscuits every fucking day, gently thaws the ice around her heart with the smallest scalpel that ever fucking existed, and she starts to become gentler, and more trusting in the universe, and she starts to blossom and bloom, and I have seen that Rebecca – the Rebecca who was happy, content with what she had – of course, there was always a yearning for something more, but she was serene. Do you remember? When she stopped caring about Rupert? I…” there’s a pause here, and he’s horrified to see that Keeley’s crying. “I haven’t seen that Rebecca in months. She may seem happy now, but I have seen the real deal, and you have started breaking her heart from the moment you told her you were coming back here. And the worst thing is, now she doesn’t even have ice or steel around it to protect it anymore, because you fucking took it all away. You took away her armor and just when she was offering you her heart and asking you to stay, you had to go and crush it, Ted. Not with your choice – well, with your choice, but I’m not angry at you about your choice, no one is, we understand. I’m angry because you fucking broke her heart with what you did after that – or, even better, what you didn’t do. Stay in touch. So – that’s why I’m pissed off with you.”
Fuck.
God. Fuck.
Keeley slides off her stool, and walks towards the door, her hand grabbing the handle of the suitcase, the other hand picking up her bags, then she turns around. “Now. I came here because this is something I wouldn’t have been able to say over the phone, but just so you know, this would be a great time for you to come back, at least for a bit, and clean up your mess. I know she offered you a solution, and you didn’t take it, and I can respect that. Even if I don’t agree with that decision for a series of reasons, I can respect it. But I can’t go on seeing my best friend go on through life with her fucking heart smashed into pieces. And now I’m going to sleep, because I’m jet lagged as hell, and I’ll see you in the morning. You can take the couch, since I suspect you won’t be getting any sleep anyway.”
Ted watches her go – he’s frozen in place, he cannot move. For a long while, he listens to his own breaths, until his limbs become heavy, until the clock reaches midnight.
.:.
Ted has left, and Rebecca has stayed.
It’s funny, how life works in mysterious ways – she had so many doubts about asking Sam to stay, when Edwin offered him to go play in Casablanca. But she had no doubts, no hesitation, when it came to Ted.
(Sometimes, at night, she clutches her pillow and thinks how borderline… humiliating it has been. And yet. It was him, and it didn’t feel humiliating, it felt right.)
Then, there’s the fact that he doesn’t answer her texts – if he does, it’s four or five days after she’s sent them. He never calls, and at some point, she has stopped trying to initiate the conversation. He wanted a clean cut, that much is clear, he has watched her cry her eyes out at the airport, and she’s felt him shiver in her arms, but his eyes were almost emotionless after they’ve hugged, and this is just what happens when she dares to hope, isn’t it?
She’s been… aching. Her heart has ached, for weeks.
Even after Matthijs – that’s his name, by the way, the man from the boat in Amsterdam – has asked her out on a date, her heart has ached. The date was lovely, of course – it’s been easy to rekindle that connection, the same kind of connection they had quickly found that day on the boat.
It’s not lightning, but it’s something close to gezellig. It’s easy, and painless, and frankly, she’s had enough pain to last for a lifetime.
Then, there’s Jelka – his daughter.
Jelka who is adorable, and speaks a little bit of English with an accent, and sometimes doesn’t know how to pronounce a word. Jelka who splits her time between her mum and grandparents who still live in the Netherlands, and her dad who’s just moved to London for work. Jelka, with whom Rebecca has interacted a lot of times now, after all – they talk in English, as best as they can, and surprisingly, in French (because the girl’s grandmother is originally from Liège), because Jelka already is a little polyglot in the making.
It’d be so easy to get attached, but she still balks at it – she doesn’t know if this thing she has with Matthijs will go anywhere, because her track record with men is not the best, but still. She doesn’t want to become a mother figure just yet. (Funny, isn’t it? It has been her greatest wish for decades, and now, now she hesitates.)
Jelka, of course, still calls her Rebecca, and damn Tish and her stupid predictions. (Of course she wouldn’t call her mum, it’s only been a few months, and she still has a mum). Rebecca would love nothing more, to be normal, to have a heart that’s intact and still beating correctly, to be able to be confident in her new relationship – is it, though? A relationship? – but her heart still aches.
And it’s Ted Lasso’s fault.
To think she was prepared to sell the club – she even made plans, imagining a new life for Henry and Michelle, and Ted didn’t fucking take it, he didn’t even entertain the thought.
If he weren’t so dear to her, she’d hate him.
Sometimes, Matthijs holds her at night, and in the morning he makes her tea, and toasted bread, and eggs, which is nice – but sometimes, when she passes next to a bakery in Paved Court, and smells shortbread, she wants to cry.
Because Ted took something away from her, her trust in the future, and it’s his fault if she can’t open up to Matthijs, if she can’t try to be a step-mum to Jelka just yet. Because every time she tries, every time she tells herself Now, now I’ll be vulnerable, now, then she balks, every fucking time. Because being vulnerable shattered her heart the last time, so, never again.
She’s going to… settle for fine, at some point, and that’s that. Fine is safe, fine is good, and fine is not going to leave her standing in the middle of an airport, holding a useless first class ticket. Fine is not going to hug her and then let her go with almost-dry eyes and a chuckle.
Fuck him, honestly.
.:.
She’s in her office when Keeley knocks at the door, one quiet afternoon.
Unusual – she always barrels in like it’s nobody’s business, but today, there’s a certain shyness in her steps. She closes the door behind her.
“Hi babe,” she says, quietly. “How are you?”
“Hello, love – I’m fine, why?”
Keeley sits on a chair in front of her (Rebecca’s heart does that funny somersault she always feels whenever someone plops down on Ted’s chair, but she brushes the feeling away, as she’s done almost every morning for the past few months.)
“So, I did something impulsive,” Keeley says. “And there’s a chance you might get mad at me.”
“Oh love. Did you get a tattoo while you were drunk? Or did you get a fine? Do I need to help you bury a body?”
“No – no, nothing like that,” Keeley smiles. “Although it might be my body you’ll want to bury.”
“Keeley.”
“Okay, okay,” she says. “Don’t get mad…”
A sudden thought. “Am I about to find out what happened during your mysterious Californian trip? You haven’t told me anything about it yet.”
Keeley’s face is an equal mix of guilt and adorableness, when she pouts. “More or less? So. I brought in a person to see you. But please don’t get mad at me. I thought you might need it.”
“If it’s a psychic or any kind of psychologist, Keeley, I swear to god – ”
“No! Rebecca, please focus. I… it’s nothing like that. It was really fucking hard to smuggle him in without anyone noticing us, so please appreciate that?”
Rebecca huffs, but smiles. “Just tell me, Kee – wait. Smuggle him in?”
Keeley doesn’t answer, but she turns around, looks towards the door. “You can come in now,” she says, quietly enough, and the door opens slowly, and –
Rebecca’s breath stops for a second.
“Ted,” she exhales.
There he is. Standing in front of her, eight months later – hands in his pockets as usual, and a sheepish expression that is decidedly not usual.
“Hello, Boss.”
She raises up from her chair – she vaguely notices that Keeley is following every single one of her movements, as if she’s a lion tamer, and Rebecca is the lion.
As if her reaction is going to be unpredictable.
And yet, maybe Keeley is right, after all, because instead of feeling what she usually feels when she sees him – affection and love and fondness – all she feels right now, is rage.
“What are you doing here?”
There is a sharp, cutting edge in her voice. If he notices, it doesn’t show.
“I – Keeley, she came…”
He’s at a loss for words, and – fuck him, frankly, she’s way past the part where she cares.
“Keeley.” She turns towards her friend. “Evidently, not really a trip to California. Will… will you give us a minute?”
Keeley just nods, and her lips form the word Sorry, and Rebecca nods. There’s no coldness in her eyes when she looks at Keeley, because she knows why she did this. We’ll talk later, she mouths, and adds a smile for good measure, and Keeley actually looks a little relieved.
When she exits, she shuts the door behind her, and Rebecca crosses her arms, her crossed face back up. Her armor, what’s left of it (because this fucking man has always been able to read her like a book), back up.
“So? What are you doing here?”
“I understand you’re angry at me.”
“Well, a little bit, Ted. Go on, tell me I have no right to be angry.”
“No, no, I get it. I’d be angry at me too.”
“Oh would you now.” Rebecca leans back, against her desk. She doesn’t want to sit, she wants to tower over him.
He nods, and – with a practiced move, he shrugs away his backpack, in a move she’s seen him make countless times during the last years. “I brought you something, actually.”
It can’t be –
But it is, and she wants to cry when she sees the pink box, she wants to cry when he offers it to her with a hopeful expression. As if he wants to make peace, as if he hasn’t been treating them (her) like the last few years have never existed. She takes the box, and the force of habit almost makes her open it, her fingers itch to eat a biscuit, after all this time. But her brain – rigorous, strong, unrelenting – it makes her place the box on her desk, behind her, and she watches his face fall. She’d be lying if she said this doesn’t bring her a modicum of satisfaction.
He sighs.
“Keeley told me I broke your heart.”
Oh. Straight to business then.
She brushes her hands on her skirt, straightening invisible wrinkles.
“I don’t know about that. Did you? To break a person’s heart, it would require that person to have a heart in the first place, don’t you think?”
“Rebecca – don’t do that.”
His voice is so fucking soft, and no, she won’t fall for this anymore. Because she knows how this goes – kindness, and openness, until he’ll leave her again for good, and fuck, no, never again. With anyone, not even Matthijs.
“I’m sorry,” Ted says. “Sorry for how I behaved. I just thought it’d be… easier, that way.”
“For you, or for us?”
“For both, I guess.”
He takes a step ahead, towards her, and she suddenly reconsiders her decision – her choice, to place herself in this position, with her desk behind her. Bad idea. Now she’s trapped, and he’s taking her hand, and fuck, she’s moments away from crying.
“You really hurt me,” she whispers. It’s a confession. “Apart from everything else – the logistics, and Henry, Michelle, and the unanswered texts, and all the calls, and… and the fact that you’re not here to see it, any of it. And by it, I mean – I mean I’m worried for Beard, Ted, and you’re not here to see it, you… he’s… anyway, I’ll tell you later. Apart from all of that, you hurt me… because you didn’t even take into consideration that the people here were going to miss you as much as, or perhaps even more than, you’d miss them. You thought you were a side note in our story, and that’s the furthest thing from the truth.”
He squeezes her hand – and now, now he has tears in his eyes, the twat, now, now he chooses not to be the almost emotionless robot who hugged her at the airport.
She angrily wipes away one tear from her cheek, her other hand limp in his.
“Keeley told me that too,” he says. “That you have missed me.”
“I told you I was going to miss you. You didn’t believe me – us. Which is actually pretty fucking funny for a guy who has Believe as his motto.” She sniffs, and says, “why couldn’t you believe me when I said that this was your home? That you had a place here? Why can’t you believe the people who tell you that you being in their life makes a difference?”
Ted is crying now, and that’s good, actually, he should cry, he should feel every fucking emotion on the spectrum of emotions, just like she had to do months ago.
“I don’t want to – ” he starts, but he can’t go on, and Rebecca sighs, her heart heavy. She is so tired of heartbreak. “I don’t want to get too attached, Rebecca. I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
He squeezes her hand. “Of how it’ll go if I ever leave.”
“Leave?” her voice is high-pitched, and she wants to snatch her hand away from his. “What do you mean leave? You already fucking left, Ted.”
“No. I mean – leave. Like my dad.”
Oh, for god’s sake.
Rebecca wants to cry, to punch him, to hug him, maybe in that order, maybe not. For god’s sake.
“Your dad? What – ”
She wants to ask, but he raises one hand to stop her.
“I – ” he takes a breath, and shakes his head, and the message is clear – he didn’t intend to mention that part. She shuts her mouth. “I had to tell you the truth. I figured I owed that to you. Even if it’s not much.”
“Eight months a little too late, Ted.” She feels like she’s missing a crucial information here, she can’t stop thinking about it. What about his dad?
“I know – I know,” he says, he sounds pained, and she lifts one hand, brushes away a tear from his cheek. Damn this man, for making her drop all pretenses. She has tried to stay detached, but she’s just too fucking weak when it comes to him.
“And it’s hard, Rebecca, I’m not going to lie, being away is hard. My heart is tearing apart, but I can’t – it’s better this way.”
“Bullshit.”
She’s starting to get angry, now, because how can he be so daft, for fuck’s sake? Still in disbelief, still incapable of thinking that people may care about him?
He doesn’t answer, but he draws her into a hug. For god’s sake – she tries, to stay rigid, to stay put, because maybe she needs to punish him, maybe she’s still angry, so what? She has the right to be angry. Not because he went back, but because he refused to consider any other possibility, because he turned off his emotions and feelings, because he tried to convince himself that this was the only way.
Well. She fails, and she leans into his arms.
“We’re going to go home now,” she decides, after ten precious seconds, mumbling into his jumper. “There’s a lot to talk about, and I… I honestly need to breathe, to sit down for a moment. This was… a lot.”
“Too much,” he murmurs.
“Not too much. Just – unexpected. I was trying to heal, Ted, the fucking scar you left me with.”
He shudders. “I’m really sorry.”
She sighs, and decides to say it. Out with it.
“I’m sorry too.”
(Before they go, she takes the biscuits from her desk. Her hand curls around the familiar pink box, and, surprisingly enough, that is the thing that almost makes her cry.)
.:.
Matthijs doesn’t have the keys to her house, and that’s fine, that’s a step they have not yet taken. He doesn’t have the keys, but Jelka has a set of pink sheets for the guest room, for the (rare) times when she’s slept here. He doesn’t have the keys, but there’s his favorite scotch in the liquor cabinet, and there’s a couple of Jelka’s books laying around (even one for younger children, where there are images and words in English and their translation in Dutch – and how she and Jelka laugh, whenever the girl gets to correct Rebecca’s pronunciation).
Ted, of course, notices.
She doesn’t make any motion to hide anything – it’s not fair to either of these two people, who, after all, are in her life now. Ted deliberately chose to exit her life (not just by leaving Richmond but mostly by leaving Richmond, cutting ties with them). So, why should she hide anything?
He chooses not to comment, but she knows they’re going to have to talk about it at some point.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asks, dropping her bag on the counter.
“Just water, please.”
He looks tired, she thinks, as she wordlessly pours him a glass of still water, and as she starts the kettle, as she pours herself some tea. And it’s not jet-lag either, it’s something else. He looks –
He looks like he used to look, when she spent Christmas Day with him, once upon a time.
But – she’s tired, to always be the first one to reach over. She needs to guard her heart now. She’s even told Matthijs, that her heart was a fragile thing, that she wasn’t… ready to let herself open up just yet. And he’s understood, in a way – sex is easy and fun, their dates are sporadic, and they’re still trying to get to know each other, because one beautiful evening on a boat in Amsterdam does not give a proper basis for a lasting relationship. It’s frustrating – the whole thing is, because it’d be so simple, to let herself open up with him. To let him know her, even if he hasn’t seen her change and become the woman she is now, not the way Ted and Keeley and Leslie have – but she could tell him about it, at least. Instead, she chooses the easy way out, and they talk about anything that isn’t Rebecca’s inner life.
She feels like she’s been building a dam around her heart (more fragile than that steel she once used to have), and that she’s ready to make it collapse, but not just yet. A dam that would pour her love on Matthijs and Jelka and give her a family: a kind and caring man, and a wonderful step-daughter; and this dam becomes thinner and thinner every day.
Ted will not be the deciding factor, she thinks. She will hear him out, she will maybe forgive him, and then she’ll start to fucking heal. In that order. Hopefully.
She places the tea on the counter and wishes this was over already, wishes he was on a plane to Kansas, so she can go back to pretending he was never here. It’s like scratching at a wound, it just reminds her of another morning where she was sitting here – in a dressing gown, not her work clothes, and Ted was wearing a KC shirt and not a sweater, and she was trying to come to terms with the fact that he was going to leave.
“Rebecca, I – I wanted to say sorry, first of all. I know I wasn’t… the best, as friends go.”
She nods. “No, you weren’t. But I could understand that, at least for the first period of time. I could understand that it hurt, because we were hurting too.” She takes a sip of tea, then places it down. “But then, once you got used to being in Kansas again… and we started to get used to that giant Ted-shaped hole you left here…”
“Well now, Boss, that’s a good metaphor.”
“It’s not my best work, but it will do, I suppose.”
Ted chuckles, nearing the counter, and takes his glass, but doesn’t drink. “Now I wouldn’t blame you if you chose the sparkling water again, you know.”
“Oh, no. I had enough of being drenched.” She forces a smile on her lips. “To last a lifetime, actually.”
A sudden, charged silence fills the space between them. She drinks some tea because she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, but Ted doesn’t speak, and it’s starting to freak her out.
“So…” she murmurs. “What did Keeley say to you exactly?”
He sighs, looks at her. “That… I’ve broken your heart. That you’ve never been the same after I left. And that she’s worried for you.”
She wasn’t expecting that. Because she’d like to think that she’s been able to hide her sadness fairly well, during these past few months. Hasn’t she thrown herself into work? Hasn’t she gone on a few dates with Matthijs? Hasn’t she seen Nora and Sass and Keeley and even her mother, fairly often? Hasn’t she done basically everything that was expected from her? What the hell could have she done, more than this?
“She shouldn’t be worried for me,” she says, trying to infuse finality in her words. “I’m fine. Or, I will be, in time. I mostly felt… dejected. I felt like I’d lost my footing. The adapting period wasn’t easy.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
He looks genuinely contrite and, you know what, good. But still –
“For god’s sake, Ted, stop saying you’re sorry. You have said nothing but that, since you set foot in London. Or, I suspect, since Keeley has showed up at your house.”
He nods, and she knows he’s about to open his mouth and say sorry again, so she shushes him with a finger to her lips. He nods again, now there’s a sparkle of laughter in his eyes and you know what, that’s better. That does look more like her Ted.
“I’ll try not to say it that often, Boss.”
She smiles, despite herself. “God, it’s weird to hear you call me that, still.”
“Why, Coach Kent doesn’t call you that?”
“Mostly, he calls me Welton. Or Blondie, on good days. Or Barbie, if he’s pissed. Or Rebecca, if he’s in a particularly good mood.”
“That’s a mighty fine series of nicknames.”
“Yeah, he has his moments.” She takes a breath. “You haven’t seen him? Or… anyone?”
“No one except you and Keeley. And Renee, the guy who let us in through the tunnel. He was real happy to see me, imagine that.”
“Everyone’s going to be so happy to see you,” she murmurs. “If you’re up for that.”
He suddenly averts his eyes – oh, so just as she suspected, he is not up for that. “I don’t know, Rebecca. I don’t know if I know how… to say goodbye again.”
“Well you could have come back a little earlier than eight months. That way, it’d be easier. It wouldn’t be so definitive.”
Ted sighs. “It’ll never be easier, y’know. I can’t… I can’t live with my heart split on two sides of the ocean. I did that for three years and it wrecked me.”
“So does this solution work? Trying to pretend we never existed?” She can’t conceal the hurt in her voice, nor does she care to. He should hear it. “Is this another instance where you try to be a goldfish?”
“Well…”
“Because that’s fucking absurd, Ted. It may work on the pitch, it doesn’t work when we’re talking about three years of your life and countless human relationships.”
He looks chastised, almost, so she sighs, and decides to be compassionate, to let the subject go – for now.
“You know,” she begins. “I… we are worried about Beard. I know you came here because Keeley forced you to – and fed you lies about me – because I’m fine – or, I will be, as I said. But since you’re finally here… please go talk to him. Let him see what he doesn’t want to see. Or what he has tried not to see until very recently.”
His eyes find hers and now, now he seems worried. “What is that?”
Rebecca sighs again. “That he should have left Jane months ago. For good. And now she’s pregnant, and – ”
“What?”
“He hasn’t… he hasn’t told you?”
Jesus Christ. Fucking Beard, she thinks, because she knows the fault does not lie with Ted, not completely. She knew about this, about the fact that these two can in fact spend months without talking and then resume the conversation from the exact moment when it stopped. But… this is so monumental in Beard’s life, she really thought he would… tell his best friend.
(Well, she hasn’t told Ted about Matthijs, after all. But that’s different.)
It’s not even close to her bed time, and she’s already exhausted.
Ted looks distressed – she gets it, she does, and they order some takeaway food and spend the entirety of their dinner talking about Beard and Jane and the baby. About how Jane is toxic, how Rebecca feels fucking guilty every time she meets them together, every time she thinks about how she should, maybe, have meddled a little more – like Leslie wanted, and tried to do, at some point – and now there is a baby involved in all that, and Beard’s going to be shackled up to Jane even if he ever leaves her.
(For all the heartbreak Rupert has brought upon her, for all her wishes to become a mother, sometimes Rebecca has discovered herself glad that at least no child has been involved in their way-less-than-amicable split.)
“I have to talk to him, Rebecca,” Ted says at some point, when their plates are clear and their glasses empty, when they end up on the couch. Rebecca refills her glass, and nods. She finally, finally takes the biscuit box – she’d placed it in her purse, and now she opens it, the familiar smell enveloping her like a long-missed hug. The first biscuit – its taste – it almost brings tears to her eyes, and she feels Ted’s gaze on her as he waits for her to finish eating.
She gulps down, trying not to show her reaction, and chooses not to comment on it, to stay in safe waters, to answer him and keep talking about Beard. Well, maybe not just about Beard.
“Yes, you do. And I suspect…”
“What?”
“I suspect you need to talk to him about yourself, as well.”
He doesn’t meet her eyes. Ha. Busted.
“Are you still in contact with Doctor Fieldstone, Ted?”
He shakes his head. “I’d promised myself I’d find a therapist in Kansas, but I’ve never gotten around to do it.”
Rebecca stares down, her fingernails tapping against the stem of her glass. “Just as I thought.”
“What have you thought, Boss?”
“Well, with all due respect, Ted – you… but it’s not my place to say.”
His voice is soft now, as he gently encourages her. “I’d still like for you to say it. What you think. I appreciate your honesty, you know that. Oklahoma, and all that jazz.”
“If… you really want to know,” she says, carefully. “I – we think… we were thinking that maybe, the fact that you were ignoring us and ghosting us… maybe it wasn’t just you being busy with your new life.” She takes a deep, shaky breath. “Maybe it was something more? More… worrying?”
His eyes tell her everything she needs to know.
“Fuck, Ted, I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I… when you made that decision, to go back, I know it was for Henry. But I hoped… I really hoped you’d be able to find some peace of mind there.”
Ted takes her hand – god, she may just cry, again, what is it with this man and making her cry?
“I thought I could do it,” he confesses, “I thought I could find peace. But – since we’re being honest. I’m struggling, Rebecca, I feel… I feel like I’m lost at sea. I had support here, and there was a certain balance I’d found, but back in Kansas… I don’t wanna bother Michelle, and Henry is my kid, I’m supposed to shield him from this, and my mom… she is no help, with this, the opposite actually. So, yeah, I’m struggling. If that’s what you wanted to hear.”
“It doesn’t bring me joy, to hear you say that, you know.”
“Because you still care.” It’s not a question, or maybe it is, the tone is tentative. She blinks twice, furrows her brow.
“Of course I still fucking care. I’m just angry at you, I’m not… I’m not a fucking monster.”
“I know you’re not,” he says, his thumb caressing the back of her hand. She feels her resolution falter – the anger, the heartbreak, she feels them recede. She’s just about to shake herself, to go back to her trusted distant demeanor, when she realizes, she still needs to ask him something.
“Ted,” she starts. “You mentioned your dad. Can I ask you what – ”
She never finishes the sentence – the doorbell rings. And in one instant, she remembers. Fuck.
.:.
Rebecca’s face when she hears the doorbell is something he won’t forget – a mixture of guilt and anticipation and thrill and fear and fondness, something so complex and beautiful he actually takes a second to observe her.
“I, uh,” she gets up, and looks at him, then at the door. “I – that’s…”
A breath.
“That’s my, uh – friend – boyfriend? Partner? It’s complicated,” she says, and there’s something imploring in her face, as if to say, Please don’t make this even more complicated than it already is.
So he simply nods, and watches as she hurries to open the door.
There’s a man, standing there – as tall as Rebecca, Ted thinks, maybe taller, and isn’t it weird that this is the first thing he’d notice?
The man’s dressed as a pilot, with a uniform, and he smiles when he sees her, and he bends and kisses her cheek, his hand curling around her waist for a moment.
“Welcome back,” Ted hears her say, her voice soft.
“Did you miss me a little bit, mijn visje?”
“More than a little.”
The man smiles again, and this time, he presses a kiss on her lips. “Glad to be back. I have got to go and get Jelka, but I wanted to see you first.”
Rebecca ducks her head, and Ted thinks he sees her blush. Then, she lifts it again, and says, “are you hungry?”
“Later, later. I wasn’t expecting to get in so late, and the sitter will be so angry at me.”
“No she won’t – you could have told me, I could have gone to…”
“I know, but, Rebecca,” he says, gentle, “you have guests.” The man meets Ted’s gaze with a kind smile. “And I’m being rude.”
“Oh – right,” she looks at the man, then back at Ted, with a nervous kind of expression he hasn’t seen often. Ted gets up from the sofa, takes a couple of steps towards them. “I… Ted, this is Matthijs Van Leeuwen – I, uhm, I met him in Amsterdam,” she says. “You know, when we played against Ajax and I lost my phone. He lives in London now – with his daughter, Jelka.”
Ted nods, and the man extends one hand, and Ted covers the last couple of steps to shake it. It’s firm, and solid, and he can already see why Rebecca likes him.
“And – Matthijs, this is Ted Lasso – former manager of AFC Richmond and, well, he’s… a dear friend of mine,” she says, her voice slightly uncertain on the last words.
“You are the biscuit man,” Matthijs says, with a finality that reminds Ted of Jan Maas. “It’s nice to meet you. Rebecca has told me about you.”
“Nice to meet you, too – and I wish I could say the same, but that’s entirely on me, sir,” he tries to joke, and Rebecca gives him a half smile at that. “Can I just ask – how… how did you call her, just then? Gosh dang it, I wish I knew more languages than just English. My friend Beard, he speaks Dutch, but I didn’t even catch the words, so I can’t ask him, and well, I’m curious.”
“Mijn visje? It means something like… my little fish,” Matthijs looks at Rebecca, who blushes. “It’s because I fished her out of the canal. Jelka found it very funny, although she was concerned about her clothes.”
“Oh – well, that’s a story I haven’t heard,” he says, and he looks at Rebecca, and god, it’s actually adorable, the way she has of covering her face in embarrassment.
“Because it was… not my finest moment. I suppose I’m just not… built to be a pedestrian, especially in Amsterdam – the fucking bike lanes are too complicated for me.”
“Always interesting, to peel up one more Rebecca layer,” Ted says, and she smiles. “Well, y’all, I have… places to be, I should go. Leave you… well, to your dinner, I guess. After dinner. Nightcap.”
Matthijs and Rebecca look at him, both saying something at the same time, Oh please stay, and No Ted, stay, and they look and each other and chuckle. He raises his hands.
“For real, guys, I should go.”
“Where are you staying? Tonight?” Rebecca asks, her eyes suddenly wide, as if she’s remembered something important. He smiles.
“At Keeley’s, all my stuff is there. Don’t worry, Boss,” he squeezes her forearm for a moment. “I’m not out on the street. Also, you know I could always book myself a hotel, with all that amount of good old pounds I made when I was working for a certain club, right?”
“Right,” she says, lets out a breath. “I’ll see you again? Before you leave?”
“ ‘course. Goodnight, Rebecca,” Ted says. “Goodnight, Mr Van Leeuwen, it was great to meet ya.”
“Please, no surnames. Just Matthijs, that will do,” he says, and gently pats Ted’s arm. “Goodnight.”
Ted grabs his jacket, exits, and turns around one last time, meets Rebecca’s eyes as she closes the door behind him. She offers him one last tentative smile before shutting it close, and Ted breathes out, his hands deep in his pockets.
That’s that, then.
Rebecca eating his biscuits for the first time in months, and he’s almost started crying at the sight. Rebecca, who was about to ask him about his father – and he’s almost glad they didn’t get to talk about it. Rebecca, who has a boyfriend – or a partner – or, well, it’s complicated. And he wants to figure out why it is complicated. He wants to figure out why the sight of her kissing another man has awakened such an unpleasant sensation inside him… surely, he wouldn’t be feeling this way if Rebecca really were just a friend. He didn’t feel this way when Keeley used to kiss Roy. Why is Rebecca any different?
In conclusion, he has much thinking to do, and not much time to do it.
.:.
It’s three in the morning, and Rebecca can’t sleep.
She gets up to drink some water – she doesn’t want to disturb Matthijs with all her tossing and turning, and she’s done a great deal of that during the last hour. The house feels emptier than usual, even though both Matthijs and Jelka are currently sleeping there.
She gets downstairs as silently as possible – the water helps against her thirst, but does nothing to quench her heartache, and she briefly considers making herself some tea. But no, there’s no use. If the return of Ted Lasso on the British shores means she’s condemned to insomnia, so be it.
Her couch is cold when she sits, and she eyes the blanket for a minute, but decides against it. No comforts, tonight, tonight she must remember why she has taken the decisions she has, she must remember all the heartbreak. She doesn’t know for how long she remains on the couch, she just knows it’s a long time. It has to be four in the morning when she finally gets upstairs again – before heading to her room, she stops on the threshold of the small room where Jelka is sleeping.
She rests her head against the door, watching the little girl as she sleeps, hand curled around the light pink sheets, all burrowed under the duvet.
“Oh, little love,” she sighs.
God, Ted’s return really did a number on her. Her sadness, her grief over saying goodbye to him – and all has led to this? A kind and caring man in her bed and a wonderful girl in one of her guest rooms, and Rebecca questioning every single decision she’s made, all over again.
It’s not fair, she thinks. Everyone loses something in the end. She’s lost Ted, but she has gained them, when they came back in her life in a single serendipitous moment. And now – what if Ted comes back?
She doesn’t even want to begin to entertain the thought. It would break her heart again, to hope for his return and then see it snatched from under her fingertips. But it would also break her heart, though, to give this up – the possibility of a family. If, at any point, she’ll have to consider giving this up – what is offered in exchange would really have to be fucking precious and priceless.
Jelka whimpers in her sleep, and Rebecca gets closer to the bed – now she’s fisting the sheets, and maybe she has a nightmare, who knows? She’s never learned what to do in moments like this one, Rupert made sure of it.
She carefully sits on the edge of the bed, brushes away a stray lock of hair from the girl’s forehead.
“Rebecca?” Jelka whispers, her eyes still half-closed.
“Oui, chérie, t’inquiète pas – c’est moi,” she murmurs. “Juste un cauchemar, tout va bien. Dors, ma petite.”
The girl nods, squeezes her eyes shut, but her hand curls around Rebecca’s for a moment, then lets her go. She stays, sitting on the bed, until Jelka’s breaths become deep and rhythmic again, a regular cadence of unperturbed sleep, then she raises up.
“Welterusten, bijtje,” she says, as softly as she can. “Sleep well.”
Once she’s back in bed, her heart has settled down. She doesn’t feel anxious anymore – no, there’s a sort of peace descending upon her, a calm that wasn’t there an hour ago. Because now she knows. Even if one day she could get close to forgiving Ted – for breaking her heart, for leaving, for not forgiving himself, when it looked like Kansas was destroying his soul from the inside out – this doesn’t mean she’ll lose everything she’s built.
There is a reason why she hasn’t been able to fully open up to Matthijs and Jelka, after all. Maybe, her heart was still waiting for him.
Foolish heart, still believing in the possibility of hope. But it won’t believe forever, she knows that now.
One day – if Ted ends up deciding that Kansas is indeed the right choice for him – she’ll have to sever the tie, the red string, the fucking connection she has with him. She’ll have to make a choice and commit to her future here, this future that is slowly starting to take hold, that is slowly starting to solidify into her present.
And she will not wait forever, she decides. Because life is short, and she is tired of postponing her happiness.
She takes a deep breath – Matthijs shifts closer to her.
“You alright, Rebecca?” he mumbles, still half asleep.
“Yes – yes,” she says. “Sorry I woke you up.”
He doesn’t answer, but his arm curls around her waist. Maybe he’s asleep again, and she forces herself to relax, to let herself not think about her future until tomorrow, and to enjoy the feeling of a person who cares for her, who’s holding her at night.
For now, this is what her world looks like, and the future can wait another day.
.:.
Ted buys a plane ticket to Kansas the following morning – the date on the ticket is a little more than a week after his arrival, something like ten days total, and it’s alright, he’s spoken with Michelle and Henry, and tried to make it look as if it had been a planned trip all along and as if it wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment emergency intervention.
Keeley has been colder than usual with him, which, by Keeley’s standards, just means she’s behaving as kindly as possible, but he remembers how warmly she used to behave with him, and even though a stranger wouldn’t see it, he does see how she still is pissed off. She doesn’t ask him how it went with Rebecca – I’ll ask Rebecca, thank you very much, she tells him, but agrees to let him stay at her house for the duration of his stay, and when he tells her he doesn’t plan on seeing anyone other than her and Beard and Rebecca, she sighs.
“Ted, you really have to stop being afraid of your emotions,” she says. And – surprisingly, she takes her purse, and fishes out an envelope.
He takes it – it’s an elegant ivory paper, and he opens it, and – there it is, the invitation for the annual gala, next Saturday. Three days before his flight.
“Keeley – ”
“This would be a good way to start,” she shrugs. “Just think about it. You can come as my plus one.”
She exits the room before he can answer – she seems to do that a lot, lately – and leaves him there with the invitation. He stares at the words. The AFC Richmond team is honored to invite you…
Rebecca’s initials, in a corner – he’s seen it enough times to be able to recognize that handwriting, that R and that W. He traces them with his index, and sighs. God, he’s been a fool. He didn’t see what was right in front of him, and now…
Now it may be too late.
It’s complicated, her voice says in his memories, but it really doesn’t seem complicated. It seems like he’s lost his chance before he even realized he could have one.
Because he wants to try not to think about Rebecca for five seconds – and because this is the other reason why Keeley has come to Kansas, Ted goes to see Beard.
When he arrives at Beard’s house – a new house, they don’t live in Paved Court anymore – he sneaks out of his Uber like he’s a thief in the night, for fear of being seen. It’s a different neighborhood, so there shouldn’t be too many people he knows living around here, but still, it’s Richmond. Anyway, he thinks, even if somebody said that Ted Lasso is back, who would believe them?
He rings the bell and prays, hopes that Jane isn’t there. He’s been chastising himself ever since Keeley has told him about his friend, ever since Rebecca has informed him that Beard is going to become a dad – and he wasn’t here, Ted wasn’t here to… help, to give an opinion, to be a fucking good friend, the way his best friend would have deserved.
When Beard opens the door – he looks like he’s just seen a ghost.
“Hi, Coach,” Ted says, quietly. “Is Jane here?”
He shakes his head.
“Can I come in?”
Beard nods – lets him through, and he looks shocked, as if he doesn’t believe his eyes and is just going with the flow, just accepting what’s happening in his life right now. Ted makes way towards the living room – he’s never been in this house before, but it suits his friend, the wood is dark and solid and elegant and there are dozens of books lined up on the shelves, and…
“What are you doing here, Ted?”
He has his arms crossed, and Ted catches sight of a wedding ring on Beard’s finger, and something in his heart splinters and falls.
“Just came by to say hello, Beard-o.”
“Mh-m. Now the real reason, please.”
He looks at Beard, and he immediately knows that he’s not going to be able to get away with a lie.
“Keeley came to Kansas. Because, well, she’s worried. For Rebecca. And, well, for you.”
“For me?”
“Why haven’t you told me about the baby?”
Beard’s eyes – until now guarded, curious, but not unkind – now fill with a swirling emotion that’s difficult to describe – maybe rage, shame, nervousness. “Because you haven’t made it easy, Ted,” he says. “And it’s working, with Jane. I know everyone think we are a couple of mad people, that she’s… particular… but I still love her, and I…” he looks at him, “I cannot abandon my kid, Ted. You of all people should be able to understand that.”
Ted nods. “So it’s bad, uh?”
Unexpectedly – or maybe, maybe Ted was expecting it, in the depth of his soul – because he knows Beard, and he can never forgive himself for not speaking sooner – Beard’s eyes fill with tears, and he nods.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “It’s bad. Rebecca – she’s been a big help. In figuring it out. And there have been so many signals, so many. But I didn’t realize how bad it was until two weeks ago, when Jane has… joked… about getting a divorce, and how the custody always goes to the mother.”
“God.”
“Yeah. So, I think your intervention is a little too late, if that’s what this is.”
Ted gets closer – and he places one hand on Beard’s arm. “I just want you to know,” he starts, “that I’m sorry for not saying anything sooner. To his credit, the only one who tried was Leslie, if you can remember that. We all thought Jane was much more manageable than she actually was, but you deserve way better, Beard-o, and most importantly, you’re not alone. It’s never too late. And if there’s one thing I know and I’m certain of – Rebecca will move heaven and earth to find you a good lawyer, if need be.”
Beard nods, and looks at him for a split second – their hug is a crash of thunder, two celestial bodies colliding again, and he takes a deep breath in his friend’s arms. Beard shudders and holds on tighter for a moment.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“Anytime,” Ted says. “And I mean that. I was… trying to distance myself, I see that now. I thought it would hurt less.”
Beard chuckles wetly, and leans back. “The Emma situation, right? If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more?”
“You know it, Coach. Gosh, I have missed your quotes.”
“Oh I bet. One of my best qualities.” Beard takes a breath. “What about you, Coach? How… how’s Kansas treating you?”
Ted looks at him, and truth be told, he doesn’t know how to answer. That’s a problem he’s always had, with Beard, with Rebecca. Beard always sees right through him, and Rebecca would Oklahoma him to death if she could – not her fault if Ted’s been acting distant, not her fault if he hasn’t let her in.
“I don’t know,” he settles for that, because it’s true – it’s hard to describe how Kansas has been treating him.
It’s hard to sum up in one single sentence that he’s heartbroken, that he misses Richmond, and he feels guilty for missing Richmond, because he’s elated whenever he gets to go pick up Henry from school and help him with his science projects until it’s past midnight, so it doesn’t feel right to miss London. That every time Henry wants to watch a match on TV, Ted has to physically restrain himself from crying and shouting encouraging words to the boys, and every time he catches a glimpse of blonde hair, guilt and heartbreak churn inside of him.
That Kansas used to be home – a certainty, set in stone, and now something shifted, like a painting that’s been smudged, like a glitch, where everything is where it’s supposed to be, but everything is also wrong. The colors too vibrant, so vibrant it hurts; and too dull, at the same time.
That he’s been increasingly worried about his mental health, that the pile of dishes in the sink is just the warning light to something much more deep and terrifying, that he hasn’t been able to let his mom come see him at his house but instead he’s always gone to see her – that he has yet to start decorating his newly rented apartment and he’s been living there for eight months, that it’s mostly clean during the weeks when Henry’s there and a complete mess when Henry’s not there.
That sometimes he pulls up Rebecca’s contact in his phone and stares at her picture, that he’s been slowly but surely realizing how all her gestures before he left have been so kind and significant and he’s not even stopped to take them into consideration.
That his apartment may be a mess, but making biscuits helps, because he at least has to clear the dining table for it. Even if no one is there to eat them except for him.
That he doesn’t know how he feels about Rebecca exactly, but seeing her with her… partner… hasn’t brought up jealousy in him. No, it has been even worse. It has brought up regret, and the bitter pain of missed chances, and this is the scariest feeling of them all.
“I think you do know, Ted,” Beard says. “I’m not that much of a disaster that I can’t also listen to you, you know.”
So they sit down, and Ted finally opens up with his best friend.
.:.
Rebecca wonders why she’s not seen Ted during these past few days, and then she chastises herself for wondering, and it’s fucking exhausting. She sees her mother, for lunch, and Deborah is like a bloodhound when it comes to things like this one – because not even fifteen minutes after Mae’s placed a G&T in front of Rebecca’s salad – she asks about Ted.
“No, I haven’t heard from him, mum,” Rebecca lies.
Deborah raises an eyebrow. “Strange. That is not what Tish said the last time we spoke.”
For fuck’s sake.
“Can you just… can Tish stop making predictions about me? Please?”
“It’s not her fault if you come up in the third eye’s visions, Sausage. And, might I add, your aura has been of a dreadful gloomy color for weeks now. And, actually, you know, she said you should go visit her.”
“I most certainly should not. I have had enough of her bloody powers, the last time I went it messed me up for months. And, I told you, I’m fine.”
“Rebecca,” Deborah takes her hand, looks at her in the eyes. “If it is true that you are fine. Then why are you so scared of the future?”
And maybe it’s because she just wants to prove that Tish is a fraud, maybe it’s because deep down she really needs some guidance from an otherworldly power – that’s how Rebecca finds herself knocking on her mother’s psychic’s doors that afternoon.
“Rebecca,” Tish says, appearing on the threshold. “I knew you’d come. I was waiting for you, ever since you stormed off, that day, last year.”
“Well,” Rebecca raises her shoulders, “one more chance. At this point, it’s like I don’t have anything left to lose.”
It’s a lie – she does have something to lose, and she decidedly can’t afford herself some more months of reflection upon the things Tish will inevitably see. She’ll take it, and run away, and blame herself for having been even slightly curious.
It feels like déjà-vu, when she sits down in front of Tish – except, this time she’s not wearing black.
(She’s not wearing pink either, because for some reason the sight of her pink clothes was too painful to bear, right after Ted left. Because pink reminded her of biscuits, and biscuits reminded her of him, and of what she’s never going to have again, precious minutes of peace and silliness in the sanctity of her office. So, the pink had to go, and she’s carefully folded all of her clothes, every single scarf and shirt and blouse and coat, and placed them inside a box, and stashed the box inside one of the guest rooms. If Keeley has noticed, if she has registered the disappearance of that particular shade from her outfits and her office décor, she hasn’t said anything.)
No, now she’s wearing red. And what a fitting color to go to battle.
She doesn’t even flinch when Tish tells her to please place her hands on the goddamned bowl, because whatever, she’s here now, might as well go all the way in, right?
“You’re so tense,” Tish says casually, as if she’s talking about the weather. Her eyes close. “Strange. I feel – I feel there has been a period of peace in your life – a brief period of peace – one single day, one evening, when you bared yourself of all masks and reverted back to your purest self – and then one brief period of days, months ago, when you were at peace – and then nothing else. Not even one hour, ever since – ”
“Ever since?” Rebecca whispers. She is not sure she wants to hear what comes next.
“Ever since you have stopped crying.” Tish opens her eyes, but they’re unfocused. “You cried for someone months ago – then haven’t cried since then, right? Until a couple of days ago.”
God, this is scary. Freaky. Fucking weird.
“How the hell… do you know that?”
“It leaves scars, Rebecca. The pain,” Tish says. It’s like she’s speaking from miles away. “Once one knows where to look, it’s easy to see it.”
Rebecca sighs, because – for heaven’s sake. Maybe she’s not a fraud, she thinks. Maybe I shouldn’t have come –
“One at the time!” Tish exclaims, talking to her… spirits, visions; her eyes closed again, and Rebecca startles in her seats, wishing she could find the strength to tear her hands away from the bowl, but there’s a… force, a power, keeping them there, she physically cannot move.
“What else?” she whispers. “God, I – ”
“I can’t see – I don’t see – the future is not in your hands,” Tish murmurs. “In someone else’s. The decision is not yours to make – there’s your heart on the line, but – it’s lightning. It will be – it could be. And… drowning? No – but it’s not… not drowning, but it struggles to breathe. And… gods, it’s not…” she squeezes her eyes shut, as if what she’s seeing is painful. “You could be so happy. You’re on the brink of a leap, about to jump – but there are two roads in the woods, and one will erase the other for good, and – ”
Her eyes slam open.
“And you’ll be fine,” she says, with a kind of peace she didn’t have two seconds ago. “Whatever happens, Rebecca. You will be fine.”
Fuck.
She can’t say she’s not shaken. But at least she’s managed to reach the end of this insane session. She quickly shuts down any further attempt – tea leaves and tarot readings – and thanks Tish, and tells her that her mum will take care of everything, and that it’s been lovely to see her, and just as she’s about to make a run for it –
“Believe, Rebecca,” Tish says, out of the blue. Rebecca turns, to look at her – and she raises an eyebrow. “Alright?”
.:.
In his dream, she is kissing him, and he doesn’t know how to feel.
He’s never – never dared to hope she would, truth be told – because going back to Kansas has helped assuage his guilt towards his son, but it hasn’t helped him. Because depression has hit him like a train, in full force, and now he knows, now he can admit it, he can recognize it, those months he’s spent talking to Doctor Fieldstone have helped him figure out that, at least. That he’s prone to depression, as his dad was, and that… he shouldn’t be left to his own devices with his broken heart.
Oh, his heart wasn’t broken because of Rebecca.
Not at first.
At first, he thought it was about Richmond – about the ties that bind him to that place, about the relationships he’s forged, and he was trying, at the start, he’s tried to stay in contact. It was easy to send Roy a funny gif and see him reply with a simple No. But still, he’s missed the face Roy would have made, had he sent that text live, when their offices were next door. He’s missed the joy in the boys’ faces whenever he told them which movie he’d chosen for movie night, he’s missed the smirk from Beard when he inevitably failed to complete his Wordle of the day. He’s missed the Diamond Dogs meetings, Keeley joining him for a cupcake at Flavourtown, the Crown & Anchor lads.
All these things, they didn’t sting. They were a quiet kind of pain, the kind of pain that silently scars and gently heals. Even Beard, because they’ve done this before, disappearing from each other’s lives and reappearing after months.
Rebecca – it’s been different. He couldn’t even think about it. Because every time he tried – to conjure up an image he cherished, a Biscuit with the Boss session, or Rebecca singing, or Rebecca smiling at him after one of the boys scored a goal – his brain immediately brought up another image. Rebecca crying, saying goodbye to him, and how shitty he felt in that moment. How he wanted to hug her for hours, make that hug last forever. How he wanted to console her and sit with her and promise her it was going to be alright, that he’d come back after the summer. How he’s hated to see tears in those beautiful eyes, and to know he was the reason behind those tears.
In that moment, he’s thought about kissing her. His heart has shattered with every step he’s taken towards the gate, every step leading him away from her. And she’s been so brave and kind and he’s given her only pain in return, and that kind of cowardly feeling where he couldn’t even admit that he himself was in pain.
Eight months of dreams – at first, sparingly, because his heart has closed everything off, because he’s locked the Richmond snow globe Keeley has given him inside a box in his closet, and Henry’s Lego set too (he has a twin one at Michelle, and Henry’s understood when Ted told him that it was making him sad), and the jersey with his name on the back, and the album of photographs from Mae, and Trent’s book; and all the memories of Rebecca together with them – including that last newspaper with her picture on it, the one he’s bought at the airport.
(Christmas has passed. He hasn’t been able to listen to one of his favorite songs, this year – once upon a time, it was connected with joy and family and happiness, and although he was missing his son, he’d been able to find some silver lining in his life, thanks to his guardian angel who threw pebbles on his window and laid tinsel on the floor. But this year, his dreams have been tormented by Rebecca’s voice singing it, and every time he’s heard it – at Walmart, at his favorite café in town, or at Henry’s Christmas recital –
they’re singing Deck the Halls,
but it’s not like Christmas at all
‘cause I remember when you were here,
and all the fun we had last year
pretty lights on the tree,
I’m watching them shine,
you should be here with me,
oh baby please come home –
… he’s felt like his heart was tearing apart.
Except the song was wrong, because he already was home. Or maybe, home was Richmond, and he simply hadn’t realized it.)
Then, the dreams have increased in frequency and intensity, as much as his texts and calls have decreased, because he’d hoped this clean cut would help him, make him feel better. Now, he knows it was a pipe dream, that waking up to the sight of Rebecca’s tears still fresh in his mind was the right punishment – not for coming back to Kansas, but for considering his move as the only feasible option.
He’s never told Michelle about Rebecca’s proposals. About how she’s probably researched about schools, for Henry, about how she’s offered him so much money he can’t even imagine it, about how she’s even thought about a job for Michelle. He feels guilty about it, but he didn’t want to place the choice on Michelle’s shoulders and have another thing to blame her for, in case she refused. There is so much he regrets, but not that, because it was the right thing to do, to make a decision, and still – why isn’t he happy? Why isn’t he convinced? Why does he still feel a bit of resentment towards his mother, for letting him know that Henry wasn’t happy? Was that even true? Why does he feel guilty every time he sees Rebecca’s face – whether it be in his dreams, in a picture, in some online article?
Why can’t he find peace?
Because you could find peace here with me. Back home, Rebecca whispers one night in a dream, in his ear, like a siren. It’s a nightmare, more than a dream, and he wakes up sweating because the pain in his heart grows every passing day, and if it weren’t for Henry, he wouldn’t be interested in doing the dishes, or even getting up from his bed.
Am I too late, Rebecca? he asks, in his dream – and she cups his cheek, looks at him in the eyes. Not yet, she whispers. But there isn’t much time left.
Two days later, Keeley shows up at his door.
.:.
“So, what did you think about Ted? When you met him?” she asks Matthijs, during lunch, in her office. There’s no hesitancy in her voice, only curiosity – and maybe a protectiveness of sorts, and who knows where that one came from. (Well, he’s… used to be… one of your best friends, she tells herself, of course you’d be protective.)
Matthijs looks at her with a sort of wistfulness. “I don’t think that’s the right question, lieverd,” he says. “I think you should ask yourself if you still think about Ted.”
She balks, at that. It’s instinctual – she cannot avoid her reaction, prompted by so many years under Rupert’s claws (believe it or not, Rupert did accuse her of infidelity once or twice, and frankly, the fucking nerve that man had).
“What are you talking about?”
“Rebecca…” he sighs. He’s looking at her with… pity? Compassion? No, it’s neither, she realizes, it’s affection. “My darling Rebecca. When I met you, that day in Amsterdam… you were very different than how you are now.”
Suddenly, she wishes they weren’t in her office for this conversation. This kind of conversation should be happening in the dimmed light of a bedroom or inside a car at night, in a quiet silence; it shouldn’t be here, eating sandwiches and salads, in a place where Higgins or her secretary could barge in at any moment.
Still, she asks.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs, with the hint of a smile. “That night, I have watched you become less stressed and closed-off, become more free – carefree? And it was beautiful, and it has been an honor to witness that.”
She places down her fork, listening intently, almost holding her breath.
“But, when I met you again – when destiny decided to make us meet outside that airport… do you remember what you said to me, on our first date?”
She casts her eyes down, stares at her nails – a deep red color. “I… more or less.”
“Because I remember. You said your heart was fragile, and that you wanted to go slow, and to please be patient with you. And I have been, because I believe you’re worthy of that and even more, and I didn’t mind waiting. And I know you missed him, even if talking about him was painful, even if… oh, don’t cry, schatje,” he says, and she lets out a breath when he wipes away one of her tears, “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Sorry,” she whispers. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
“Because your heart is still broken,” Matthijs says. “And I think you didn’t even know how deeply. Right?”
Despite herself – and what it would mean to her life, she nods. “But I’m happy. With you. And Jelka.”
He’s gentle when he smiles at her, and he takes her hand. “We would be able to be happy, I’m sure of it. And I am not breaking up with you, Rebecca, not now. I’m just telling you that I know how much it hurt you to say goodbye to him, and that maybe the possibility of having him back would make you happier than I’ve ever seen you, happier than I’d ever be capable of making you.”
She shakes her head, still fighting the idea, still disbelieving. “It’s too late for me and Ted – ”
“It’s never too late, lieverd. I remember how you didn’t even want to meet Jelka again, at the start – at first I thought you didn’t like children, and that’s possible in a person, but then I saw you with Roy Kent’s niece, and I realized that maybe it was my child who was the problem, and I didn’t understand why. But now, now I know it’s because you, with your beautiful heart, wanted to protect her from the start, in case it didn’t work out between us.” He sighs. “But – if there is a chance, Rebecca, that you find your gezellig. That he offers you his heart in return – I’d rather see you go for it, than settle for the happiness you might have with me. Because we could learn to be happy, in time, but we’d always know about the alternative.”
She’s crying, now, because her heart is tearing apart. He said he wasn’t breaking up with her – but it sure feels like it. To think that he’d set her free this easily, to think that maybe he’s sincere and he really would rather see her at her happiest, even if it means giving up a chance at joy… it breaks her heart. He embraces her, wordlessly, letting her soak his shirt, and chuckles lowly when she sobs, I don’t know what to do.
“I do not know either, mijn visje. But it is a relief, to see you cry. I haven’t seen you cry in… months. No, actually. I don’t think I have ever seen you cry.”
And that sentence, that realization – she has never cried, since Ted went back to Kansas – maybe, that marks the moment when she fully believes in what Tish has said.
That she will be fine, in the end. Either way.
.:.
Ted calls Michelle, on the day before the gala.
He’s spent his days cooped up inside Keeley’s house – making lunch and dinner for the both of them, and he’s even made biscuits, in a sudden bout of inspiration, but he hasn’t brought them to Rebecca. Keeley has raised an eyebrow at the sight, but she hasn’t commented.
Ted asked her about how’s going with her life, but he didn’t get a satisfying response, just some quiet mention of Roy and Jamie and how she’s taken a break from the dating life for a bit (I have dated almost non-stop for years now, first Jamie, then Roy, then Jack, then almost-Roy again, I just… needed a bit of time. To figure myself out. Even though I think I’m almost ready), and he’s nodded in solidarity and told her that’s actually a nice idea.
This has prompted her to ask him about his dating life – any woman in Kansas? Or any British woman you’ve left behind with her heart broken? she’s said, and her citing the word heartbroken has immediately brought Rebecca up in his mind, and… that cannot be a coincidence, knowing Keeley, a woman who knows the power of words. Keeley has asked about Michelle, whether Ted was planning on going back to her, perhaps, but…
“I don’t think that will be happening,” he has said, gently. “And I haven’t tried to date again. I would have liked that, I was almost tempted at some point, with one of the soccer moms from Henry’s team, but I found out that it would have been… cruel, to try and give somebody hope, when it’s clear I’m not…”
“You’re not?”
“I’m not ready for it. Or, I should say, I’m not ready to try and get to know someone from scratch, y’know? It’s too much work, and I was missing you guys too much.”
“So what I’m hearing is, you’d need for your special someone to be someone you already know and have a relationship with, and a fond one at that,” Keeley has clicked her tongue and surveyed him as if he was a weird modern art painting, difficult to comprehend. “Interesting.”
“What is?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry. I’m not giving you any clues here, you’ll have to figure it out yourself.”
And maybe it’s because he is looking for clues, that he calls Michelle. He went to the Green – he’s figured it was late enough not to have people listening, and he’s worn a hoodie and a cap, so that hopefully people won’t recognize him even if they walk past him.
“Ted? Is everything okay?” she answers after the fourth ring. “It’s past eleven, there.”
“No, yeah, everything is fine,” he says, and scratches his mustache, sitting down on a bench as far away from the now-closed pub as possible. “How’s Henry?”
“He’s fine. He’s asked why you haven’t brought him with you, actually,” Michelle huffs, in a muffled laughter-like sound. “And if you moving back to Kansas means he’s never going to visit London again. I think not having you here has gotten him to reflect a little bit, and to think about you, and now he’s starting to realize that you’re not going back to stay in London, that you’re coming back here. Which, to him, is an absolute shame, because you never won the whole thing.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” she says, with a small chuckle. “Anyway. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, no, yeah, more or less.” He sighs, and resigns himself on telling her the truth. “Michelle, look, there is something I haven’t told you. And I hate doing this now, over the phone at that, but – I’d rather do this now, while I still have some courage left, y’know?”
So he tells her. He tells her all about Rebecca’s offer, he tells her everything he hasn’t had the strength for until now, because he couldn’t have backtracked on his decision so late in the game, and he now realizes that it has been unfair, to decide all on his own. Because his mother’s words have cut deeper than he thought, and he hasn’t even thought about asking Henry how he felt, or asking Michelle. He’s just taken the ball under his arm, and walked away from the pitch, leaving everyone behind.
Michelle, after he finishes talking, is silent for a long time.
“Hey, please say something,” he says. “Or I’ll think the Atlantic Ocean between us is playing tricks on my old phone.”
He hears her sigh, a deep breath, and he imagines her pinching the bridge of her nose. “Ted…”
“I know, I know. I fucked up.”
Her sharp inhale stings, maybe even more than she could ever imagine. “Ted, I… I don’t know what to say. It’s a lot to process.” She clicks her tongue. “I wish you’d told me sooner, but I think you already know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” His voice is sheepish, and god, he’s been an idiot.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I thought you were never going to accept. And the decision I’d already made was real painful, and I didn’t wanna try to entertain the thought that maybe I could have gotten to stay here instead, didn’t want to place all the responsibility on your shoulders…”
“So you took that whole responsibility on yours,” she says. “Works nicely. Ted, you’ve gotta stop being the Atlas everyone is relying on.”
“That’s… a metaphor I haven’t heard before.”
“Came up in therapy.”
“Well then, I hope it’s going better than with that hot dog Doctor Jacob.”
Michelle hums. “I’d say it’s too soon for jokes, but we broke up months ago, so maybe not. Anyway – you know we can at least talk about it. If Rebecca’s offer still stands, that is.” Her tone becomes decidedly softer. “I know you miss that place. And I think that place misses you just as much. And – I know it’s been difficult to adapt to Kansas again, and…” her voice breaks, and his heart breaks too, when he hears her become emotional, “I don’t want to… I don’t want to even risk seeing you go where we can’t follow, Ted.”
He feels tears burn at the corners of his eyes. “I know,” he murmurs. “I don’t want it to happen either.”
“Talk to her,” Michelle urges. “After you do, I’ll talk to Henry. Even though I already can imagine what he’ll say.”
Ted nods, then remembers she can’t see him. “Okay,” he whispers. “Thank you – really, thank you.”
When he hangs up – even if it’s insane, and entirely too early for it, and maybe a little crazy – he feels lighter.
Ten minutes later he’s knocking on Rebecca’s door, and he doesn’t know how he feels about it. Reckless. Rude, because it’s way past the time for an impromptu visit. Nervous. Why is he nervous? Why is he sweating? He only now remembers Rebecca’s partner, and that maybe they won’t be happy about being disturbed at this hour, but –
The door opens, and gods above, she’s a vision. She’s dressed down, black sweatpants and a light purple cardigan, with her glasses on, and she’s holding a mug filled with what he assumes is her evening herbal infusion. She looks so soft, it makes him want to cry.
“Ted,” she says, surprised. “Why are you – is everything alright?”
“Can I come in?” he blurts out. “That is, if I’m not… disturbing you, or interrupting anything, or – if you have company, I can see you tomorrow – ”
“Don’t be silly,” she cuts him off. “Come in. I’m alone, don’t worry, it was just me and a book.”
He dutifully follows her to the living room, and he feels like a millennia has passed since they’ve been here and he’s met her partner.
“Is… your boyfriend, he’s not here?”
“No, he’s at home with his daughter,” she says. “Please sit.”
There is a book there, and a crumpled blanket, and she places the mug down on the coffee table, takes off her glasses, and sets them next to the mug.
Ted looks at her for a moment – she seems… sad, for some reason. As if her light has been dimmed, in a way. And he doesn’t like that, not a bit, and he wonders if something’s happened, but it’s not really his place, and…
“Did you want to talk about something?”
“Uh – yes, actually,” he fumbles, and she nods encouragingly. Always so kind, even when she’s not at her best. “I wanted to tell you about – about my dad.”
.:.
He’s just finished with his story, and she is five seconds away from starting to cry.
He’s told her about it with a detached tone, that she hasn’t heard often from him. He’s told her that not many people know about this, Beard, Michelle, Doctor Sharon, and now Rebecca, and that he’s planning on keeping it that way because it still hurts, more than thirty years later, it hurts. He starts getting emotional only when he reaches the end of his tale – when he gets to the part where he finds his dad and calls his mum – and she thinks of Dottie Lasso and of when she’s met her, and how many things start to make so much more sense now – Ted being so… weird, during that encounter, and Dottie’s demeanor, and how her visit has unblocked something dark deep inside Ted.
“You know, when we were in Amsterdam…” he starts, with a breath. “I went to see the Van Gogh museum. I’ve always thought it would be better if I went with someone; Beard, or you, you know, just to have a buffer, someone to talk to, someone with whom I could just… casually stroll by the sunflowers painting and say, Oh, that’s beautiful, isn’t it? Someone to crack a joke with, about missing ears or Doctor Who, or I don’t know. Anything, not to think about how he ended up, how my dad ended up.”
Rebecca’s heart constricts, so painfully she actually feels the need to push a hand against her chest – she doesn’t, but she desperately wants to hug him. He isn’t finished, though.
“And then I ended up… well, Beard was busy, and you were busy too, I guess, and I ended up going alone, and I was scared, at the start. But then, I felt a kind of peace…”
Ted trails off, his eyes unfocused, and she leans forward, her hand mere inches from his.
“I still think about it, Rebecca – about the sunflowers. Because he never got to see what he’s left to the word, that man. He was a genius, and he’s so beloved, and he’s made countless lives better with his art, and he didn’t get to know anything about it?”
He turns his head towards her, and he finally says it. What she’s been waiting to hear all these months, the truest Oklahoma moment they have shared to date, and what rips her heart in two with a scarily accurate, well-aimed single cut.
“Ever since I’ve been back there – in Kansas. I have been getting worse,” he says, in a whispered confession. This time, fuck it, she takes his hand. He squeezes back, and she sees tears in his eyes. “I have tried – I have tried to get used to it, to life post-Richmond, and the first couple months were fine, because it was like a summer holiday, and Henry was home from school, and we all still chatted or texted a bit, and it was… tolerable. But then – ”
God, this is killing her. She cannot stay still anymore – he accepts her arms around him with the desperation of a man who’s lost at sea, and she gladly envelopes him in her embrace, his nose pressed against the crook of her shoulder. She feel tears soak her cardigan, and lets her own tears fall.
“I don’t want to end up like him, Rebecca,” he chokes. She doesn’t know if he’s talking about Van Gogh or his dad, but she supposes it doesn’t even matter, because the concept is clear. “I – I moved back for Henry, but I’m scared. I’m scared I did the wrong thing, and I’m scared one day I won’t be able to contain the darkness, and…”
“I know,” she murmurs, in a broken voice. “I know, Ted. I – I’m sorry we weren’t there for you. I… we should have – we didn’t… I didn’t…”
“Not your fault,” he says. “Not your fault, it was me, the one who stopped reaching out – ”
“You had your reasons,” she tells him. She leans back, to look at him in the eye. “I have suffered, when the conversations we had have gotten scarce, but I know what you were trying to do. You were trying to build a life there.”
“It’s been like trying to build a life on a house in ruin,” he mutters, leaning back. He wipes away a tear from her cheek. “I… thank heavens Henry was there, Rebecca, he’s been… my saving grace, that boy.”
“We all have to thank Henry, then,” she says, as softly as she can manage. “But Ted, Henry can’t be your only reason… it’s too much of a responsibility for a little boy, and…” she stops herself, because it’s not her place to say this. “Listen, I… I once asked you to stay. I won’t ask you to come back, because I don’t want to cause you any more pain, I don’t want to force you to make a decision – I mostly want you to be happy wherever you choose to be, and if it’s in Kansas, Ted, god, I hope you’ll manage to find some peace there. I don’t – ”
(This is what breaks her. Not the speech about his dad, not the sunflowers, this.)
“ – I don’t want to have to worry about you. Well, actually, I am going to worry about you, you know. I’m always going to worry about you. But not about that, Ted. I don’t even want to imagine – ”
She shakes his head, voice breaking, and for heaven’s sake, how is it possible that each and every Ted Lasso hug is even better than the one before? And above all, how did she manage to go without, for so many months? He holds her, as if she’s the most important person on Earth.
“I wish I could tell you that you don’t have to worry about me, Boss,” Ted says, and he cups her head, and she wants to sob, she wants to never let him go. “But, right now, it would be a lie.”
“You – you’ll get better,” she says, pleadingly. “You were on the path to get better, you can do it again. You once told me I had a coupon for life, Coach. Shouldn’t I be able to reclaim it?”
“Considering how things went, wasn’t it another lie?”
She wants to say no, but his months of radio silence still hurt.
“Ted…”
“I know,” he says, and wipes his own cheeks, leaning back, and he smiles at her. It’s shaky, that smile, but sincere. “I know. It’s just, you’re right, I was doing better when I lived here, with the Doc and everything. Then I went back and it’s like I’m back to square one. Gosh, that September 13th really did a number on me.”
September 13th. Her heart pulsates, her blood freezes.
“What – what year?”
“1991,” he answers, rather casually. “Why, what – god, Rebecca, what is it?”
“It was a Friday,” she whispers. “And it was one of the worst days of my life.”
.:.
Ted leaves Rebecca’s house way past midnight.
She’s told him about her dad, about the infidelity, about how she and Sass have found him, and Ted’s… well, he’s flabbergasted. Once she’s finished her tale, they were… a mess, so to speak, and she’s poured them some whisky and he’s told her he’s trying not to drink anymore, and he’s watched her pour the content of his glass down the drain. (He wants to consider it a symbolic gesture, but still, he’s accepted the glass of water she’s given him, swirling the content around as they drank in silence, trying to come to terms with the enormity of what they’d just discovered.)
I should get out of your hair, he’s said at some point, and she’s nodded.
“Will you come to the gala, tomorrow? Well, in a few hours?” she’s asked, once they were at her doorstep. “I know Keeley’s invited you.”
“Yeah,” he’s said, squeezing her fingers for a brief moment. “Yeah, I’ll come to the gala, I think. I hope. It’s about time I… face the music, so to speak.”
She’s hesitated. “Ted, no one’s going to… they’re going to be so happy to see you again.”
“I hope so,” he’s repeated, lightly, and he’s given her a small salute. “Goodnight, Boss. And – thank you. For listening.”
She’s nodded. “Of course. Of course, don’t even mention it.”
“I gotta mention it, Rebecca, because… it meant a lot.” A hand pressed on his heart, he’s watched her – lovely, beautiful, kind Rebecca, her hand curled around the doorknob. Her gaze on him was so full of fondness and compassion. “You’re too good to me.”
She’s shaken her head, with a small smile, but didn’t comment on it.
“Goodnight, Ted.”
He’s nodded, and watched her close the door, one last long look at him, one last smile, more tentative than the one she had earlier.
That’s how he’s found himself wandering through the Green, and around Richmond, at one in the morning, the silence deafening, the occasional bus passing by. He’s missed this place, he realizes. Its calm, its peace at night, and the bustling activity during the day, when he used to stroll around and said hello to so many people. Community – that’s what he misses.
And – everything else that he’s left behind.
He hasn’t asked Rebecca about her offers, if they’re still standing – he just now realizes it, their conversation derailed, following the trail of their pasts, and he’s forgotten to ask about their future.
Since when has he started thinking about it as their future?
Ted reaches his old door in Paved Court before remembering he doesn’t live there anymore. He even searches in his pocket for his keys, and then, when he suddenly becomes aware of why they’re missing, he sighs.
He resigns himself to calling for an Uber, to reach Keeley’s house, and while he’s waiting, he notices another small, significant detail. Rebecca hasn’t asked how he was planning on going home either – she’s just watched him reach the Green to cross it, like old times. And that, maybe, doesn’t mean anything in itself, but maybe it does, and Ted feels a small, minuscule glimmer of hope as it starts dancing in his chest, like the little flame of a candle.