Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The late summer heat clung stubbornly to the flat Kansas plains, a kind of quiet weight that pressed down on the fields and streets alike. In the evenings, when the cicadas hummed their endless song, Ted Lasso drove home from practice at the University with the windows cracked just enough to let in a thread of air. His car smelled faintly of grass and the cheap coffee he’d spilled on the seat weeks ago.

It wasn’t a bad life. That was the thing. The paycheck was steady, and the town treated him like the local boy who’d made good and then come home. No one expected fireworks. No one expected him to save their souls or turn their losses into lessons. He was still Coach Lasso, working with young men who wanted to play and achieve greatness.

But, deep down, if he dared to go there… it was not the same.

He liked the work. He did. The boys played hard, listened well, and respected him. But still, there was an emptiness to it. He missed Beard’s quiet intelligence at his side, the way a single lifted eyebrow could steer a practice better than a dozen whistles. He missed Roy’s guttural grunts - half disapproval, half love - rumbling through the pitch.

And it really wasn’t the fault of anyone. These were good men, good kids. But nothing had the vivacity, the warmth, the unspoken current of Richmond. The humor that spilled out in the locker room, the way victories and losses bound them together into something larger. This team worked. Richmond had lived.

Richmond… was family.

And the truth was, nothing felt like home anymore.

But then there was Henry.

Every week, every other weekend, sometimes more if Michelle’s schedule bent the right way, Henry was there. His laugh still filled every corner of Ted’s small house, and his gangly ten-year-old body could barely stay still long enough to eat a sandwich before running back outside to kick a ball. Ted coached Henry’s youth team with the same goofy focus he once gave to AFC Richmond, except now there were more juice boxes and fewer press conferences.

When Henry was there, Ted felt almost whole.

But when Henry left - when the sound of his sneakers pounding down the hallway faded into silence - Ted’s house turned cavernous. The couch sagged under the weight of his body, the TV flickered with games he barely watched, and words that once spilled out of him so easily now stuck like stones in his throat.

He still smiled at the grocery clerk, still tipped the diner waitress, still had a word or two for his neighbors. But gone was the chatter, the endless stream of jokes, the optimism that once seemed to bubble from nowhere. Now Ted moved quietly through his days, as if life might break if he pushed too hard against it.

Richmond was a ghost that hovered just over his shoulder. He refused to let his mind wander there. When memories surfaced - the pub, the pitch, Beard’s raised eyebrow, Keeley’s chaotic laughter - he pressed them back down. And Rebecca… he didn’t even let himself form the syllables of her name. That door stayed shut.

And yet, every now and then, his phone would buzz with a meme. A blurry dog in a suit. A picture of her tea, just to tease him. No context, no explanation, just Rebecca’s dry humor leaking across the ocean. He’d send something back, usually after a delay of days, sometimes weeks. A picture of Henry playing football - soccer, whatever - something that showed the quiet legacy she had left in his life. She’d heart it - just a heart, nothing more. Because back home - home - she couldn’t say anything else without betraying herself. Without giving too much away.

More than once, Ted had thought about calling her. Thumb hovering over her name in his contacts, heart thudding like he was a teenager. Sometimes he even thought about asking in the Diamond Dogs group chat how she was doing, just to hear her name typed out on a screen.

But the Diamond Dogs had gone quiet a long time ago - months with only the occasional message, and those, he suspected, sent for his sake. Sometimes he wondered if they’d started another group without him, one that still buzzed with inside jokes and strategies and life. It wouldn’t surprise him. He was old news now, a chapter closed.

And maybe that was how it had to be.

Henry noticed more than Ted wished he did. He was a bright kid, always had been. He saw his dad falling into a kind of hole - too dark for him to name, but clear enough even at his age.

The kitchen was quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. Henry watched while Ted packed his lunch carefully, noticing the little things he hadn’t before - the way Ted’s shoulders tensed and relaxed as he moved, the faint furrow between his brows, the almost imperceptible sigh that escaped him whenever his attention wandered to the counter instead of Henry’s lunchbox.

“Do you ever miss England, Dad?” Henry asked, his voice small but steady.

Ted paused, grip tightening on the kitchen counter. His eyes softened, but there was a flicker there - like a shadow crossing behind them.

“I miss the scones, buddy. And the accents that made everything sound ten percent fancier.”

He grinned, but Henry’s eyes searched him, trying to read what wasn’t being said. Ted busied himself with Henry's lunch again, his hands restless, tingling with a familiar, uneasy sensation.

“We can go visit there sometime, right?” Henry pressed, trying to pierce the quiet that had settled between them.

But Ted didn’t answer. He wasn’t even listening.

Henry stayed still for a moment longer, feeling the ache in his chest tighten, just a little. He understood, in the way children often do, that his dad was carrying something heavy - something he hadn’t yet figured out how to share.

One night, Henry woke to muffled sounds coming from the living room. He found his dad at the kitchen table, the only light coming from the laptop in front of him, the screen painted Ted’s face in pale blues and whites. A half-empty glass of whiskey sat at his side. His posture was slumped, his hands loose, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“…and the truth is, love doesn’t always wait for us to be ready,” the radio host’s voice drifted out. “Sometimes it barges in, messy and unannounced, and dares us to catch up. Do we want it, or do we run from it? That’s the question each of us has to answer. To dare to love, and to be loved in return - that may be one of the great mysteries of life. This is Dr. Marcia Reed, from Midnight Hearts on 94.9 KCMO. I hear you. Next caller?”

Henry leaned on the doorway, blinking. His dad wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even frowning. He was just… still, as though the voice on the radio was the only thing tethering him to the world.

For the first time, Henry saw not just tiredness in his father, but a kind of ache that ran deeper. It scared him a little, because dads weren’t supposed to look like that - like they needed saving.

He thought of saying something. Of crossing the room, touching his dad’s arm. But the words tangled in his throat, heavy and strange. So he turned and padded back to bed, unsettled, the sound of the radio still threading through the silence behind him.

And then Henry had become a boy on a mission.

After Ted went to bed early on his next weekend with him — after making a very sincere promise to take Henry to the park in the morning — Henry sneaked out of his room, picked up his dad’s phone from the kitchen counter, and ran back to his bedroom, hiding under his blankets. He had already scribbled the number on a piece of paper: Midnight Hearts with Dr. Marcia Reed. Without letting himself think, he typed it in and pressed “call.”

It rang once, twice. A producer answered, asked a few questions — amused by the boy’s determination — and then, before Henry could lose his nerve, he found himself live on air.

“This is Marcia Reed, broadcasting live from Kansas City. Who am I speaking to?” The host’s voice was warm, practiced.

“This is Henry.”

“You sound younger than our usual callers. How old are you, Henry?”

“I’m ten.”

“Ten.” She smiled, her tone softening. “How come you're up so late?”

“Well… I need to talk to you.”

“Of course,” Dr. Reed said gently. “So, what can I help you with?”

Henry swallowed. His dad’s laugh echoed in his memory — the one that used to roll so easily but now only showed up in flashes. He gripped the phone tighter.

“It's not for me.” He said softly. “It's for my dad. I think he needs a new wife.”

A light ripple of laughter moved through the radio crew. “You don’t like the one he has now?”

“He doesn't have one now. That's the problem.”

“Where’s your mom, sweetheart?”

“My mom and him… they’re not together. They're divorced.”

“Are you sad about that?”

“I was, at first. But not now. They’re friends, and… it’s better than before. So it’s okay, I guess.”

“It’s very wise of you to see that,” Dr. Reed said warmly. “You sound like a very thoughtful kid.”

Henry smiled beneath the blankets. “Thank you, doctor.” Then he sighed. “But… he’s still sad. And I think it’s because of me.”

“Because of you? Why would you say that?”

“’Cause he used to live somewhere else. In England. But now he’s back in Kansas.”

“And isn’t it good that he’s close to you?”

“Oh yeah. But…” Henry hesitated. “He’s not happy anymore. Not like before. He tries not to show it, but I know.”

“Have you talked to your dad about this?”

“No.” His voice was small.

“Why not?”

“Every time I try, I think he doesn’t want to. I think he doesn’t want to remember.”

“Remember what?”

“His life in England. He was happy there. With his friends and… and the team. And when I went there, we did things together, like real friends do, and it was really fun, you know? All the places we saw, all the people we visited. We baked biscuits, and we built Legos, and we sang, and, and…” His voice faltered. “He was always smiling.”

“It sounds like a wonderful life, Henry.”

“Yeah. But I ruined it.”

“Sweetheart, you couldn’t possibly do that. He loves you very much. That’s why he came back.”

“I know. He told me that. But now everything feels… fake. And I hate it.”

There was a long silence. Dr. Reed lowered her voice, tender. “Henry, is your dad home right now?”

“Yeah.”

“What's he doing? Is he busy?”

“He's sleeping.”

“Well, I’d like to help him—but I’ll need your help to do it. Could you bring him to the phone?”

“No way. He’d kill me.” His eyes widened. “Well, not kill me. But he’s not gonna like it.”

And then Henry froze. From the hallway came the shuffle of footsteps, followed by a drowsy voice.

“Henry?”

“Oh no. It’s Dad!” Henry whispered frantically. “Thanks, doc, I’ll call you back!”

And before she could answer, Dr. Marcia Reed heard the line go dead.

The clip didn’t just air.

It soared.

By morning, it was chopped into videos, overlaid with soft music, captions running across screens: Boy calls radio show to help his heartbroken dad. Instagram reels. TikTok edits. Twitter threads. Millions watched Henry’s little voice crack and steady, watched the host melt, and felt their own hearts pull tight.

Back in Richmond, Keeley Jones barged into Rebecca Welton’s office without knocking, phone already in hand.

“Have you seen this? Tell me you’ve seen this.”

Rebecca, buried in contracts, glanced up frowning. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Keeley plopped the phone onto her desk, screen glowing with a video paused mid-caption. “It’s everywhere. Literally everywhere. Just listen.”

Rebecca pressed play. A boy’s voice filled the room, small and trembling, yet filled with unshakable love.

“We baked biscuits, and we built Legos, and we sang, and, and…” His voice faltered. “He was always smiling.”

Keeley leaned forward, whispering, “Doesn’t that sound like Henry to you? Ted’s Henry?”

Rebecca’s stomach twisted. She listened again, to the whole audio. The boy’s accent, the pauses, the tenderness. Her heart stumbled, recognition flooding her before her mind could catch up.

Keeley grinned like a cat. “That’s Ted’s boy. It has to be. Which means the sad dad in Kansas is…”

Rebecca set the phone down slowly, as though it might explode. Her pulse raced. Her throat tightened. She wanted to deny it, brush it off, but the truth was undeniable.

It was Ted.

Chapter Text

The air inside the coaches’ office at Nelson Road was thick with the smell of stale coffee and whiteboard marker. Roy leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, jaw tight, like he’d been dragged there against his will. Coach Beard sat silently in his chair, arms folded, eyes fixed on a patch of carpet without really seeing it. They exchanged a look. Not hostile, just tired.

They weren’t alone for long. Nate slipped in quietly and hopped onto his usual perch on the storage cabinet, legs swinging.

“Hey guys. Is it just us?”

Beard shook his head just as Trent stepped through the door, eyebrows arched.

“I was told to come” Trent said, glancing around. “Which means something’s up.”

Before anyone could answer, Higgins burst in, panting, clutching his phone like it had personally betrayed him.

“Tell me you’ve heard it” he blurted, straightening his glasses. “The audio.”

Roy groaned. “If this is about that bloody radio thing Keeley’s been banging on about, I’m not doing this. I’m out.” He turned for the door.

“Nobody's out.” Beard said firmly, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the room. 

Trent tilted his head. “So it’s true then? The boy on the call… that was Henry?”

“Sounded like him to me” Higgins said grimly. “Which would make the heartbroken father…” He swallowed hard. “Ted.”

Nate frowned “We can’t know if it’s really him. Could be another Henry. With another dad.”

“Yes” Higgins shot back. “Another Henry, in Kansas, with a father who worked in England, who happens to be divorced…”

“Well, England is big,” Nate muttered, shrugging.

“They baked biscuits, for fuck’s sake!” Roy exploded.

Nate frowned. “But you’ve spoken to him, right?” he asked Beard. “He sounded fine?”

Beard shifted at last, resting his chin on his hand. “He’s Ted Lasso. He always sounds fine.”

“Oh, that’s bad” Higgins muttered, collapsing into the nearest chair.

Beard gave the faintest nod of agreement.

“So” Trent said carefully, “do we… do something? Reach out?”

“I told you making that Aladdin Sane group chat was a mistake!” Nate burst out, guilt flashing across his face.

“Oh, f- I’m out” Roy grumbled, starting for the door again.

“Boys, please” Trent cut in. “The whole point of Aladdin Sane was so Ted wouldn’t have to scroll through us talking about pints at the Crown & Anchor or weekend matches. We thought we were sparing him.”

“Well, that didn’t work out so well, did it?” Higgins muttered, eyes downcast.

Silence fell. Beard leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. Then he nodded once.

“I’ll call him.”

Across the stadium, in the quiet of her office, Rebecca sat with her elbows propped on her desk, staring at the little green army man. She still had it, after all these years. Funny, really — that this tiny piece of plastic was the part of Ted, and of Henry, that had remained with her. Protecting her. A symbol of something she hadn’t understood in the beginning.

She missed him.

She wished she didn’t. She wished so many things when it came to Ted. But almost none of them had come true.

And she understood. She understood everything. The way he’d turned down her offer - gently, but firmly. He’d made his decision, and it was the right one. His time in Richmond had come to an end.

She had offered him the world. But he had wanted simpler things. His home. His son. And he made the right decision.

But staring at the army man - the soldier meant to protect her - she wondered, why couldn’t he have protected her heart, just a little? Because now, the memories were rushing back like a flood, and she couldn’t push them down, no matter how hard she tried.

She remembered watching him walk away at the gate, her throat raw, her chest burning as if someone had reached inside and torn something loose. At the time it had been easier not to name it. Easier to file it away as gratitude, loyalty, friendship - anything but the truth clawing at her.

Because the truth was unbearable.

The truth was that Ted Lasso had cracked her heart wide open and breathed life into places she’d long thought numb. He had made her laugh when laughter felt impossible, made her believe in hope again, in love again — even if she never had dared to say the word.

Her phone buzzed, jolting her out of the spiral. She glanced at the screen.

Matthijs.

“Rebecca” came his warm Dutch accent when she picked up. “I’ll be in London next week.”

Rebecca forced a smile into her voice, though her eyes flicked back to the army man. Matthijs was saying something about a flight being rescheduled, but she wasn’t really listening.

“That’s… lovely. But I’m just about to step into a meeting. Can we talk later?”

When the line went dead, Rebecca lowered the phone, staring at it as though it might reveal what she was supposed to feel. But she found nothing. She picked up the soldier, aimed him toward the door, and sighed.

For a minute, it was as if the door might open again and Ted would waltz - or soft-shoe, or moonwalk - his way into her office.

Oh God.

She missed him.

Ted sat in his car outside Henry’s school, tapping the steering wheel in time with a country tune humming through the speakers. Michelle was away on a work trip, which meant Henry was his for the whole week. That thought alone brought a smile to his face.

His phone lit up with an incoming call. He blinked, surprised.

“Well, slap my knee and call me Elvis - Coach Beard! Ringin’ me up all the way from jolly old England. How you doin’, pal?”

There was a pause.

“How are you, Ted?”

Ted chuckled, unbothered. “Well, right now I’m sittin’ in my car, waiting for Henry to come barrelin’ out of school. So I’d say I’m doing just fine. How about yourself?”

Beard’s voice was steady, but low. “No, Ted. How are you, really?”

Ted’s smile faltered, just for a moment, before he tried to shrug it off. “Well… reckon I’m still fine. Why? Something happen?”

“Just checking” Beard said. “How about Henry?”

“He’s great” Ted brightened again. “You wouldn’t believe how much he’s improving. I don’t know who’s coaching this kid, but he’s a natural.”

Beard just hummed. “Nothing new?”

Ted frowned. “What’s going on, Willis?”

“Ted, we’re friends. We’ve been past the crap. Did you hear the audio of—”

But Ted spotted Henry racing across the schoolyard, backpack bouncing, grin wide. “Hey, Beard, listen—I gotta run. Henry’s here. Can we pick this up later?”

“Sure.” Beard replied, his tone unreadable.

Ted hung up, slipping the phone away just as Henry climbed into the car, chattering about his day. Ted laughed, letting himself be pulled into the moment.

Back in Richmond, Beard lowered his own phone and set it on the table. Around him, the Crown & Anchor buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses, but their little corner was quiet. Higgins, Trent, Roy, Nate, and Keeley all stared at him expectantly.

“Well?” Keeley asked.

“He doesn’t know.” Beard said simply.

“How do you know that?” she pressed.

Beard just looked at her.

Keeley sighed, leaning back. “Alright, fine. But what do we do? We can’t just… leave him like that.”

Beard took a long drink from his pint, eyes narrowing in thought.

That evening, Ted was at the sink, up to his elbows in suds. The kitchen smelled faintly of barbecue sauce and soap. Behind him, Henry sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to his video game.

“Alright, buddy,” Ted called over his shoulder. “You got ten more minutes while I hit the showers. Don’t make me call the fun police on ya.”

“Got it” Henry said, mashing buttons furiously.

Ted wiped his hands on a towel and disappeared down the hall. A moment later, his phone buzzed where he’d left it on the coffee table. The screen lit up with a message from Uncle Beard. Henry couldn’t see what it said - and it wasn’t really his business.

He set the controller aside, reached for the phone, and hesitated just a beat before dialing the number he knew by heart.

Midnight Hearts with Dr. Marcia Reed.

The line began to ring.

When the station picked up, Henry was passed through almost immediately. He didn’t understand how or why, but then Dr. Reed’s warm voice filled his ear.

“Henry, dear. Congratulations. You’re a celebrity.”

“A celebrity?” he asked, confused. “Why?”

“Didn’t you know you went viral?” she said gently. “Our little chat reached quite a few people.”

Henry groaned. “Oh, no. Now my dad’s really gonna kill me.”

Dr. Reed chuckled softly. “So, what can I help you with today?”

“Well… my dad. He’s awake. So if you could maybe… talk to him?”

“Oh, Henry - that’s wonderful.” She paused, her voice muffled as if she’d turned from the receiver. “We’re about to go on air. Can you hold just a moment?”

“Sure.”

“Right. Hold the line, sweetheart.”

Henry sat there, listening to commercials and half a pop song filter through the phone. He shifted, picking up his controller again, racing through another round of Mario Kart with the phone still pressed against his ear.

After a while, another voice came on the line—calm, professional.

“Henry? Are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Okay. Dr. Marcia is about to go live. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then… good luck, kid.”

Henry swallowed hard. He had a feeling he was going to need every bit of luck there was.

Chapter Text

Ted lingered in the bathroom longer than he should have, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. He tugged at his old Arthur Bryant’s barbecue T-shirt, a faint attempt to adjust something inside himself. But there was nothing wrong with the shirt. His hair, still damp from the shower, was neatly combed, as it always was - his small way of keeping control when everything else felt uncertain. What unsettled him wasn’t the look of exhaustion - it was the sadness he caught in his own eyes, a sadness he tried to hide behind a forced smile.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hard. He knew there would be an adjustment period - God knows he’d had to adapt to London, to Richmond, to a new job, to a team that hadn’t respected him at first. But Kansas… Kansas was home. He should’ve been used to this life. And he was happy. He really was - or at least he told himself so - especially with Henry by his side. So what was wrong? Why did everything feel so heavy, so empty?

Here, in this bathroom, in this house, with a life in his hands that he no longer knew what to do with. A life that felt like a reflection of all his attempts and all his failures, staring back at him through the glass.

Is this what my dad felt, back when…?

“Dad! There’s someone on the phone for you!” Henry’s voice rang down the hall, breaking the spiral.

Henry. His little lifeline.

Ted padded into the living room. Henry, perched at the edge of the couch with the phone in hand, said quietly into the receiver: “His name is Ted.”

Miles away - in a townhouse in Richmond, lights low, laptop open on her bed - Rebecca felt her heart stop.

It was much too late to be awake. Or far too early. She’d lost track of time. After hearing that first call, she’d been unable to resist. Night after night she tuned into the show like an addict, waiting for crumbs of Henry’s voice — if it was really him. She hoped it wasn’t, that he and Ted were happy, that the pain of losing him had some higher purpose. That her loneliness had meaning.

But then Henry’s little voice threaded through her speakers, and Rebecca’s heart clenched. It was him.

Which meant it was Ted.

Of course it was.

“If you’ve just tuned in,” Dr. Marcia Reed’s velvet voice purred over the airwaves, “this is Midnight Hearts, and we’re back on the line with Henry - the boy with the heartbroken dad.”

Ted emerged, reaching for the phone just as Henry fumbled to put it on speaker. His brows pinched in confusion.

“Henry?”

Henry shot him an anxious glance. Ted, trying to soften the moment, smiled.

“Hello?” Ted said, voice low.

Rebecca hadn’t expected the sound of his voice to unravel her. But it did.

“Hello, Ted,” came Dr. Reed’s steady voice. “This is Dr. Marcia Reed, on 94.9 KCMO.”

Ted blinked. “Okay… are you selling something? Because, you know, it’s kinda late.”

“No, I'm not selling anything. I just wanna help.” she said, firmly “I want you to know that your son called and he asked me for some advice on how you might find a new wife.”

Ted stiffened. “I’m sorry—who is this?”

“Dr. Marcia Reed, of 94.9 KCMO. On Midnight Hearts. And you’re on the air.”

Ted turned, eyes wide, to Henry. “You called a radio station?”

Henry curled into himself at the end of the couch, hugging his knees.

“Ted? Are you with me?” Dr. Reed pressed.

“Yeah. Yes.”

“Your son feels that since your divorce, you’ve been very, very unhappy. And he is genuinely worried about you.”

Ted let out a sigh, lowering his head. The words hit hard. He saw, maybe for the first time, the weight in Henry’s eyes - the things his boy hadn’t been able to say aloud. Shame crept in, thick and unshakable. He felt like a terrible father. Worse, he recognized that look: Henry was a younger version of himself, trying to hold tight to a life he couldn’t quite understand.

“I think is very hard for him to talk to you about all this.” Dr. Reed went on gently. “I thought maybe if you and I could talk, it would make Henry feel a little better.”

“Talk to her, Dad.” Henry whispered. “She is a doctor.” 

“Of what? Her first name could be “Doctor.” Ted muttered, though the defeat in his voice betrayed him.

“Please, dad.”

Ted’s throat tightened. He felt like a failure.

“You know, Ted,” Dr. Reed said, “sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone you don’t know. It takes the pressure off.”

Ted huffed a laugh without humor. “Well, Doc, I gotta tell ya - it’s a lotta pressure talkin’ live on the air to God knows how many folks.”

“You’re right” she allowed. “But the good thing is… they don’t know you.”

For a moment, Ted went silent, the weight of the pause stretching.

“Uh… Marcia or should I call you Dr. Reed?”

“Dr. Marcia.”

“Dr. Marcia, I don't mean to be rude.”

“And I don’t want to invade your privacy” she countered gently.

“Oh, sure you do!” Rebecca exploded in her empty room, pacing the carpet. “Leave him alone, you ghastly quack.”

But she didn’t turn off the radio. She couldn’t. Not when it meant hearing him.

“We’re trying to… Henry and I…” Ted faltered.

“Henry says he feels your sadness is his fault.” Dr. Marcia interrupted.

Ted looked at Henry. He wanted to scream.

“I’m not sad. And even if I was, it is not his fault. Never his fault.”

“Dad.” Henry said softly.

Ted swallowed, forcing calm. “We’re okay here, Doc. Just adjusting again to the life we had before. I’m sure you know it’s not easy.”

“I have no doubt you’re a wonderful father.” Dr. Reed said gently. “You know, you can tell a lot from a person’s voice.”

“You certainly can.” Ted replied.

Rebecca scoffed at her screen. Is that woman… flirting with him?

“But something must be missing” Dr. Reed pressed on, “if Henry still feels you’re under a cloud. Just a few questions: are you sleeping at night?”

“He doesn’t sleep at all.” Henry piped up.

“How do you know that?”

“I kinda live here.” Henry deadpanned.

Ted shook his head. “Look, Doc, it’s not easy... adjusting. I know Henry worries, but I wish he didn’t. I’m fine. And whatever it is, it’s not for him to carry.”

“But you understand kids pick up on certain things, right?”

“Yes.”

“Henry said you lived in England.”

“Yes, I did.”

Rebecca’s jaw tightened. She wanted to slam the laptop shut, but she couldn’t tear herself away.

“Want to talk about it?”

Ted let out a long sigh. “Well, Dr. Reed, I don’t know if I can do justice to what I experienced there. I made great friends, learned big lessons. My life was… completely transformed.”

“It was like a home to you?”

“In a way, yes. But not entirely… ‘cause my boy wasn’t there.”

“And that’s why you came back?”

“That’s why I came back, yes.”

“Do you miss it, Ted?”

Rebecca closed her eyes, bracing herself.

“I love Kansas.” he said softly. “And I wouldn’t trade the life I have now for anything. I couldn’t stay away from my boy again.”

By then Henry had curled into the couch, head resting on Ted’s lap, yawning. Ted ran his fingers through his son’s hair.

“I understand that.” Dr. Reed continued. “But you still didn’t answer my question. Do you miss it?”

Rebecca bit her lip, waiting.

“I do.” Ted admitted, the word weighted and slow.

“Did you leave someone behind, Ted?”

He gave a small laugh. “Yes, lots of friends. My best friend too. He’s married now, with a son. I missed a lot of things over there. Things I wasn’t around for. But life goes on, right?”

“Of course.” she said smoothly. “Life goes on. But did yours, Ted?”

"What do you mean?”

“Have you had any relationships since your divorce?”

Ted hesitated.

“Ted?”

“No, I…” His voice trailed off.

“Why not?”

“Look, Dr. Reed, I think we should stop right here.”

“Let me ask you again, Ted” she said, her tone soft, almost coaxing. “Did you leave someone behind?”

Ted’s chest tightened, breath shallow. He didn’t even understand why he was telling all this to a stranger, but somehow she pulled it out of him. She was good - too good.

“Ted?”

“Well…”

“Someone special?”

Henry was fast asleep now, his breaths deep and even. Safe. Content. Ted stroked his son’s hair, feeling the weight of responsibility and truth pressing against his ribs. He looked down at him and thought, I owe this kid better. I owe him honesty.

“Yes.” Ted said at last, his voice heavy - defeated, but strangely relieved.

Rebecca went utterly still. She didn’t know what to think. What the fuck is he even talking about?

“Ted” Dr. Reed prompted softly, “tell me about this person.”

“Well… how long is your program?”

Rebecca’s hands trembled. She clutched the blankets tighter, trying to calm the storm inside her chest.

“Oh, it was...” Ted began slowly, his voice low, deliberate “it was a million tiny little things. When you add ‘em all up, is just feels impossible that someone like this could really exist, you know?”

He paused, a small smile flickering. “Because she was… she was… amazing. Smart as anyone I’ve ever met. Powerful and… silly, when she thought nobody was lookin’.” He chuckled softly, brushing a hand over his face, a tear catching in his voice that Dr. Marcia could hear. “She did this one thing with her nose - the most beautiful, silly little thing that melted my heart. And… I didn’t know it. Didn’t realize it until I was in the middle of…”

“Of what?”

“Of nothin’” Ted said quickly, voice dropping. His smile faded, and his tone sharpened with honesty. “‘Cause I had to come back. And it was never - never really a thing.”

Rebecca’s chest tightened. Her breath hitched.

Who? Sassy? Someone else entirely, a woman she’d never even met?

And why, God, why did she care so much? 

Get a grip, Rebecca. Please.

“But if I’m honest,” Ted continued, his tone breaking into something raw, “and tonight… tonight you’ve sure made me one honest fella, Doc… it was like comin’ home, y’know?”

“Home, Ted?” Dr. Marcia’s voice was gentle, small, full of something he couldn’t name.

Ted’s lips quirked into a faint, wistful smile. He leaned back, staring at the floor for a long moment. “Well, sometimes… sometimes home isn’t four walls. Sometimes home is two beautiful green eyes… and a heartbeat.”

Her voice softened, tender. “She sounds… wonderful, Ted.”

“Yes,” he whispered. A sniff, a small pause. “Yes, she is.”

He leaned forward again, brushing his fingers through Henry’s hair, gentle and careful. The boy kept sleeping, unaware of the storm inside his father.

“We used to have these honest talks… once a year.” Ted murmured. “We called them ‘truth bombs.’ I guess… I guess this is a kind of truth bomb right here, don't you think?”

The world seemed to stop. Rebecca couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. 

“Well, folks, is time to wrap it up” Dr. Reed’s polished voice broke through. “I’m Dr. Marcia Reed, here in Kansas City, on 94.9 KCMO - I hear you. To all my listeners: may your truth bombs, when they go off, leave only the best things standing in their wake. And to you, Heartbroken Dad - call us again soon. Let us know how it’s going.”

“Oh, you bet” Ted murmured, his voice tired and low.

The line went dead. Ted set his phone down on the table and sighed. He stayed there in the silence for a minute or two, unable to move. Then he gathered Henry up in his arms.

“Let’s put you to bed, kiddo.”

Henry murmured something, but didn’t wake.

Ted kissed his hair and disappeared into the hallway.

And in the silence of her bedroom, miles away from Kansas, Rebecca closed the lid of her laptop. Her hand covered her mouth as tears streamed freely down her face.

Chapter Text

The sudden slap of newspaper against the glass cracked through the quiet inside the coaches’ office like a gunshot. Roy and Beard both jerked around, startled. Beard’s marker squeaked to a stop mid-line on the whiteboard.

On the other side of the partition - the wide window that looked out onto the empty locker room - Nate stood, a copy of The Sun pressed flat against the pane. The headline screamed so loud it didn’t need sound:

WANKER IN LOVE
Who is the mysterious green-eyed woman who stole the heart of AFC Richmond's former coach?

For a moment, neither Roy nor Beard spoke. Ted’s name, plastered on the cover, carried a weight neither of them wanted to face: the press had hold of him again. And from all they knew, Ted was back in Kansas, quiet, unreachable - and maybe more alone than ever.

“For fuck’s sake,” Roy muttered under his breath.

Nate stepped inside, face tight, caught between worry and discomfort. He dropped the paper onto Beard’s desk as though it burned.

“It’s worse this time,” he said, already tugging out his phone. “Ted himself was on the radio show.”

Nate tapped his screen a few times, then set the phone down. The tiny speaker crackled, and there it was - Ted’s voice, floating into the room. Gentle, hesitant, carrying that unmistakable warmth that was his and his alone:

“Well, sometimes… sometimes home isn’t four walls. Sometimes home is two beautiful green eyes… and a heartbeat.”

There was a beat of silence before Roy threw up his hands. “Fuck this. I’m out.” He turned, already halfway to the door.

“Nobody’s out, Roy,”  Beard said, his voice even, anchored.

“You’ve talked to him?” Nate asked, glancing up.

“Not yet.”

The door swung open before Beard could say more. Trent Crimm strolled in, a mug of coffee steaming in one hand, a copy of The Sun tucked under the other arm. He caught the look on their faces, then the paper on the desk. His smirk was rueful.

“Ah. So you’ve heard.”

“Yeah,” Roy snapped, “and I’d rather have stayed blissfully ignorant.”

Trent shifted his mug, eyes flicking to Beard. “You’ve talked to him?”

“Not yet,” Beard repeated.

Before anyone could speak again, Higgins barreled into the office, red-faced and breathless, holding his own copy of the paper like a flag in the middle of a battlefield. “Ah—so you’ve heard,” he panted.

“It went viral again,” Nate said, flat, like he was delivering bad weather reports.

Roy rubbed the back of his neck, jaw working. “I don’t believe this shit.”

“Everybody loves romance,” Trent murmured, eyes distant, almost dreamy, as though some memory had tugged him sideways.

“And who do you think the mysterious woman is?” Nate asked, too quick, too eager.

“I’m not fucking doing this,” Roy shot back.

“Was he seeing someone?” Trent pressed, gaze flicking toward Beard.

“Don’t recall Ted ever mentioning any woman. Except maybe that friend of—” Nate started.

“Will you all just shut the fuck up?” Roy’s voice cut through, sharp as a whip. His glare landed heavy on each of them. “You think gossiping about a mate’s life makes you helpful? It doesn’t. If Ted wanted us to know, he’d bloody tell us. End of.”

The room fell silent after Roy’s outburst. From the empty locker room beyond the glass, the faint sounds of team slowly arriving drifted in - players laughter bouncing off the benches, the shuffle of cleats on the floor, lockers slamming shut. It was just background noise, nothing that demanded attention, but it reminded them they weren’t alone anymore.

Roy’s voice dropped lower, rough but steady. “If you actually want to help Ted, I’m in. But I’m not meddling in his shit.”

They exchanged glances - equal parts guilt and worry.

Roy turned to Beard. “So are you gonna talk to him, or what?”

Beard didn’t answer. He stared at the paper for a long minute. Then, without a word, he pushed his chair back, rose to his feet, and walked out of the room, his silence carrying more weight than anything else could.

Rebecca felt her soul leave her body the moment Keeley plastered the newspaper down on her desk.

There it was, splashed across the front page of The Sun, in a font so grotesque she could practically hear it screaming at her:

WANKER IN LOVE. WANKER IN LOVE. WANKER IN LOVE.

She wished she were dead.

And yet, somehow, she had never felt more alive.

Rebecca had already read the paper that morning. Every ridiculous, sensational possibility the tabloids could conjure about Ted Lasso’s love life had already scrolled across her phone. She knew the headlines by heart. She could recite the wild speculation about mysterious women, old flames, imaginary romances - like catechism.

And then the audio. God, the audio. It was everywhere. Viral, of course - how could it not be? Ted, from Kansas. Henry’s father. Heartbroken dad. A man who had once lived in England. It had taken the internet less than a heartbeat to piece it together.

That gentle, absurdly optimistic man who had somehow become the subject of every gossip mill in the country. Who could forget that voice? That unmistakable Midwestern drawl, carrying warmth and awkward charm in equal measure, reaching through the static, across the distance, straight into her chest.

Every clip, every headline, every exaggerated rumor twisted her stomach, quickened her pulse. He was oceans away, impossibly far. And yet with every word, every replay, he felt closer than ever.

Wanker in Love.
Mysterious green-eyed woman.

All the things he had said.

About her.

Her.

“She did this one thing with her nose - the most beautiful, silly little thing that melted my heart.”

“Rebecca?”

“It was like comin’ home, y’know?”

“Rebecca?” Keeley again, sharper this time. “Rebecca, what the hell is going on?”

She blinked. Once. Twice. The room swam back into focus.

Keeley was looking at her, one of her hands on her waist, the other pointing at the newspaper. 

“Why do you assume I know anything about this?” Rebecca asked at last, her voice brittle, tugging herself out of the reverie.

“Rebecca, please. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“Keeley, honestly, I’m far too busy for—”

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re not pulling that on me. Don’t tell me you haven’t listened to Midnight Hearts. That audio is everywhere. It’s practically playing over the tannoy in the Underground.”

“Keeley—”

“Don’t. Don’t ‘Keeley’ me,” she snapped, sharp as glass. “Because if you really haven’t heard it, I’ll just search ‘heartbroken dad’ or ‘green eyes and a heartbeat,’ and I guarantee you, if I check bloody Twitter right now, I’ll find #TruthBomb trending at the top.”

“Keeley, please!” Rebecca’s voice cracked, louder than she meant.

That stopped Keeley cold.

Rebecca covered her face with her hands. And only then did Keeley see it properly - Rebecca wasn’t angry. She was trembling.

Keeley circled the desk, softening. “Oh, babe…” she murmured, wrapping her arms around her.

“No, it’s fine…” Rebecca said through a broken laugh. “It’s just—”

But she didn’t finish. She couldn’t. How could she possibly explain to Keeley the mess she was in? How could she admit aloud what she had buried deep inside herself, something she had locked away the night she begged him to accept her offer to stay, to accept Richmond as his home? That night, she had laughed it off with him by her side, pretending it didn’t tear her apart. If you go, I’ll go, she had said - and Ted had been the only man ever to see her soul like that, raw and unguarded, as she never had before. And yet… he went, and she stayed.

And she had shoved it down, never named it, never dared to. But she felt it anyway - in her bones, in the steady ache of her chest, in the salt of her tears, burning her alive. She felt it when she gazed across Richmond’s green at night, in the quiet early mornings of the locker room, at Coach Beard’s half-smile, or when footsteps approached her door and she wondered if it was him, carrying biscuits as he once did. Ted was everywhere, woven into the lives he had touched, into the air she breathed, and still… she could not name it. Because it would destroy her. And in many ways, it already has.

“How long’s it been?” Keeley whispered after a while, tiny arms holding her steady.

Rebecca gave a helpless laugh-sob, unsure how to even begin answering. She loved that girl.

“That long?”

Rebecca pulled back, brushing her fingers across her cheeks in a futile attempt to stop her tears.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keeley asked, careful, patient.

Rebecca moved to the window and stood looking out over the pitch. Outside, the boys were training - Roy, Beard and Nate directing them with the calm precision of a conductor coaxing a phrase from an orchestra. The sight should have been ordinary, grounding. Instead it felt like background music to her private desperation.

“Or do you want to be alone?” Keeley offered softly.

Rebecca shook her head but said nothing, not even turning to look at her. Keeley stepped closer and stood beside her, a steady presence.

After a long pause Rebecca let out a slow sigh. “I wish I had something to tell you, Keeley. I wish I had a plan to fix this. A year ago I tried. I offered him—”

Keeley’s eyes were on her.

“I offered everything.” The words spilled, thin and raw. “For him to bring Henry and Michelle to Richmond. More money - anything - so he wouldn’t have to go. And he didn’t answer.” A tear traced down her cheek. “He just sat there. And it became clear to me what it meant.”

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t want a new life, Keeley. He didn’t want to move forward.” Rebecca’s voice cracked, heavy with the weight of the memory. “He wanted to go back. Back to three years earlier, before Richmond. He wanted to go back to Michelle, to give Henry the life he should have had.” Her throat tightened. “That’s what his silence told me. That he wanted to reclaim it all - and we were not part of that… I was not part of that.”

Keeley looked at her with quiet sympathy, her own heart breaking for her friend.

Rebecca’s shoulders sagged. “And being objective… of course, he was right. Henry needed him. He needed his son. How could I resent a father and son being together? So I promised myself I would make peace with it… because the alternative would have broken me.”

Rebecca’s voice dropped to a fragile whisper. “But now… do you think it’s fair, Keeley? To find out that, all this time… he was in love with me? That we could have -” Her words collapsed before they reached the air.

She turned to Keeley, equal parts exasperated and hurt. “I thought it was one-sided, and I was fine with it. I was fine, Keeley!” Her voice spiked, sharp with helplessness. “But now… I want to fly to Kansas and fucking murder him!”

Keeley smirked.

“What?!”

“If you fly to Kansas, the only thing that'll happen is you’ll fall into his arms the very minute you step off your private jet.”

“Keeley, I swear to God…” Rebecca spun away, storming to the couch.

Keeley rolled her eyes, but her smile softened. “You won’t murder him, babe. You’ll kiss him. Probably cry a little, too. And then shag his brains out.”

Rebecca let out an incredulous laugh. “I fucking hate you.”

Keeley plopped down beside her. “You don’t. You love me. And you know I'm right.” She caught Rebecca’s hand. “Anyway, I’m happy for you.”

“Why? I’m a mess.”

“Because you’re in love,” Keeley said softly, squeezing her hand. “And you deserve to feel that. And that absurd man loves you back, so that's even better.”

Rebecca gave a watery laugh.

“Unfortunately,” Rebecca said, a bitter smile tugging at her lips, “this particular absurd man lives on the other side of the Atlantic.”

“Well,” Keeley said breezily, “that’s only a technicality.”

Rebecca shot her a pointed look, half annoyed, half amused.

“You’ll find a way,” Keeley replied simply.

Rebecca bit her lip. 

“And if not… you know where to find me.”  Keeley winked, smiling wide.

Rebecca laughed then, properly laughed - a sound that cracked her open just enough to breathe again.

Calm down, man.

Ted’s hands trembled on the steering wheel. He wasn’t having a panic attack. No, sir. He hadn’t had one in months. He just needed deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. 

Five-four-three-two-one.

A trash can by the sidewalk. Assistant Coach Wallace climbing the steps to the central building. A couple of students laughing near a tree. A Broadway Coffee paper cup, abandoned in the holder beside him. His reflection in the rearview mirror - forehead damp, eyes too wide.

It's okay. It's okay. You're going to make it. 

The meeting had already started; he was late. And Ted Lasso was never late. Not without a reason. But the teacher’s voice kept replaying in his head, clear as if she were still standing in front of him.

“Mr. Lasso, maybe you should be aware - people are talking about the radio thing. With Henry's audio everywhere, it's a concern to the parents.”

A concern? He didn't understand. He had just talked with a radio host last night - how could this be a problem for Henry?

“Henry's audio, Mr. Lasso. The one that went viral.”

Viral. Like a sickness.

And she’d been kind about it, almost apologetic. But all Ted heard was the subtext: You’re not protecting your son. You’re failing him.

His grip tightened on the wheel, palms slick. “Dammit,” he muttered, throat raw. 

He’d left the school in a blur and gone straight to his car, phone in hand, searching everything he could find.

And there it was. Everywhere.

Heartbroken Dad. Henry’s voice - so small, so broken - clipped and replayed, ripped from context, passed around like a toy. The new audio from last night, already spreading like wildfire. Videos. Comments. Headlines. Hashtags multiplying by the second: #TruthBomb #GreenEyesAndAHeartbeat. Jokes side by side with tearful posts, strangers waxing sentimental about a man they didn’t know, a boy they’d never met. It was a flood, a barrage, a thousand voices at once, and Ted felt dizzy, like the ground had dropped out from under him.

And then came the gut punch.

The Sun front page came blaring - letters so big it was like a slap in the face.

WANKER IN LOVE

We're not in Kansas anymore. Oh, no. Not anonymous. Not just “a dad on the radio.”
Everyone knew. They’d pieced it together, dragged his name across the ocean, across headlines, across a world he’d tried to leave behind.

Ted wanted to scream.

BREATHE, TED.

“Coach?”

A sharp knock on the window made his head snap up.

A student stood outside, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes wide with concern. “Uh—you okay in there?”

Ted froze, then forced a smile he didn’t feel. He rolled the window down and raised a hand in a little wave. “Yep! Just making sure my car and I are still best friends. Important research.”

The kid chuckled awkwardly and moved on. Ted smiled, but the second the kid turned away, his face fell. He opened the door and stepped into the sunlight. His legs felt rubbery, his shirt already damp under his sweater.

Calm down, breathe. 

He straightened his shoulders, pasted on another smile.

This is your life now.

And with that thought held steady against his ribs, Ted walked towards the building.

The meeting was worse than Ted had imagined. The room hummed with statistics and strategy - names, numbers, percentages scribbled across the whiteboard - but none of it stuck. His chest tightened with every laugh, every glance, every tap of a phone screen around the table. He couldn’t tell if they were even paying attention to the playbook, or if the laughter was about him.

And when it was finally over, instead of slipping out unnoticed, he found himself cornered.

Caroline Murray, Director of Player Personnel, intercepted him with a smile so warm, as though they were old friends.

“Coach Lasso, I just have to say - I heard you on Midnight Hearts. You know, I'm a big fan of Dr. Reed and that call? My Goodness, I knew it was you the minute I heard your voice.” She laughed lightly, almost girlish.

Ted opened his mouth, but no words came. Before he could fake a thank you, others leaned in, their faces curious, expectant. A couple of graduate assistants. A trainer. The Director of Scouting himself. Phones out. Screens glowing.

“Well, I'm… uh…” Ted tried to say. 

“We already knew.” said Teril, a graduate assistant. 

“How did you-?”

“It’s everywhere, Coach.” said Darcy Daughtery, from Recruiting Operations.

“I knew it was you the second I heard Henry’s name.” said Madison Beene from Athletic Trainer.  

The circle grew tighter. Questions piled in - about radio shows, about heartbreak, about the “mysterious green-eyed woman.” Some voices teasing, some tender, all of them intruding.

““The heartbroken dad in love with the green eyed woman” or something i don't remember.” 

Ted felt sick. 

“I was brushing my teeth and suddenly, there you were. I just couldn't believe my ears. I called my mother, I said “Mother, turn on the radio, that's the KU Coach. You know, it's so nice when a man can express his feelings.”

“I wish I could express my feelings.” said Billy Bonneau, the director of scouting, but he was rolling his eyes in disdain. 

“Uh, ‘scuse me one sec,” Ted muttered, already backing away. He slipped through a gap in the crowd and bolted, walking too fast down the hallway until the door to his office swallowed him whole.

He slammed it shut and leaned against it, chest heaving, as if holding back a flood. His reflection in the dark screen of his laptop looked pale, worn, wild. He dragged both hands through his hair until it stuck up in jagged tufts. Fifteen minutes passed before his breathing evened out. Sweat cooled at his temples.

Lucky break - his assistant coach hadn’t been there to see it.

Time to work. Time to be normal. Except, the second his inbox loaded, a new wave crashed over him:

Blind date?
Coffee sometime?
I could be you're green eyed lady

Subject lines blurred together, dozens of them, absurd, invasive, relentless. A hundred strangers knocking at the door of a life he didn’t want to share. 

Ted snapped the laptop shut with a thud that echoed too loudly in the small room.

The silence didn’t last. The door creaked open and the assistant head coach stepped in, his eyes narrowing the second he saw Ted’s face.

“You alright, man?”

Ted pulled up a smile like it was a mask from an old Halloween costume.

“Yeah. Just… Everything’s fine.”

The coach didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. “Alright. We’re about to start.”

“Ok. I’ll meet you outside.”

The door shut again, leaving Ted alone with the ringing in his ears.

Then came the buzz in his pocket. He fished out his phone, thumb trembling against the screen.

One name lit up.

Beard.

Ted exhaled, somewhere between relief and dread.

Chapter Text

Henry sat on the couch, chin propped on his hand, eyes heavy with worry. The TV flickered with some sports channel, but he wasn’t really watching. His dad had been in the bedroom for far too long, the muffled sound of his voice on the phone carrying through the walls. Henry knew what it meant. When he shut himself away like that, it was because something was wrong. He sighed and sank lower into the cushions. 

Then - the sound of a door unlocking. Footsteps. Henry straightened instantly.

Ted came in, face lined, his expression so exhausted. He looked at Henry the way a man might look at a mirror he didn’t want to face.

“You know we need to talk.”

“Yeah.”

“I'm not mad or anything.”

“Okay.”

Ted crossed the room and lowered himself onto the coffee table, knees creaking, so he was at eye level with his son. His hands folded and unfolded in his lap before he stilled them with an effort.

“I just don’t like that you… that your voice went viral.” His sigh seemed to deflate him. “But I’m going to take care of it. It’s not for you to worry about.”

Henry’s gaze slid sideways. Ted leaned, trying to catch his eyes.

“Henry, pay attention. This is important.”

“Dad, could you turn up the volume, please?”

Ted frowned, confused, and turned to the TV. On screen were Roy and Nate in AFC Richmond’s press conference room. His chest tightened. He usually changed the channel when the club came on - it hurt too much, the echo of a life he’d left behind. He turned back.

“Henry, please listen, we need - ”

But Henry’s eyes were locked to the screen. His small hand lifted, pointing.

“Dad, you’re on TV…” 

Before Ted could respond, Henry had the remote, turning the volume higher.

“…Former AFC Richmond coach Ted Lasso is back in the headlines with his appearance on a radio show-”

But Ted didn’t hear the rest. The words dissolved into static. All he could see were the images of his own face, caught in freeze-frames from old matches, clipped interviews where his smile looked too wide, too practiced. Then newer footage - paparazzi crowding the club's gates, shoving mics at players as they ducked into cars.

And then - her.

Rebecca.

Again, chased as she had been during her divorce. Cameras into her face, the lenses merciless. A startled blink. A clipped “no comment.” Sunglasses pulled on like armor as she marched toward the club entrance.

The segment barely lasted a minute, just another disposable cut of sports news. But for Ted it stretched, long and merciless - an endless loop seeping through his skin, leaving him raw, every frame another blow he couldn’t block.

“Dad?” Henry’s voice broke through, faint, almost distant. “Dad?”

Ted turned back to him, forcing himself to focus, but his mask had slipped. His face betrayed everything he didn’t want his son to see. He tried to gather himself, but the effort was thin, cracking.

“I’ve made a mess, haven’t I?” His voice was so small.

The words hung heavy in the air. Ted felt the soft pang of a man who’d failed at everything.

“Oh, no, kiddo. You didn't do anything wrong.” he said quickly, voice tight, frayed at the edges of tears.

“I just want you… to be you again.” Henry’s voice wavered, and a tear welled in his eye “And you… you’re always sad. I don’t know what to do.”

The house shrank around Ted, the walls pressing in. His boy, so young, carrying words like that on his shoulders - as if it were his job to fix him. It split Ted wide open. It was like looking at himself, at sixteen, at forty-six, right now, still trying to do the same for his own father. You’re always sad. I don’t know what to do.

I wish I would've told him. I wish I would've told him more. 

He pulled Henry into his arms, crushing him close, holding on like he could anchor them both. For a moment he wasn’t hugging just his son — he was holding his younger self too, the boy who had never heard these words from his own father.

“You don’t have to do anything, Henry,” he whispered, voice like a prayer. “Because it’s not up to you, it’s up to me. You’re not responsible for my sadness or my happiness, son. You’re already doing a mighty fine job just being you.”

Henry shifted back, eyes wet, searching his face.

“But you always say…”

“I know I say I’m happier when I’m with you. And I am. You’re at the top of my list and always will be. But it’s not your job to make me happy. Do you understand? Your existence already does that.”

Henry chewed on his lip, thinking hard, his small brow furrowed with the weight of it.

“Yeah, but I worry.”

“I know you do.” Ted’s shoulders sagged, the fight gone out of him. “I wish you didn’t. But I’m going to take care of it. I promise.”

Henry nodded, doubt lingering in his eyes. Ted wanted to push, to reassure him, but the truth was he didn’t have the strength. Not tonight.

Later that night, after Henry was tucked into bed, Ted stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, washing the dishes. The kitchen light hummed faintly above him. His thoughts drifted, unmoored, back to the image of Rebecca at the club.

How long had it been since he’d actually seen her face? A year? More? The last time had been at the airport. He’d been so mad at her then - no, maybe not mad. Desperate. 

She had made that move, nearly crumbling his resolve. He was but a man. A hopelessly romantic man who’d seen every rom-com in existence, who still believed in airports as holy ground for chance encounters. That moment at the gate had been a blow he never recovered from. Not really.

Sometimes, at nights, he let himself imagine it differently: scenarios where he stayed; where they ran together into a sunset; where she flew with him to Kansas. Little movies he played in his head, a thousand variations on the life he didn’t choose.

The phone buzzed on the counter, screen glowing with Michelle’s name. 

Found a ticket for tomorrow afternoon.

Ted exhaled, long and low. She was coming back.

Ted’s hands tightened around the dish towel. Her voice replayed in his mind, sharp and steady, the kind of voice that made him want to shrink, apologize for being too much - for everything.

“Ted, what is going on?” she hadn’t sounded angry exactly. More… alarmed.

“I don't know-”

“Well, you have to know, because suddenly you and Henry are internet stars.”

He remembered staring at the wall, the silence stretching too long.

“I’m sorry, Michelle. Everything got out of hand.”

“I have to go back, Ted. We need to talk.”

“Henry is okay. I’ll talk to him. And I’ll figure out how to take his voice off the internet somehow- I don’t know.” He was spiraling.

“I'm not talking about Henry, Ted. I'm talking about you.”

And now he’d have to deal with her. Not just the aftermaths of the fucking viral thing, not just his failure as a father, not just the guilt Henry was carrying - but Michelle, too. Michelle telling him that he was too much, that he was ruining everything again.

He was so tired. So fucking tired of being a disappointment.

Maybe he should call his mom, he thought grimly. Let her add another shovel of dirt onto the imaginary grave he was digging for himself.

Rebecca was restless. After the article in The Sun the previous day and the press swarming the club, she had no idea what would come next. She could feel the weight of every headline, every flashing camera, pressing on her chest. She called Keeley, unsure of what to do. She could make a few calls, pull a few favors. Keeley thought the frenzy might subside on its own if they didn’t interfere. After all, it wasn’t their story to tell.

“But I think you should call Ted,” Keeley said over the phone. “Have you talked to him?”

“God, no,” Rebecca replied.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

And she didn’t know the answer to that. If he loved her, what would really change? He was still in Kansas, and she was still here, staring at a world that felt suddenly hollow.

But she felt… uneasy.

That unease drew her to the coach’s office, the building quiet and empty. Almost all the lights were off, shadows stretching long across the floor. Only a few beams of light from the fitness room cut through the blinds, giving the office an eerie atmosphere.

Rebecca sat at what had once been Ted’s desk - now Roy’s - and switched on his lamp. Nothing belonged to him anymore. Yet everything in the room felt like him.

Everything was him.

They had come to this club almost together. Before Ted, AFC Richmond had been just a name, a place to avoid, a word to roll her eyes at, where people looked at her with suspicion, pity, like she didn’t belong. She hadn’t hated it at first; she simply hadn’t cared. But after the divorce, she wanted to burn it all down to pieces — the club, Rupert, everything he held dear.

But Ted… he'd made her care. He had made her care so deeply that even without him, she still loved it. It was an impossible situation. Ted being Ted had tangled her heart up with the club in a way that now she couldn’t just drop everything and run after him.

“Boss?”

Rebecca felt her soul leave her body.

When she looked up, Beard was there, backpack slung over one shoulder, quietly observing her.

“Coach Beard,” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”

They looked at each other for a moment. Somehow, Beard had a way of looking at people, like he could see every tiny part of them - not intrusively, but as a welcomed guest. He gestured toward his chair, as if asking permission. She only nodded.

“How are you doing?” he asked after a moment.

She snorted, but it came out hollow. “I’m fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, unflinching. Rebecca sighed, her gaze dropping to the floor, strangely fascinated by her own shoes. Beard waited patiently. Finally, she looked up at him.

“Have you talked to him?”

Her eyes, bright green, flickered with hope and fear. Beard nodded.

“Yes, I did.”

“And how is he - ”

“Same as you.”

Rebecca bit her lip. 

“You should call him.”

“To say what?” she snapped, her voice brittle, leaving Beard slightly taken aback. “I heard you on the radio, Ted… I found out you love me?!”

“Well, I wouldn’t start with that,” he said.

Rebecca let out a short laugh, more like a bark of frustration, and rose from the chair, moving toward the door.

“Good night, Coach Beard.”

“Rebecca, it’s okay to not be fine with it,” he said flatly. “I’m not fine with it. And he’s my best friend.”

Rebecca froze, turning to him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Beard looked at her, simply, quietly, waiting. After a pause, he sighed, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“The man loves you. It’s at least fair that he knows he’s loved back.”

He moved toward the door to the assistant coach’s office. She hesitated, words stuck in her throat. Then, almost on a whisper:

“And what about what’s fair to me, Coach Beard?”

Beard stopped. 

“What about being left behind, with… with all that?” she said, gesturing vaguely to the office, though it wasn’t really about that.

He studied her - the fire in her eyes, and the quiet vulnerability she rarely let show. Her strong, beautiful face. 

Two beautiful green eyes… and a heartbeat.

Home.

“What about the fact that he’s moved on, and I can’t?”

Beard didn’t say anything. He just stepped closer. After a moment, Rebecca felt his arms wrap around her.

Chapter Text

Ted had been avoiding her all week. He didn’t know why.

Well... he did. It was the same reason he'd been avoiding everyone: He didn't want to talk about it. He just wanted to go on with his life. Work. Pick up Henry from school. Make him dinner when it was his turn. Be present.

Be present, Ted. For heaven's sake.

Your son misses you.

I know. I miss him too. 

But he couldn't avoid himself. His own mind. And he felt like he was drowning, sinking deeper into something he might never climb out of.

“Dad?” 

There was a hole in his chest. Something pressing, relentless. If only he could fix this. Correct things. It was all his fault, really. He’d left his family four years ago. And then again, three years later. And now… nothing. He was a man without a home, trying to fit in.

“Dad!”

Henry’s voice snapped him back. Around him, children played, balls rolled, adults chatted.

“Henry?”

“The ball!” Henry shouted from across the field.

Ted hadn’t noticed it rolling toward him. A parent on the bench kicked it back into the game, and the play carried on. Ted nodded in thanks and let his eyes wander - until they found Michelle. She was watching him, thoughtful.

You're right, Ted. I do have somethin’ to say to you… Your son misses you.

He had thought Henry’s game would be a welcome escape. A couple of hours to zone out, to watch ten-year-old boys chase a ball across the field—just for a while, letting the weight lift. It was anything but.

The flood came as soon as the game ended—soccer moms and dads, questions flying like stray balls. And even after a week, they hadn't dropped that fucking audio. Thank God for Michelle, who had dragged him out of the storm before he was completely swamped. But it was barely a relief; he knew what was coming.

They walked in silence to a nearby bench, now empty after most parents had left for lunch with their kids, watching Henry chat with his teammates in the distance.

“Henry’s improving…” he said once they sat, because he didn’t know how else to start.

Her expression stiffened.

“Ted, cut that out, please.” Her words hit him like a sudden gust of wind.

“Michelle, we can’t talk about it here.”

“We need to talk somewhere, Ted. And you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’m not.”

She just looked at him, with that face he knew all too well. He sighed.

“We need honesty here,” she said, exhaling. “I don’t think we need to go back four years.”

Ted went quiet, his eyes tracing the grass beneath his feet. He thought about the grass at Richmond, how they cut it every other day. The smell of The Green, when he walked through it in the evenings. Rebecca's eyes. 

“I heard the audio,” she said.

Ted flexed his hands. 

“Which one?”

“Both of them,” she replied.

His shoulders slumped slightly. “Well… shucks.”

“You’re not happy here. You want to move back to London.” It wasn’t a question.

Ted shook his head, smiling bitterly. 

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Michelle…”

“Ted, be honest. Say what you want - for once in your life.”

“What does it matter what I want? What matters is what’s best for Henry.”

“What’s best for Henry?! Seeing you depressed? He feels like it’s his fault.”

Ted swallowed hard. He didn’t want to cry. But apparently… he was failing at that too.

Michelle reached for his arm.

“Henry’s a sensitive kid, Ted. You know that. And he talks. A lot,” she said calmly. “Just like his father.”

Ted searched the field. Henry was laughing with a friend. Just a boy.

It's like I'm scared sometimes to… get close to that little boy.

“I don’t know what to do, Michelle,” he said with a heavy sigh. “If I’m there, I hurt him by being away. If I’m here, I hurt him by not being fully present.”

Michelle looked at him with sympathy.

“I want to be happy. I'm trying.”

“Did you talk to your therapist, Ted?”

“Clearly not, since my therapist is now a radio host.”

They laughed, a brief lift in the tension.

“Call your therapist,” she said softly.

They stayed quiet for a while, surrounded by laughter, the sound of children playing, birds chirping, and the distant hum of the street. It was easy in moments like this.

“I’m sorry, Michelle,” he said, voice breaking slightly.

“For what?”

“For…” His gaze found hers. Her tender blue eyes held him in place. “For the mess. All of it.”

“Ted, I worry about you,” she said. “I don’t know where you feel at home anymore. But it’s surely not in Kansas.”

Ted’s thumb drifted over his phone, scrolling through old messages. A half-empty glass of whiskey sat beside him, his only companion at that late hour.

He was looking for something to send her—something to start a conversation. He’d thought about sending a picture of Henry on the field today, and when—or if—she replied, even if it was just her signature purple heart, he’d apologize. He wanted to. He needed to. He’d caused such a mess for her, for the club, and he needed her to know at least that he was sorry.

She knew about the audio. Beard had told him but didn’t elaborate. “Talk to her, Coach,” he’d said.

And Ted wanted to. He really did. But he was still the same man—sitting in the stands at night, hearing the woman he loved crying and saying nothing, afraid of losing his own mind.

His hands trembled. Sweat prickled his forehead.

She hadn't reached out, which he didn't know if it was a relief or a complete tragedy. Was her silence an answer in itself? Was she being gentle with him, letting him down politely, by not saying anything, just letting the whole thing vanish?

Ted switched to voicemail. He hadn’t done that in a while. But tonight, he was in self-destruction mode. And he wanted to hear her voice so badly.

He pressed play, and her voice filled his ears.

“Hey Ted, it's me. I was a bit worried about you today. Hope you're okay.”

I'm not. 

“If you need me, just please do give me a call.”

He laughed through his tears. The irony of it all.

“It's just, I'm on my way home for a very difficult conversation with my mother, and I could really do with one of your pep talks. Anyway… take care.”

Take care.

Ted let his phone fall onto his chest. His breath was shallow, uneven.

Take care, Ted. 

Ted!

It's okay. Try to breathe. 

He felt dizzy. Her voice was distant but somehow present.

Take care. 

Breathe, Ted. 

Ted curled in on himself, but it was no use. He couldn’t breathe. He was fading—the world was fading.

Would you please stay?

I don't want to be alone

Breathe, Ted

Ted closed his eyes. He took a breath. And then another. His face was wet with tears.

Am I going crazy? 

No more than anyone else. 

Would you like me to walk back with you?

Fight back.

Ted picked up his phone again. His fingers trembled, but he could do it. He had to.

When she answered after three rings, his voice came out raw.

“Hey, Doc… I wanna make an appointment.”

Rebecca could call him. She was a practical woman, after all. She could pick up the phone and simply ask, How are you doing, Ted? Simple as that.

But she was afraid she wouldn’t have much to say after that—afraid that, by now, they’d become nothing more than acquaintances.

So she thought about writing an email. Not a long one, and—God forbid—not a cheesy one. She could go with something formal: I hope you’re well. Good luck with your future endeavours. That kind of message.

But she dropped that idea, too.

Now she was staring at her phone, at the thread of old messages, thinking about what to write:

Hi, Ted. I miss you.

Hi, Ted. Are you okay?

Hi, Ted. I heard the audio and you know what? I fucking hate you because I love you too much.

She let her head fall onto her desk. Ugh. If only everything were easier.
She needed a drink. She needed to get pissed with Keeley—that’s what she needed.

So she called Keeley and arranged a girls’ night out. A not-a-care-in-the-world kind of night. She wanted to feel beautiful again: a good dress, perfect makeup, her hair down for once.
And she was not going to think about fucking Ted Lasso in Kansas.
Kansas could burn to the ground for all she cared.

The first week was rough. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to do FaceTime either, so they just stuck to phone calls and the wondrous world of small talk.

How’s Kansas? How’s Henry? How’s work? Fine, fine, fine. Goodbye, Doctor Sharon, it was nice talking to ya!

They settled on twice a week, because Dr. Fieldstone knew he was in a crisis and needed help. Too many panic attacks. But still, he didn’t want to talk. It was like he was back to years ago - when he doubted everything, and her, most of all. It was almost impossible to get through to him.

The second week, things were a little better. He found out she already knew about the audio. Of course she did - everybody did. He was glad she didn’t bring it up, so he opened up a little more. And she listened.

The third week, he called her mid–panic attack. She walked him through it. And she listened.

The fourth week, things were… stable. People had already forgotten the audio by then. But Ted hadn’t. He couldn’t.

On Thursday, he broke down. I tried everything, Doc.

The next Tuesday, Ted didn’t want to answer her questions.

So, Dr. Fieldstone waited.

She could hear Ted breathing on the other end of the line, tense.

“Ted? Are you there?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice clipped.

“Why do you think it’s hard to answer that question?”

“Because I don't want to talk about Michelle. I thought these sessions were about… I thought that subject was in the past.”

“Ted, I don't know if you realize that every time we hit a wall, you refuse to talk about it. You shut yourself off.”

“I don’t.”

“That’s not what happened with Rebecca?”

“I don’t see what Rebecca and Michelle have to do with anything...”

“You have a great capacity for love,” she said gently. “For caring about people. But sometimes, when you’re hurting, you try to protect everyone else from that hurt — by not talking about it. And in the end, that just leaves you alone with it.”

“Well, I tried everything, Doc, but I was pushed away across the ocean anyway because she couldn’t stand to be with me.”

It was bitter and unfair, but he was beyond exhausted. 

“Ted, Michelle did the right thing for herself. And for you,” she said carefully “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t painful. But it gave you space to face the things you’d been avoiding while you were together.”

“Yeah, while she was free to deal with our marriage counselor.”

“Ted-”

“Right, doc, I think I'm gonna go-”

“Before you do… can I offer something?”

He didn’t answer.

“When you were in Richmond, you gave yourself permission to break down, instead of feeling like you had to carry it all for your family. You’d never let your wife or your son see you vulnerable.”

Ted sighed, irritated. Everything about this conversation unnerved him.

“Can you imagine being with someone who disappears every time things get close to what’s really bothering them?”

“That’s not fair. It was my job—”

“I know,” she said softly. “And you were good at it. But I wonder if that habit — of being there for others, instead of letting them see you — made it hard to really be seen at home.”

His breath hitched.

“You stopped seeing Michelle as a person, and started seeing her as an obligation.”

Everyday I wake up hoping that I'll feel the way I felt in the beginning. But maybe that's just what marriage is, right?

“My concern right now,” she continued gently, “is that you’re going to turn your son into an obligation too—and forget how to love him.”

Ted felt like he’d been shot through the chest.

Chapter Text

She was… fine.

The team was thriving, moving forward on a slow but steady path. 

Keeley and Roy had gotten back together.

Keeley dropped the news over lunch at KBPR, and Rebecca almost broke the glass of her office screaming. A few days later, the three of them had gone out to dinner to celebrate. It warmed her heart to see her friends so genuinely happy. Both of them so deserving.

Beard’s boy had turned one. 

A lovely little party; the whole family was there. The baby was passed from arm to arm, cheered on by the team, his tiny hands clapping, tugging at his father’s beard. Beard’s smile was wider than she’d ever seen. And when Little Bird finally drifted to sleep, hours later in the strong arms of Auntie Becca, they exchanged a quiet, meaningful look.

She had ended things with Matthijs.

Although, could you really call it a breakup? How do you break up with someone with whom you hadn't built anything? It had been fun, and good in its own way - but plenty of things in life are fun and good without being extraordinary.

You deserve someone who makes you feel like you've been struck by fucking lightning.

Don't you dare settle for fine. 

So, they parted. No drama, no bitterness. Just a polite farewell. She was practical like that.

But not about… other things.

The mornings were the hardest. Any small sound could draw her eyes toward the door, unthinking, expectant. What exactly was she waiting for? She didn’t know. But she always looked. And she hated it - hated that eagerness, that flicker of hope.

Hope that one day he might be-

Stop it, Rebecca.

By afternoon, it would fade away, drowned in contracts, players, meetings, sponsors. Life. Friends, very good friends. More work. Keeley—thank God for her. Her mother. Sassy. And Nora, who had been spending more and more time with her lately.

She was fine. She truly was.

Just… not in the mornings.

When he told her, it was over a beer, on a Saturday night.

They’d had dinner to celebrate Henry’s first big win. It was his boy's idea, and Ted wanted to please him, so there was no big fuss about it.

When Henry went to bed after too many chats and a movie he didn’t last the first 30 minutes of, the conversation just flowed. It was easy to talk with Michelle on nights like these - fueled by a bit of alcohol, in a safe space. A home.

If he allowed himself, he could remember when they bought that house - the first month there. The laughs that echoed in the almost empty rooms, the love they felt for each other then. He doubted he’d recognize that man if he passed him on the street.

Their conversation was comfortable, the kind you have with someone who still knows a version of you. They’d always had fun together. It was easy to fall under old patterns.

But in one minute, all went to hell.

He shouldn’t have mentioned Rebecca’s offer. He knew he shouldn’t.

It was personal, something that only concerned him. 

But they started to reminisce about family holidays, old vacations, and then Michelle was saying how she missed those days of little road trips, and how much she enjoyed travelling, and from that - well, that’s just how a conversation goes, right? Wouldn't it be good for Henry to travel abroad on his gap year, see the world, have experiences? It would be years from now, but they were just rambling, like parents do, making plans they might never fulfill, just because they loved that kid so damn much.

Deep down, he knew it very well why he did it. Freudian slip. Sharon would be so proud of herself. 

But when he heard himself telling her, it was like he was watching the scene from outside his own body. A floodgate had broken, and all hell was about to follow.

Michelle went very silent. Her mouth a thin line. And then she looked at him with those eyes, and Ted wanted nothing but to disappear.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

“I didn’t think I had to, Michelle,” he said, his face closing off.

“Well, you did when it concerned me.”

He laughed bitterly. 

“It didn’t concern you. It was an offer made to me, a job offer.”

Michelle rose from the couch, hands on her hips, her back to him. He noticed that she was trying to maintain her composure with him - like so many times before - and this infuriated him instead.

“Why? Do you want to live in London?” he asked, his brows furrowing.

She turned.

“It’s not about that, and you know it,” she said. “It’s about the fact that you didn’t come back for Henry. You ran away.”

Ted's mind went blank.

“Michelle-”

“Oklahoma.”

“No. You don’t get to do that. We’re not a couple anymore, Michelle. You don’t get to force me to-”

“Okay, Ted. So tell me. Why did you come back?”

He pressed his lips together, looking away.

“If it was for Henry's sake, why didn’t you tell me there were other possibilities?” she said. “You didn’t even give me the chance to be part of the conversation.”

“You wanted to uproot him, Michelle? That was your idea?”

“Now you want to talk about it, Ted?” she sighed. “Okay, let’s talk. He’s a kid. With a whole life ahead of him. He already had his father there. Why not give him new horizons?”

Ted went silent again, eyes on his beer sweating on the coffee table, leaving a wet ring on the wood.

“I just wish we could have talked about it. About what was best for him. If you didn’t want to be in Richmond, that was fine. Do what you want, work where you want. But don’t live in the middle. It’s not fair to Henry.” 

“What were the possibilities even then? Henry leaving you here alone, Michelle? Split custody again? Him traveling back and forth like a yo-yo? Or you coming back with us - the whole family in London - and leaving your career behind? I couldn’t do that to you. Or to him.”

She smiled, bitterly.

“Well, thank you for deciding for all of us. Ted Lasso, king of the good guys, strikes again.”

“Michelle, that’s not fair-”

“What’s not fair, Ted, is you thinking you had the right to decide everyone’s life.”

Ted ran his hand through his face, defeated.

“For a man that talks so much like you do, it's really incredible that you can’t communicate with your own family.” She crossed her arms. “But I'm not surprised.”

Ted looked at her in disbelief. 

She looked at him flatly and he sighed, because she was right. This was the whole problem, isn't it? His inability to communicate, of thinking he was a burden, that his problems didn't matter.

Ted looked away, he didn't know what to do, what to say. He stared at his shoes for what felt like ages before he felt Michelle sit beside him again.

“What made you come back?” she asked softly. The change in her tone startled him.

“I wanted to be with Henry.” he said flatly.

Michelle sighed.

“Ted.”

He didn’t know what she wanted to hear. He did want to be with Henry. That was true.

But it wasn’t the whole truth.

Are we nuts for doing this?

And as he sat there, something inside him cracked open. Suddenly a wave of hatred rose in him - a dark, bitter ache.

He damned the day he’d accepted the offer to coach soccer. He damned the flight, the jet lag, the fucking tea he never learned to like. He wanted to blame Richmond, the press, the club — the hope that had filled him back then.

Hope that maybe he could… Fix everything.

I’m Ted Lasso, your new coach. You must be Ms. Welton.

Oh. Please, call me Rebecca. Ms. Welton is my father.

The memory hit him sharp, like a match struck in the dark. That first day, her hand in his, that odd mixture of fear and curiosity in her eyes.

He could still feel the strange spark of it - how alive he’d felt. How possible it all seemed.

To start over.

That was what he’d been chasing. 

While everyone in Richmond was moving forward, he was the only one still stuck. Bound to a past he couldn’t change - one he kept trying to relive.

And worst of all, he was dragging Rebecca into it. With him.

He didn’t have the right.

If he wanted to move forward with his life, he needed to go back, to rewrite the story from the beginning, when he still had a family, a marriage, a purpose.

He thought he’d come back for Henry.

But he’d come back for himself.

For the man he used to be - or thought he could still find somewhere inside the wreckage.

And now, sitting there, beer sweating on the coffee table, in a house too strange to feel like once was his, Michelle across from him with that look of tired disappointment he knew too well, Ted realized that he’d tried to fix time.

Tried to rewind it.

He had packed the past into boxes and carried it all the way back to Kansas, hoping maybe, just maybe, the story would pick up where he left it.

But the house was different. Henry was older. Even Kansas wasn’t the same. Every piece of that old life was gone.

And so was he.

Maybe he couldn’t erase anything - not the past, not Richmond, not Rebecca.

Maybe the only thing left to do was to keep walking.

Onward. Forward.

When he looked at Michelle again, he noticed the curve of her shoulders, the guarded calm, the way her hand still rested lightly on his shoulder — unsure, gentle. But there were more lines around her eyes now, ones he hadn’t noticed before.

But you're not quitting, Ted. You're just letting me go.

He needed to let go.

Of his old self.

Of a man that no longer existed. 

Of that 16-year-old boy. 

“Michelle, I-” he started, but his voice broke.

Michelle exhaled softly. “Let’s talk about it.”

Chapter Text

Hi, Rebecca. I hope you're okay. 

No.

Hey, boss! How’s old London treatin’ ya?

No.

He stared at the blinking cursor on his phone screen, thumb hovering above the keyboard. The air in the car felt heavy, like even the silence was holding its breath.

I miss you.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he pressed send.

And suddenly, it hit him — a rush of panic, regret and something that hurt and healed all at once.

He dropped the phone on the passenger seat as if it had burned him.  He looked away, out the windshield, tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself. “It’s done. No big deal. Just words. Four little words. Ain’t like I confessed my undyin’ love or anything.”

Because she already knows.

He let his forehead drop against the steering wheel with a soft thud.

Ted Lasso - the king of-

He peeked at the phone from the corner of his eye.

Nothing.

She must be busy. Or asleep. Or… not wanting to answer. It was late in London, anyway.

Then the car door slammed open and Henry came running in, backpack bouncing against his back. Ted flinched, snatching the phone and placing it face down on the console before Henry could notice. Ted smiled, forcing his chest to relax. 

When Henry started rambling about his day at school, Ted let himself get lost in the sound of his son’s voice — that warm, steady sound that could make anything else disappear.

And for a while, he forgot.

The rain pattered gently on the windshield, a steady rhythm that made everything feel smaller, quieter. Henry was playing on his iPad in the passenger seat while Ted ran into the store to grab a few groceries.

That’s when the phone rang.

Henry frowned, looking around until he spotted Ted's phone on the center console. He picked it up, turning it toward himself.

Rebecca aka ‘Da Boss’

He tilted his head. He remembered her. She always smiled when she talked to him back in Richmond. He and his dad used to bake biscuits for her, and he always sprinkled a bit of cinnamon on top when he helped. She was tall. He liked her.

Henry thought it wasn’t polite to leave her waiting. After all, she was his dad’s friend. Maybe he could answer and take a message, right?

“Hi?”

There was a pause on the other side. Then, a soft, slightly uncertain voice: “Oh - hello?”

“This is Henry.”

“Oh! Henry, hi!”

“Dad’s not here right now,” Henry said, peering through the window. “He went to get cheese from the store. We're getting pasta tonight.”

“Oh, right. Henry… this is Rebecca Welton. From AFC Richmond.”

“Yeah, I know! You’re my dad’s boss, right?”

Rebecca hesitated, then smiled to herself. “Well… I was.”

Henry smiled too. “Is Jamie Tartt still playing for the team?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Cool! He’s awesome.”

“He is,” Rebecca said, amused. “How are you, Henry?” 

“I’m good,” he replied easily. “And you?”

She smiled, a little caught off guard by how much that simple question warmed her. “I’m… good too. Thank you for asking.”

Silence stretched for a moment — a soft, easy kind of silence. She found herself not wanting to hang up just yet. There was something comforting about his voice, something that felt like Ted in miniature.

“So,” Henry said finally, “do you wanna leave a message for Dad?”

“Oh - uh… no. That’s alright. I’ll call him later.”

“Okay! Bye, Rebecca.”

“Bye, Henry.”

The line clicked off.

Rebecca sat on her couch, phone still in hand. Her heart racing.

Minutes later, Ted got back in the car, tossing the grocery bags in the trunk. He slid into the driver’s seat, shaking rain from his hair.

Henry didn’t look up from his iPad. “Your friend from London called.”

Ted froze. The world seemed to narrow to the space between them.

“Who?”

“Your boss. Rebecca.”

Ted’s hands trembled on the steering wheel.

“Really?”

“She said she’d call you later.”

“Today?”

Henry shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Ted nodded slowly, staring out at the rain. Something twisted deep inside him — a strange mix of hope and fear.

“Dad? You okay?”

“Yeah. I—” he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

But he wasn’t.

He was back in London for a second: standing in her office with a pink box in his hands, the smell of her perfume, that sharp laugh of hers echoing in his memory.

Henry turned off his iPad, watching him carefully.

“You look weird.”

Ted forced a chuckle. “That’s ‘cause I am weird, buddy.”

Henry grinned, but the wheels inside his head twisted and turned. He was clever like that. 

I miss you.

Rebecca stared at her bedroom ceiling, the glow of her phone lighting the room.

She hadn't called him again. She’d told herself not to.

It was late. She had a board meeting in the morning. She needed sleep, needed focus, needed to stop being this person — the one who still got undone by three words from a man across the ocean.

She placed the phone face down on the nightstand.

Go to sleep. Be sensible. Forget it.

But she couldn’t.

The words kept circling in her head, quiet but relentless.

I miss you.

Damn him.

Damn Ted Lasso for doing this to her heart again - for reminding her that once upon a time, someone had seen her not as a boss or an emblem of strength, but as a woman.

She picked up the pillow and pressed it against her face, as if she could smother her thoughts with it. She had moved on. Or so she’d told herself.

But now, in the dark quiet of her room, it didn’t feel like moving on at all.

It felt like waiting.

Rebecca didn't call.

Maybe she was busy.  He figured he’d give it a couple of days and then… he’d call her.

Hey, Rebecca! Henry said you called. Did you get my message? Have you heard about this viral thing? No? The one where I missed you so fucking much I had to tell a stranger what I couldn’t tell you. What I should’ve said that night at the club.

Easy peasy, right?

Well. No, actually.

Turns out “a couple of days” can stretch real long when you’re waiting for courage to show up.

By Thursday, he spent most of the day mustering up the courage to call her - and failing spectacularly at it. He’d look at his phone, sigh, open the contact, close it, sigh again. Eventually, he gave up and called Sharon instead.

They talked for a long time. He told her about the conversation with Michelle, how it had opened old doors he thought were locked for good.

“Accountability is important, but it stops working when it turns into guilt,” Dr. Fieldstone said near the end of the call. “And you don’t owe your pain loyalty, Ted.”

When the call ended, he felt lighter. Renewed. Like the kind of person who could maybe - maybe - face whatever was waiting for him on the other side of the Atlantic.

So yes — today.
Today he was going to call Rebecca.

Am I a mess?

Of course you are. That’s why we get along.

That night, Ted picked Henry up from Michelle’s. His son was suspiciously quiet in the car — and for Henry, silence was usually a sign that wheels were turning fast inside that little head. Ted tried a few jokes, a couple of questions, but Henry only smiled faintly. 

At home, Ted started dinner while Henry worked on his homework at the kitchen table.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, buddy?”  Ted answered, not looking up from the tomatoes he was cutting.

“Are you nervous about something?”

Ted turned to him, a small smile tugging at his lips. “What makes you say that?”

“You’ve been checking your phone like… fifty times since we got home.”

Ted smiled, caught. “Well, that’s fair. I’m waitin’ for a pizza coupon. You never know when destiny’s gonna give you 50% off pepperoni.”

Henry rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now. “Daaad…”

Ted laughed softly, turning back to the stove. “Guess you got me there, Sherlock.”

Henry leaned his chin on his hand, studying his father. After a while, he spoke again.

“Do you like your boss?”

Ted froze. Knife in midair.

“What?”

“Your boss. Rebecca. From London.”

“Well sure, she’s my friend.”

“No, not like that.”

Ted turned around to face him again. Henry looked at him with an innocent kind of wisdom, and Ted suddenly felt ten years old in his own kitchen.

“What do you mean, Henry?”

“Phoebe thinks she’s the woman with the green eyes you talked about on the radio.”

Ted blinked. “She—what now?”

Henry and Phoebe — Roy’s niece — had been close ever since those days in Richmond. Even now, they FaceTimed all the time. It wasn’t surprising that the “radio incident” had somehow found its way into their little world.

“I mean… she’s right, isn’t she?”

Ted’s eyebrows shot up. “Hold on now, partner. Since when are you and Phoebe runnin’ a detective agency?”

Henry shrugged. “We're just trying to help. So, the green-eyed lady is…”

“Henry, we said we weren’t gonna bring up that radio show again.”

“I know, but Phoebe said—”

“And why are you two even talking about that?”

“Well… they say online…”

“They?” Ted repeated, incredulous. 

"“Well, Dad, you know—people online?” he says, as if it were obvious “And then we looked up pictures of Rebecca, and she has green eyes, and on the radio you said—”

“I know what I said, Henry.”  Ted’s tone came out sharper than he meant.

Henry went quiet, startled. Ted exhaled.

“I’m sorry, son.”

Henry’s expression softened, but his curiosity didn’t.

“So… Phoebe says you and Rebecca knew each other in another life.”

Ted raised his eyebrows. “Oh, does she now?”

“Yeah. She says you never got together in that life. So your hearts are like puzzles with missing pieces. And when you find each other, the puzzle’s complete.”

Ted let out a long sigh. “My God, I need to talk to Roy.”

Henry shrugged with the calm confidence of a kid who thinks he understands the universe better than anyone else.

“The reason I know this and you don’t is because I’m younger and pure. So I’m more in touch with cosmic forces.”

Ted stared at him. “Who told you that?”

“Phoebe, Dad!”

“Right. Of course she did.” He sighed. “Henry, you don’t need to worry about that, okay? And neither does Phoebe. I’m takin’ care of it.”

“Well, your boss called three days ago and all I see is you looking at your phone, so…”

Ted opened his mouth, then closed it again. He exhaled, a soft, helpless laugh escaping. “You sure you’re ten? ’Cause you sound like Sharon tryin’ to trap me into emotional honesty.”

Henry grinned, satisfied. “Is it working?”

Ted shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “You know, one day I’m gonna have to start payin’ you for therapy sessions.”

“Do you pay Sharon?”

“Not enough,” Ted said and wiped his hands on a towel. “Okay, cosmic kiddo, let’s drop this and eat something. Go wash up, huh?”

Henry sighed dramatically, closed his notebook with a thud, and rolled his eyes — something Ted had never quite seen him do before.

When Henry left the kitchen, Ted glanced at his phone lying face-down on the table. He picked it up, stared at it for a while.

Cosmic forces, he thought.

Yeah. Maybe they were onto something.

He was gonna call her.

Cosmic forces or not.

Ted Lasso
Missed Call

Well. That sucks. 

She should’ve known better than to keep her phone on silent. And he should’ve known better than to call her in the middle of the night. Three years of long-distance calls with Henry — and that’s when he decides to forget how time zones work.

And now she couldn’t call him back either, because it was the same for him. Brilliant.
Just brilliant.

She was going insane.

Oh, fuck.

Voicemail.

Her stomach dropped. Her hands trembled as she stared at the red dot on her screen.

Go on, Rebecca. Just press play. It’s not that hard. Maybe it’s not even from him.

PRESS PLAY NOW.

She swallowed hard.

“Hey, boss”

Her world shrank to the sound of his voice — that warm, unmistakable drawl from the Midwest that hit her like a punch in the gut.

“Hey, boss. Uh, it’s me. Ted. Lasso. Which you probably figured, since, well… I, uh… just wanted to check in. See how you’re doin’... Henry said you called, and I’m sorry I missed you again. You know, this kid’s somethin’ else, Rebecca. Tonight he started talkin’ about cosmic forces — about how maybe the universe keeps givin’ us second chances at the things we didn’t get right the first time. And you know what? I think the kid’s a genius. He didn’t get it from me, but… anyway. I just wanted to say hi. And that I’m sorry. And a whole bunch of things you don’t deserve to hear over a phone call. So… yeah. Alright. Goodnight, boss.”

And then… silence.

Rebecca stared at her phone.

She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both.

Instead, she pressed the phone to her chest and whispered, barely breathing:

“Fuck.”

Chapter Text

Her new manicurist was not going to like it. But she couldn’t stop biting her nail, furious and restless.

Keeley was sitting across from her on the couch, phone pressed to her ear, listening intently. Then she handed it back to Rebecca.

“So?”

“Well,” Keeley lifted her shoulders lightly. “There’s nothing new, is there?”

Rebecca sighed, defeated.

“I mean,” Keeley went on, “we know Ted’s crazy about you. And that hasn’t changed.”

Rebecca looked at her — uncertain, hopeful.

“So my question is,” Keeley leaned forward, eyes bright, “why aren’t you on your way to Kansas right now?”

Rebecca straightened on the couch. “I can’t do that, Keeley.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because I’ve humiliated myself enough already.”

“Rebecca, it was a year ago—”

“What right do I have to ask again?” she cut in, her voice rising louder than she meant. “For something he still can’t give me?”

Keeley reached for her hand, squeezing gently. “I don’t know about that.”

Rebecca met her eyes, tense.

“If I recall,” Keeley said softly, “the Ted from a year ago couldn’t even say a word to you. And now he’s the one reaching out. The man’s talking about cosmic forces, for fuck’s sake.”

Rebecca had to suppress a smile.

And suddenly she wasn’t in her office anymore. She was walking through her kitchen in the evening, the garden door wide open, the summer air spilling in warm and fragrant. She stepped outside. 

Ted turned to her slowly, that strand of hair that always escaped his immaculate hair, moving slightly in the breeze. The sky was full of stars, more than she’d ever seen. And when he smiled at her - so wide, so unguarded - her heart expanded until it felt too big for her chest, too big for her house, for Richmond, for London.

“You’re home.”

“Rebecca.”

She blinked. The garden vanished. She was back in her office, Keeley still watching her - like she knew exactly where her mind had gone. But she couldn’t know. Couldn’t see the flood of images in Rebecca’s head, all those pieces of him, of what could have been.

“I don’t know if my heart can take another refusal,” Rebecca confessed quietly.

“Well,” Keeley said, smiling, “your heart is very precious to me. And you know I’ll always protect it.” She squeezed Rebecca’s hand again. “But at the very least, you should talk to him. Put the poor man out of his misery.”

Rebecca let her head fall into her hand, groaning. “You do have a very… poetic way of putting things.”

“Yeah, well, you have a very dramatic way of avoiding happiness.”

That earned a proper laugh, one that surprised even Rebecca. She covered her mouth, smiling in spite of herself

“But I like this version of you,” Keeley said. “Tragic and tall and completely in love.”

“The new Rebecca.” she said, with humour. 

“Fucking finally.”

Dr. Fieldstone had suggested he try reconnecting with people again. Old friends, new colleagues — anyone outside the small circle of his ex-wife and his son.

“It’s not about filling the silence,” she’d said. “It’s about letting life back in.”

Ted understood that. He even agreed with it. But knowing and doing were two very different things.

He tried at work — he really did. But there was something in him that couldn’t settle there. He’d talk to the coaches, to the players, smile at everyone, make his corny jokes… yet it all stayed on the surface.

Dr. Sharon didn’t press him, though. She seemed to know what he couldn’t quite admit out loud — that part of him didn’t want to belong there. But one step at a time was enough, as long as he was moving forward.

So Ted started small — calling Beard once in a while, just to check how things were going. One day, Beard put him on speaker because he was in the middle of a Diamond Dogs meeting and thought it’d be good to hear Ted’s input.

Ted had expected it to hurt, being the guy on the other side of the ocean while they were still this tight group of friends. But it surprised him how good it felt. How familiar. The collective “Hey, Ted!” was friendly - grounding even.

After a while, they fell into a new rhythm — a weekly Diamond Dogs reunion that wasn’t just about problem-solving anymore, but about talking. Nate, as always, was the one to rename the group “All the Young Dudes,” because, as he said, “they carry the news.”

And Ted felt part of something again.

“Henry’s asking if you got the gifts he sent for Little Bird,” Ted said, looking at his computer screen and seeing all the boys gathered in the Coaches’ Office.

“I did,” Beard answered with a small smile. “The drawing’s already on the fridge, and the soldiers are lined up in his bedroom.”

“Cool!” said Henry from afar, mouth full of cereal.

“Henry’s been making one of those every week,” Ted said, smiling faintly. “Says he’s happy to think he’s got himself a nephew now.”

“That’s sweet,” Trent murmured.

“Yeah,” Ted nodded. “He misses y’all.”

Beard leaned back in his chair, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, it’d be nice if you two came over to meet Little Bird in person one of these days.”

Ted’s smile lingered, but didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

He’d meant to be there for the wedding. He’d meant to come when the baby was born, too. Each time, something had stopped him — work, timing, fear, he wasn’t sure anymore. But the truth was simpler than that. He’d stayed away because coming back meant facing everything. And everything was too much.

For a moment, nobody spoke. Roy shifted in his seat, pretending to check something on his phone. Nate looked at Beard, then at the screen again, his fingers drumming nervously on the table. Higgins cleared his throat. 

“So,” Nate ventured carefully, “are we going to address the other elephant in the room?”

Beard shot him a warning look. Roy rolled his eyes.

“Christ's sake, Nate,” he muttered.

“What?” Nate asked, already regretting opening his mouth. “I just meant-”

Nate glanced at Beard, then Roy, then at Higgins and Trent. Trent tried to hide his discomfort by sipping his tea.

“No, let the kid talk.” said Ted “What is it, Nate?”

“Well, we’ve been talking for weeks now, and in none of our meetings have you mentioned…”

“I don’t think we should go there,” said Higgins quickly.

“No, it’s alright,” Ted said “It’s just that there’s another bird here who’s very enthusiastic about the subject too.”

Ted looked over his shoulder, but Henry was still distracted with his breakfast.

“So?” Nate asked again.

“There’s nothing to tell, really.”

“That’s not what Keeley says,” Roy cut in abruptly.

Ted smiled, curious. “Oh yeah? What does she say?”

“I hate what you guys did to me,” Roy grumbled.

“Well, tell us, Roy,” Beard teased.

“Fuck no. I’m not saying anything else,” Roy huffed. 

“Ted?” Nate tried again. 

Ted sighed. “Well, I don't know, it’s just… we keep missing each other. Like it’s not meant to be.”

Roy groaned. “Oh, fuck that! If I’d thought like that, I wouldn’t be with Keeley and I’d probably be scrubbing toilets for a living. If you want something, fight for it. For a man who gave all those beautiful speeches and hung a fucking Believe sign above our heads, you’re full of shit.”

Everyone went silent.

Ted looked at his friends through the screen — all those incredible, honest faces — and felt the urge to hug them. 

We do something that no one believes we could ever do. Win the whole fucking thing.

“Roy’s right,” Henry’s small voice cut through the silence.

Everyone burst out laughing.

“Ah - Rebecca!” Higgins’ voice called from the other side of the camera. “Miss Welton’s here!”

The laughter died instantly. A heartbeat of silence followed — thick, suspended — as if even the air didn’t know where to go.

Rebecca stepped into frame. 

Ted blinked. His smile faltered into something quieter, unguarded.

“Oh—hey there, boss,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

“Ted.” Her own voice surprised her — too small, too exposed.

Rebecca had come to the Coaches’ Office to talk to Roy about an interview he needed to attend, but she regretted it instantly. The second she saw him — the same warmth, the same ridiculous kindness — she realized how unprepared she really was.

What the heck are you doing here?

I just bought a ticket to get through security so I could come and say a proper goodbye.

And now, there he was again.
Not here, but close enough that her heart couldn’t tell the difference.

Beard, sensing the invisible charge in the air, got to his feet. “Well, I’ll… check the coffee situation,” he muttered, dragging Roy and Nate toward the assistant coaches’ office.
Higgins followed, pretending to cough.

“Right,” said Trent. “I’m just going to—”

But he didn’t finish. He left.

The door shut.
And they were alone.

Rebecca sat down slowly in Beard’s chair.

Ted rubbed the back of his neck. “We were just havin’ an All the Young Dudes meetin’.”

Her brow lifted.

He chuckled, nervously. “Although not so young anymore.”

The sound of his laugh — familiar, fragile — cut through her.

“You look… well,” he said softly.

She didn’t.

But she couldn’t bring herself to lie.

“And you look… very Kansas.”

“Sunburned?”

“Sunlit,” she answered. “Which is arguably worse.”

That earned her a smile - the kind that made the years disappear.

He was different, though — his hair going slightly gray at the temples, his mustache too. He was tanned — not too much, but enough to look... handsome.

Oh, she couldn’t go there. 

Not now. Not with him looking at her like that.

For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet between them wasn’t empty; it was thick with every call that never connected, every half-written message, every word left unsaid since the day he left - every almost.

Before they could speak again, Henry appeared beside Ted — messy-haired and grinning.

“Hi, Rebecca!”

The sound of his voice - so bright and excited - moved something inside her. 

“Hello, Henry,” she said, her voice instantly warmer. “Goodness, you’ve grown.”

Henry beamed. “Dad says we might visit London again sometime!”

Ted’s eyes flicked to her then — quick, uncertain, but full of meaning.

“I hope you do,” Rebecca said, looking straight at Ted. “Everyone here misses you.”

I miss you.

Ted felt something crack inside his chest. He tried to steady his hands, but it was useless. Her voice, her eyes — he had imagined them a hundred times, and none of those versions felt as alive as this.

Henry didn’t notice anything. “Dad says I’m a really good player. Maybe I could play for Richmond next season?”

That broke the tension — they both laughed.

“I don’t know about next season, because they’re a little too old for you, Henry,” she said, smiling. “But in a couple of years, I’m sure you’d be a great addition to the team.”

Well, turns out you can love someone even more.

Ted felt the thought hit him hard — warm and undeniable, like something that settled right where it belonged.

He blinked, gave a small shake of his head, as if pulling himself back to the room.

Then his hand came to rest gently on his son’s shoulder. “Alright, bud, go grab your stuff. We don’t wanna be late for school.”

Henry waved. “Bye, Rebecca!”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

When he ran off, the silence that followed was tender and fragile. Ted stayed still, looking at Rebecca — a silence filled with everything they couldn’t say. He looked at her through the screen, wanting to reach out, to close the impossible distance. It felt wrong, somehow, to have her this near and yet not be able to touch her hand.

“Beard told me about the women’s team,” he said finally, a hint of wonder in his voice. “One hell of a thing you’re doin’, boss. Whole lotta young girls are gonna look up to you and go, ‘Guess it’s not just a man’s game after all.’ And they’d be right.”

“Thank you.” Her smile trembled. “Although most days I have more doubts than certainties.”

She hesitated, then let out a soft breath. “It’s strange, isn’t it? You fight so hard to build something new… and then you realize you’re the one who has to prove it deserves to exist.”

Ted’s voice softened. “Yeah. I know a little somethin’ about that.”

Rebecca looked at him — really looked at him — and the look on his face nearly undid her.
For a fleeting second, she remembered the man who’d walked into Richmond all smiles and hope, and how she’d tried to break both. He hadn’t deserved that.

But he’d stayed anyway — kept showing up with biscuits in his hands, stories, companionship. The Lasso Way - because it was all about him, really. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the words. “I guess that’s what I’m tryin’ to do these days. Keep buildin’. Keep provin’. Not to anybody else, really. Just to me.”

Rebecca tilted her head, eyes soft but intent. “And how’s that going?”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Messy. Slow. But… I’m workin’ on a better Ted.”

She smiled, faintly. “Sounds like he’s worth the effort.”

He smiled — small, reverent, devastating.

She drew in a breath — finally ready to say it, whatever it was. “Ted, I—”

“Daaaaad!” Henry shouted from somewhere off-screen. “I’m gonna be late!”

The words caught in her throat. She looked away, biting back the rest.

Ted blinked, the spell breaking. “Guess that’s my cue.”

“Of course.” Her voice was a whisper. “Go.”

She was shattered. Is this the way it’s always going to be with them? Him, leaving to fulfill a duty as a father — as he should — and she, always the understanding one?

He lingered for half a second longer, as if memorizing her face. Then — that soft, unbearably kind smile.

“Take care, Rebecca.”

I love you.

That’s what he wanted to say. But he didn’t.

Later that evening, Ted drove Henry to Michelle’s to drop him off for the night. The sky was painted in deep Kansas gold, fading into blue. 

She read it in his face before he even spoke.

Henry had already kicked off his shoes by the door and disappeared inside with a shout of “Bye, Dad!”, leaving his usual trail of chaos.

Michelle, though, stood at the door, arms crossed, watching. She didn’t speak right away - just studied his face. Whatever she saw there, it was enough.

“Well,” she said, quietly “Are you ready, Ted?”

She opened the door wider.

He hesitated for a moment — a breath, a beat — then stepped inside.

Chapter Text

What if she called her Flight Operations Manager right now to schedule a flight to Kansas? Would that be too much? Too forward? Too soon?

Or too late.

“Rebecca?”

Higgins was sitting in front of her desk, pen in hand, waiting patiently.

She blinked, coming back to reality. “I’m sorry — what did you say?”

He smiled kindly. “Do you want me to include these reports in the next meeting?”

“Yes, yes. Please do.” she said, picking up her cup of tea.

Higgins scribbled something in his notebook, calm as ever. Rebecca studied him over the rim of her cup — his gentle composure, his quiet steadiness. Then, the familiar notes of “She’s a Rainbow” filled the room. Higgins fetched his phone from his pocket, glanced at the screen, and smiled fondly.

“Sorry,” he said, gesturing toward the phone. “Mrs. Higgins reminding me of the dinner date we have tonight.”

Rebecca smiled. 

“Anniversary?” she asked, a soft fondness in her tone.

“More like the anniversary of the day we met,” he said, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “She still insists it was fate.”

Rebecca’s smile deepened. She remembered that story — a young, punkish Higgins in a bar, pouring beer all over his head, meeting the only woman who didn’t laugh but helped him instead. How many years ago was that now? More than thirty, surely.

When she spoke again, she couldn’t help herself.

“Higgins, do you believe in soulmates?”

“I'm sorry?” 

A faint blush crept into her cheeks. The question sounded silly out loud — almost naïve. 

“Never mind, I just—”

But Higgins didn’t say a word. A small, knowing silence settled between them, before his expression softened — as if he understood exactly where it came from. He didn’t press for an explanation when he answered.

“I believe I do, yes,” he said simply.

Rebecca smiled faintly. “And did you marry yours?”

He exhaled, a dreamy sigh escaping. “Most definitely.”

Rebecca looked away, blinking rapidly. The tenderness in his voice was almost unbearable.  Is that what love looks like on people’s faces? Does it show like that — gentle, certain, unafraid?

Does it look like that on her face? 

“Mrs. Higgins is very lucky,” she said softly.

“Well, I don’t know about luck,” he replied. “But I do know about trying. About taking responsibility. About building something together.”

Building something together.

His words lingered. 

And Rebecca’s mind drifted.

That’s what she and Ted had done, hadn’t they? Built something.

The team. AFC Richmond.

A club once hollowed by anger and loss — rebuilt, brick by brick, with hope and forgiveness.

She remembered the early days — her games, his relentless kindness. The way he refused to give up on anyone, even her. Especially her.

And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, they’d built something solid. Something real. Not just a club. A foundation.
With trust. With honesty. 

A friendship that didn’t flinch when things got ugly. They’d seen each other’s worst — and stayed.

She took a slow breath.

Yes — they had built something together.

And maybe that’s why it hurt so much. Because she wanted to build more.

A life.

Shared mornings. Quiet dinners. Hands finding each other in the dark. Laughter that made her belly ache. Tangled sheets. The smell of cooking in her kitchen. His shoes by her door. Henry’s laughter spilling through her house like sunlight.

But she wasn’t sure if that was still possible. 

Higgins leaned forward, gentle. “Rebecca… is this about Ted?”

“I don’t know!” the words escaped her too quickly, her voice breaking. 

Higgins’s eyebrows rose, and she buried her face in her hands. He wanted to say something to soothe her, but waited. After a moment, she looked up at him.

“I just— I don’t want to wonder forever what might have happened,” she said, her voice quieter now, “And know I could have done something about it.”

Higgins closed his notebook, looking at her with deep sympathy.

“You must think I’m ridiculous…”

“Quite the contrary,” he said softly. “I see a woman I admire being truly honest with herself.”

She smiled and blushed, looking away. After a moment she looked at him again and laughed softly. 

“You’ve picked up a bit of Ted along the way, haven’t you?”

He laughed. “Haven't we all?”

Rebecca smiled. The impact of Ted was beyond measure, really.

“But perhaps you and Ted were a bit like Richmond” Higgins went on, “Needed time, a few good people, and a whole lot of belief. That’s how the team found its way. And maybe how the two of you will, too.”

Rebecca bit her lip. His words lingered — quiet but devastatingly clear. For a moment, she didn’t dare move, didn’t dare hope. Because there was something in the way he said it — like he knew it all, had always known that she and Ted were meant to be, from the very beginning, maybe even before both of them.

She looked at him then, really looked — that sweet seriousness, that quiet wisdom that always disarmed her. And when Higgins smiled, it was with the tenderness of someone who understood everything without needing to say another word.

Rebecca felt her throat tighten. Gratitude, affection, a touch of embarrassment all tangled in her chest.

She rolled her eyes softly, to keep it from showing. “Oh, shut up, Higgins.”

But she was smiling.

Rebecca barely had time to brace herself before Keeley’s scream rang out, drawing every pair of eyes in the restaurant to their table.

“So you’re going?” Keeley gasped, eyes wide.

“I am.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“Oh my God!” Keeley clapped her hands, nearly tipping off her chair. “I’m so bloody proud of you!”

Rebecca smiled, though her hands were trembling around her glass of wine.

“What?” Keeley asked, narrowing her eyes. “What’s that look?”

“I don’t know, Keeley… what if—”

“Please, babe, stop. Don’t you dare start doubting yourself.” Keeley pointed her fork at her. “You’re perfect for each other. You’re both straight out of a rom-com.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being realistic,” Keeley shot back. “I can already see The Sun headline next week — Transatlantic Love Conquers All! ‘Heartbroken Dad’ and ‘Green Eyes and a Heartbeat’ finally reunited! I’m obsessed. I’m already reading the fanfiction.”

Rebecca’s laugh broke through her nerves. “You’re insane.”

“Insanely right,” Keeley grinned. “Now finish your wine, go home, pack your most seductive-yet-sophisticated outfit, and get your man.”

Rebecca laughed softly, shaking her head — but the fear was still there, coiled tight in her chest. She was terrified. Of everything. 

“I wish you could come with me.” she said quietly.

“God, I’d love to,” Keeley said “But honestly, the moment you two see each other, I’d just vanish into thin air. And since I can’t bring Roy, you’ll have to face it alone, babe.”

Rebecca’s heart ached.

“I can’t wait to hear all the stories of you two shagging all over Kansas,” Keeley said, grinning like the devil.

“Keeley, please!”

“Oh no, don’t you dare hide the details from me, Rebecca! I live for this kind of stuff!”

Rebecca spent the rest of the afternoon trying not to think too much. But it was impossible.

The confirmation email for the private jet to Kansas City glowed on her phone - small, bright, and mercilessly certain. She’d already memorised every line of it: her slot at Farnborough, the flight plan, the 9:20 p.m. departure, the refuelling stop in Gander. Each detail precise, mechanical. The world of schedules and clearances and aviation codes — so beautifully logical. So unlike the inside of her head.

She exchanged a few last messages with Andrew, the flight operations manager — a polished, frighteningly efficient man who used technical jargon with the same ease Rebecca used high heels. Everything about him radiated calm, and that somehow made her even more restless.

She tried to pretend it was just another business trip. That it was simply logistics. Pack a bag. Go to the airport. Board the plane. Nothing more. But every time she read the words Kansas City, something twisted inside her.

It wasn’t nerves. It wasn’t even fear. It was the unbearable awareness that she was about to stand in front of him again — to see his face, to hear his voice, to find out if the thing that had kept her awake for months was real. And… enough. 

She decided to work from home to give herself more time to pack, but focus kept slipping through her fingers. She opened her laptop, answered a few emails, reviewed a report, then gave up. Instead, she began selecting her clothes with almost military precision — as if control over fabrics and colours could substitute for the control she no longer had over her heart.

By six o’clock, the driver had been notified. Her suitcase stood by the door, elegant and waiting. The crew had confirmed the champagne was chilling in the jet’s minibar, along with every small amenity she’d requested — details that once made her feel powerful, now strangely suffocating.

Everything was in place.

Everything except—

Her passport.

For a moment, Rebecca didn’t move. The thought landed like a punch. She could see it in her mind — the drawer at the club, the day she’d tucked it away, telling herself she’d remember.

“Shit.”

Her pulse spiked. She grabbed her coat, nearly tripping over the suitcase, and rushed out, heels echoing down the hallway. The sound followed her like a countdown.

The club was almost empty.

Outside, the day was folding in on itself — that fragile, fleeting hour when gold begins to drain from the sky and everything turns the colour of memory.

Rebecca moved through the quiet corridors, her heels echoing softly against the floor.

Up the stairs.

Down the hall.

Her mind was somewhere else entirely — on flight plans, on Kansas City, on Ted's face. On what expression he might make when he saw her again. Would he look surprised, like at the airport? Or would his eyes soften — that quiet, knowing look, as if he’d known all along she was coming back?

Then she opened her office door — and stopped dead.

The desk lamps were on.

A faint sound — breathing.

Her pulse jumped.

Someone was there.

It took her eyes a moment to adjust — a blur of shapes, of light, of stillness — until the outline resolved into something impossible: a boy.

Time itself hesitated, holding its breath with her.

He was sleeping on the sofa, curled under a heavy coat that looked far too big for him. The club’s logo gleamed faintly in the lamplight, half hidden by the folds of fabric.

The sight hit her with a force so gentle it was almost cruel.

Ted’s coat. It was Ted’s coat.

Henry. 

Light brown hair, soft and ruffled. A small face, unguarded in sleep. The same nose. The same quiet curve of a mouth she knew too well.

Her breath caught in her throat. She stood perfectly still, afraid even her heartbeat might wake him.

The room smelled faintly of him — of Ted — that clean, warm mix of soap, coffee, and something that was simply him. It wrapped around her before she could resist it, and suddenly, she wasn’t in her office anymore. She was beside him at The Crown & Anchor, their friends laughing around the table as he told one of his ridiculous stories. Or in his office, his arms tight around her — gentle, reassuring.

“If you care about someone and you got a little love in your heart, there ain't nothing you can't get through together.”

The ache came sharp and deep.

She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, trying to steady her breath, as if she could stop the feeling from spilling out of her. But it was useless.

He was here. Again. 

Here.

For a long moment she simply stood there, suspended between disbelief and the dangerous pull of hope, watching the slow, even rise of Henry’s chest.

Then, almost instinctively, she stepped back — once, then again — the sound of her heels impossibly loud in the hush.

Her fingers brushed the doorframe for balance. And without quite knowing how, she found herself retreating into the corridor, one hand still pressed to her heart, without knowing exactly where she was going.

She wandered through the empty hallways. Her heels clicked against the floor, echoing in rhythm with her pulse.

Ted had to be somewhere. There was no version of the world where Henry would be here alone.

She went to the locker room first — the most obvious place. But it was empty.

Her gaze drifted across the familiar space, every corner heavy with memory. How many moments had begun and ended here?

Then her eyes caught on the words painted high on the wall:

GRADARIUS FIRMUS VICTORIA

A firm, gradual victory. Small steps toward triumph.

She let out a trembling breath.

It felt like the whole story of them was written right there — every hesitant step, every near miss, every moment they almost said what they meant but didn’t.

They had built something through patience and kindness. And all the pain in between.

Her gaze shifted slightly — to the BELIEVE sign beside it. Torn once, now mended. Imperfect, and yet… whole again. Belief that had been broken, rebuilt, and somehow stronger for it.

All those steps. All that waiting.

And maybe this — this quiet walk through the corridors — was the final step she had to take toward him.

Her heart beat faster.

She left the locker room and turned toward the tunnel.

There — a faint glow spilling from the pitch, the kind of light that doesn’t just illuminate, it calls.

Rebecca hesitated only for a second, then walked forward.

She felt as though she were crossing the most important distance of her life, each step heavy with everything that came before.

And then she saw him.

Him.

Backlit by the soft floodlights, his figure glowed at the edges. The curve of his shoulders, the tilt of his head — so achingly familiar that it almost didn’t feel real.

He stood perfectly still, hands in his pockets, staring out at the field.

Her throat tightened; her eyes filled with tears before she could stop them. For a moment, everything disappeared — the fear, the ache, the months apart. There was only him, standing there, bathed in the light of the club that had witnessed it all.

He was here.

Under a sky full of stars.

With her.

As if he felt her presence, Ted turned slowly.

That stubborn strand of hair — the one that never quite stayed in place — brushed across his forehead in the breeze.

When his eyes found hers, something shifted.

His body relaxed, like dropping a weight he had been carrying for months, maybe years. He tilted his head, a small, almost disbelieving smile forming — and in that moment, she thought she’d never seen him more beautiful.

And then… he smiled fully.

That wide, open, devastating smile that could break and mend her heart in the same instant.

“Hi,” she said, her voice barely there.

The word trembled between them, fragile and true.

“Hey there, Boss.”

Boss. There was such tenderness in his voice it made her chest ache.

“You’re home,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, the green in her eyes glimmering, unable to look away.

He nodded, a little dazed, as if still making sure she wasn’t a dream. “I am.”

And she was finally, finally home too.