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Sharon had been struggling with that label, fiercely independent, the one Ted assigned to her in the emergency room. She didn't quite feel fiercely independent, not when she left Ted Lasso of all people 32 messages on his phone just because she knew he'd reply. Or maybe because she knew no one else would.
She was, in fact, fiercely independent, out of necessity rather than choice, but there was still power in it. She was a Black woman, living in England, at the top of her career, with no partner anymore, an apartment to herself, and she was thinking of getting a cat. Not that it was a pressing concern.
She walked through her flat, clearing away the glasses and bottles and plates left around the place, all neatly stacked on the corner of a table but not quite having made it to the dishwasher. It was frankly terrifying how quickly they all stacked up, now that it was just her. Until she'd moved she'd never really realised how much of the slack she'd let drop.
It was easy to only remember the good, or the bad. The stuff in the middle was harder. The mundane day to day got lost in highs and lows but she remembered sitting in those mundane moments, a coffee in one hand and a book in the other, a kiss pressed to her temple and a feeling of contentment and willing herself to remember it. She remembered the sensation but it wasn't quite the same as the whole.
She pottered around the kitchen for most of the morning, making tea, halfheartedly reading a book, wiping down all the surfaces, running the dishwasher. Finally enough time to start putting some things in order.
" Science may provide the most useful way to organize empirical, reproducible data, but its power to do so is predicated on its inability to grasp the most central aspects of human life: hope, fear, love, hate, beauty, envy, honor, weakness, striving, suffering, virtue ." Sharon shut the book she was reading, put it back on the counter.
It was time for her lunch date anyway, so she collected her things, looked at the brand new bike still with bows and ribbons on, and walked out the door without it. She was perfectly happy to walk, today.
"Coach Lasso?" She answered the phone, slightly surprised.
"Hi, Doc."
"Is everything okay?" She asked, after he didn't say anything for a few moments.
"Yeah yeah, no, you can call me Fran because I'm just Fine." There was a brief pause as she continued walking, waiting for him to speak.
"I just wanted to apologize, for avoiding you these past few weeks. I think I do that a lot, actually. But I don't wanna get into the nitty gritty of it all now, I just wanted to let you know that I apologize and I was thinking I could add you to my roster of lunches, I have a free spot on Monday's or Thursday's. Higgins is on Tuesday, Nate and Roy get a combo on Wednesday, Beard on Friday, although sometimes-"
"Ted."
"Yeah Doc?"
"I appreciate the offer-"
"Booyah! I knew you'd say yes, now we'll have to come up with some kinda theme to it-"
"Ted." She walked up to the restaurant, spied the woman she was here to see at a table and waved with a smile, indicating that she'd just be a moment. "Ted- fine. I've got to go."
"Ooh, sounds interesting, are you meeting someone? Wait, wait, hold on now don't tell me, I'll just ask on Monday. Have fun Doc!" She hung up on him, slightly bewildered, not entirely sure what she'd just signed up for, until she received a message a few seconds later. "Soup! That's the theme. Soup with the shrink" she slipped her phone into her pocket and tried to forget about him. Focused instead on the beautiful woman she was having lunch with.
Ted was doing his best, to make amends, to be more present, to get rid of the fog and haze that had been covering him for longer than he liked to admit. A year and nine months, to be exact. He was working on admitting things too.
He was calling Henry with more purpose now, sending him cards and gifts occasionally, when he saw something that made him think of him. He was having lunches with the other coaches and Higgins, had shown up on Nate's doorstep to apologize that they hadn't talked in longer than Ted would've liked. They'd sat at the pub for hours that night while Ted was regaled with stories about a wunderkind. Apparently, he'd missed more than he'd thought.
It hadn't been very long, but he was starting to feel somewhere between the old Ted and a new Ted, with more breathing exercises, more time spent meditating in the morning. Sometimes it took some explaining but he'd gotten the team to join him in meditation once, it wasn't likely to happen again but he was thrilled that they did it with him the once.
He'd talked to Keeley, gotten the rundown on her new branding opportunities, signed up to help her out with some kind of Instagram takeover - she'd promised to explain it to him later. She'd asked for parental advice for Phoebe, something that warmed Ted's heart to hear, 'I just want to make sure I'm not going to - fuck her up.'
He'd just laughed, 'Oh I feel that every day,' he took another sip of coffee. 'But if you're here, askin' me questions, I can't imagine you're doin' too poorly. A few swears isn't the worst that could happen, I remember when Henry started using the word darn - that was the gosh-darned cutest thing I'd ever seen but his teacher hadn't been quite as happy about that development.'
It was nice, spending time with her, making her laugh, giving and receiving advice. He'd missed this. Sharon had told him quite early on that his primary coping mechanism was self-isolation, which he'd wholeheartedly rejected at first, but after a few days reflection, he'd given her a call to apologize, because she'd absolutely been right. But just because he could recognise it weeks ago didn't mean that he knew how to fix it. Slowly, but surely, she'd helped him through that process, to make amends, say sorry, establish ways to stay connected.
It was a little bit frustrating that she was always right, at least so far, pointing out things that'd been invisible from him for years even though he was the one living through it, telling him ways to switch his stinkin' thinkin' around that seemed too obvious to work, but frustratingly enough, a lot of them seemed to work. It was like she knew him better than he knew himself - which was terrifying.
"C'mon now, Doc. Who were you having lunch with?"
She regarded him coolly over a bowl of gazpacho that he'd made her, not trusting her to bring her own soup, or knowing her well enough that she wouldn't.
"A friend."
His eyebrows jumped knowingly. "Awh c'mon now, Rebecca and Keeley got me proficient in all kinds of girl talk, what's their name?"
She regarded him with a raised eyebrow, noting his use of "their". 'You don't talk about Rebecca much. You were close enough for girl talk?'
He felt himself get defensive but not quite in time to stop himself, 'We are- we are close enough.'
She really was trying, to separate this, whatever this lunch was, from her therapy with him. So she didn't press. She didn't mention that she hadn't seen them in a room together since she'd gotten here except in a professional setting, hadn't known that they were friendly.
"Her name is Taylor."
Rebecca knew logically that it was the wrong decision, to let him in, to let him press her against the wall. But that couldn't quite drown out the feeling she had that this felt right, it felt good, on more than a superficial level. She was trying, she was taking chances and opportunities and maybe this one wouldn't pan out but she was trying to find an answer to a problem she couldn't quite verbalise. With no formula, she was left with the process of elimination, and with Sam, well she'd eliminate Sam later because how could something that felt so good serve no purpose to her? Maybe it would mean something, eventually. For right now, he was someone she trusted implicitly, who showed up when she needed it, who was there . That could be enough for tonight.
She stepped out of her flat in the morning to find no one other than Ted Lasso himself sitting on top of a bike, doing figure eights in the middle of the street. ‘Morning Doc!’ he called out, riding over to her easily, stopping a few meters away from her. ‘I was gonna ride into work this morning if you wanted to give that new bike a spin,’ he said cheerfully, although she could tell exactly what he was doing.
‘Ted-’ she looked at the ground and shook her head.
‘C’mon now, Doc. It’s your happy place, remember? We’ll take it real easy this morning, but I’m sure by the end of the year you’ll be calling me Lance Armstrong. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it that might not be the best reference but I don’t know many bike riders to be fair and I feel like you know what I was going for-’
‘Okay, Ted.’ Most of the time she just gave in to shut him up.
‘Heck yes, make sure you grab yourself a helmet though, better safe than sorry,’ he finished with a wink as she retreated inside with a small smile.
It was easier, with him riding beside her, to remember why she loved this, how easy it was, not just riding, but the easy conversation with Ted, asking him how long it’d taken him to perfect the Kermit voice, getting another sample of it, discussing West Side Story now that she’d accidentally opened up that she knew everything about it.
Ted was someone she could be friends with, in a world where she wasn’t his therapist. But so far they’d made clear exactly the moment she became his therapist, which was in her office. Other times, they were Ted and Sharon, and for the first time in her life, maybe that was okay.
‘Keeley, I think I have to tell you something.’
‘What’s that?’
She regarded her best friend, who so openly looked at her like there was nothing she could say that could shock her.
‘I slept with Sam.’
That shocked her, though.
Rebecca went home alone, that night, sipped on a glass of wine while she sat in the kitchen, not looking at her phone, not watching the tv, not doing anything. She slipped off her heels, still in the dress she’d worn to work.
She knew it had been a bad decision, when she’d chosen to go through with it. That it wouldn’t just reflect poorly on her but also on him, and that was maybe the worst that could happen. That hadn’t stopped her from choosing it, though.
She’d known what Keeley was going to tell her, which was the same thing she’d said when she’d found out about her plans for Ted the year before. ‘It changes what I think about you.’ Which was possibly the worst thing Rebecca could imagine hearing, even though she’d been prepared for it.
Rebecca could diagnose herself in a heartbeat, though. She knew that she was overcompensating now by relying on all these men to fix something, to fill a need that was going unmet. That it didn’t just feel good but it was how she was coping with the fact that when there wasn’t a rotation of men keeping her physically, emotionally and socially sated, that she felt so fucking lonely. She hadn’t even told Keeley that, that she’d never felt more separate from everyone, even when they were standing right next to her. This was something that was working, for now, this felt good. It was working. Until Keeley had looked at her with an expression in her eyes that had caused Rebecca physical pain.
Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t enough to put all her burdens on her friends. Maybe diagnosing herself with no way out wasn’t quite enough.
She finished the wine with a grimace and left the glass on the counter, heading straight for bed, hoping that at the very least then falling asleep would help arrange some of the thoughts in her head.
He left at the same time as Sharon, walking her home, carrying her bike over his shoulder, although this time just a little less sober. He’d pouted for the first few minutes because she wouldn’t let him ride it, even though it felt odd to be carrying a perfectly fine bike over his shoulder when the bike was supposed to be the one carrying him. He told her as much. But he carried it.
He carried it down the street, up her stairs, through the entry room into her flat, leaving it leaning up against the wall.
‘Well, looks like you’re home safe and sound-’ he said, looking at her with kind eyes. ‘I’ll be heading-’
‘Would you like a drink, Ted?’ She asked, slightly nervously, a bottle within easy reach.
Sharon was never nervous. This was new. Ted didn’t really know where he stood, here. ‘A drink? Well, sure, yeah, okay.’
She poured him a glass of whiskey, poured herself a healthy amount, too, motioned for him to follow her into the entertainment room.
‘Whatever happened to Taylor?’ Ted asked, settling into the couch next to her.
Sharon took a few seconds to consider the direction of the conversation. ‘Taylor, Taylor was lovely but she was just a lunch date.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry.’ He didn’t really know what else to say.
‘There’s nothing to be sorry about, Ted.’ She paused for a few minutes, considering her own response, how it was like something she’d say in therapy, not with a friend. ‘We had very different interests, paths. I don’t think she liked how much I worked.’
‘Married to the job, eh Doc?’
‘If anyone understands that it’s the two of us.’ She replied quickly, turning on the telly to at least give some kind of background to this conversation that wasn’t just the sound of them sipping on whiskey.
‘Y’know, you never told me what brought you here. To Richmond.’ It wasn’t phrased like a question but it was one.
‘I didn’t.’ She said quietly after a few moments. He let them both sit in the silence for a little while, and she could recognise her own techniques being used against her. ‘My partner passed, and I couldn’t live there anymore. So I moved, and I found a new job. Not in that order.’ She shot him a tight smile, leaning into him when he wrapped an arm around her.
‘I’m sorry.’
This time she let him say it.
The team was doing well, they’d missed out on a chance at the FA cup but the fact that they’d even been in the runnings boded well for their chances in the Championship League, and Ted made sure to catch up with each individual player over the course of the next few weeks to make sure everyone was travelling okay, that no one had been left behind. He’d sorted out some tricky lingering tensions between Colin and Nate, picked up on more lingering tensions between Colin and Isaac, although they seemed to be of a whole different beast.
It was starting to feel more and more like a patented Ted Lasso team, rather than just a team that some person called Ted coached.
He still had panic attacks, once in a while. Roy had caught him in the middle of one, trying and failing to use the grounding techniques that Sharon had told him to practice.
‘Ted?’
He was hunkered down in the boot room, and when Roy entered he seemed to know exactly what was happening immediately.
‘Ted you’re okay.’ Roy put his hand in the centre of Ted’s chest and maneuvered Ted’s hand so it was sitting in the centre of his chest, so Ted could feel Roy’s steady heartbeat under his fingertips. It still took a few minutes, but Roy helped him home afterwards, stayed with him for a few hours and ordered food to be delivered, worked from Ted’s couch as he watched The Princess Bride again.
‘You feeling better?’
Ted was trying to get better at not just immediately replying yes to questions like that.
‘I think so, I think I’ll be okay the rest of the night. I’m just tired.’
‘You call, if you need anything. Me or Keeley, Rebecca even.’
Ted nodded quickly, trying to ignore the sting of the last name.
‘Yeah, yeah of course. Thank you Roy.’
A long time ago, Ted had promised Sharon that he’d teach her all about American Football, that he’d set up her TV so she could watch a game or two, explain the basic rules to her, show her how proficient he was in this thing that he’d spent forty years on and no one even asked him about anymore.
‘Do you have any experience in what people like I call football?’
‘I watched Friday Night Lights?’
‘Oh we have some teachin’ to do today,’ he said, settling down on the couch and handing her a beer he’d brought over.
‘No, thank you.’ She said, after a beat of not taking it out of his hands. He looked at her quizzically. ‘My therapist told me that I use alcohol to fill in the gap of what I’m comfortable dealing with, and that I’ll just continue narrowing the range of emotions I can feel and comfortably deal with if I keep using alcohol as my coping mechanism, so I’m trying to cut back.’
Ted nodded, ‘say no more.’ And he stood up and took the six-pack into the next room, she heard him drop it somewhere and then he came back into the room with two glasses of still water instead.
He spent the next hour talking to her about the rules, the players, the coaches. He was a wealth of information and she could see it in him that he missed it, the whole game, knowing everything, being the top of his field because of his knowledge and not just because of his relationships with his players.
‘Why don’t you go back, Ted?’ She asked when there was another break in the game.
He took a second, looked over at her, regarding her, wishing he had a bottle of beer in his hands. ‘The real answer?’ He asked like she ever wanted the fake answer. ‘I’m terrified that if I go back there, and I don’t fit in anymore, I’ll not fit in two separate places, instead of just not quite fitting in here. Kansas is home, I don’t want to go back and find out it’s not.’
She settled her hand on his thigh, once again trying to separate Sharon the friend from Sharon the Therapist, as if they could be two completely different people, one of which would say, ‘Thank you for telling me that, Ted,’ and the other which was happy to sit in silence, with her hand on his thigh, and let him keep telling her about American football, after a few quiet moments.
God, it physically hurt her to not say anything, though. To not acknowledge his hurt. ‘Ted?’ She asked, just wanting to see his face, to see if he was okay, but he turned to her and looked at her openly, so close, and Sharon the Therapist completely disappeared, replaced instead by Sharon the very very human woman who made mistakes sometimes. Her mistake this time was letting Ted lean in, after a moment of looking at her, really looking at her like no one had done in a long time.
He kissed her gently, slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted. She didn’t want that. She wanted more of Ted’s lips against hers, the coarse feeling of his moustache against her lips which was so different to anything she’d felt before but somehow didn’t feel wrong in the slightest.
He leaned into her, kissing her more firmly, his hand coming up to the nape of her neck and holding her in place, opening his mouth against hers and it was perfect and a little bit messy but she was wanted and it was easy enough to drown out the rest of the thoughts.
‘Is this okay?’ he mumbled against her lips, and she’d never really thought about Ted’s voice before, but she was thinking about it now, deeper than she remembered, the Kansas lilt seeming out of place in this situation but somehow it was Ted, and that was working perfectly well.
‘Yes,’ she said, a little breathlessly, making her choice in that moment that yes, this is what she wanted. This was good. This felt good.
She turned slightly, to face him more easily, let him wrap an arm around her and lower her onto the couch, and his solid weight pressed her firmly into it, his mouth trailing down her neck. ‘So beautiful, sweetheart’ he whispered against her skin, pressing tender kisses to it, looking up at her with a wrecked expression after a few minutes, his hands under her sweater, brushing the swell of her breasts.
He looked at her and all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss her again, so he did. After a few minutes, she pulled back slightly, ‘We’re too old to do this on the couch, come on.’ So he followed her.
‘I’ve never- with a man.’
‘We don’t have to.’
‘I want to.’
She woke in the very late afternoon, just when the sun had started to set, pulled on a robe and found him in the kitchen, fully dressed in wrinkled khakis and three layers on top that she’d helped him peel off a few hours ago. He was drinking the beer that he’d hidden away earlier, from the looks of it he was three deep.
‘Ted?’
‘I didn’t want to wake you up.’ His eyes were red-rimmed. It was clear what he thought about it, even if she’d wanted to live in the bliss for a little bit longer, reality had already started crashing down and she wasn’t just Sharon, someone Ted had slept with once, she was Sharon who was supposed to be a friend, Sharon who was a colleague, Sharon who was quite literally his therapist, who knew things about him that he wouldn’t have shared with anyone in a million years because she was his therapist.
‘Ted I’m so sorry.’ She pulled the robe around herself tighter, wishing desperately that she’d dressed in her clothes again, and could wrap something more substantial around herself.
‘It’s not your fault, it takes two to tango, remember?’ He tried to give her a smile, but interrupted it with another pull from the bottle. ‘I think I’m going to move back to Kansas.’
Rebecca hadn’t seen or heard from Ted in months, he’d handed in his resignation, typed, printed and signed, and he’d given it to her alongside the recipe for his biscuits. She had used the recipe twice, both times it reminded her of him, and the perfect taste wasn’t quite as perfect anymore. He hadn’t said what had happened at all, just that he needed to leave. To be with Henry. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t expected this, but she definitely hadn’t expected it so soon.
She had a lot she wanted to say to him, she realised, a few months after he’d gone, after she’d started seeing her own therapist. After he was too far away for her to reach out again. He’d gone completely off the radar since then, so she went to the only source she knew.
‘Coach Beard, could I speak with you?’
'I know where he is, not how to contact him.'
But that was enough for Rebecca, who jotted down his information in her phone and wrote him a letter, handwritten even though he'd always laughed at her prim and proper handwriting. She wrote pages upon pages and then threw them out, words that said too much or too little, ones that went off on tangents that she's sure he would approve of but weren't what she was trying to tell him.
Sharon had left, when Ted left. Found a cute little flat that wasn't modern corporate housing, spent the time to decorate it and to make it actually feel like home. Somewhere that she wouldn't have to explain as temporary. She hadn't thought she'd ever have a home again without her there, but this was starting to feel like something. She got a cat, a little mottled thing who nipped on her fingers and fell asleep on her chest.
She thought about what she'd say to him, if she ever saw him again, but with time that seemed to be getting less and less likely.
There were the important things to say, that she was sorry she got him to trust in therapy again after they each had put in so much, and let that trust dissipate with no further questions or thoughts. The less important things. That she'd never been a lesbian, but that she'd been her partner since highschool, and that's what she'd known. But that she was grateful Ted was careful with her, she'd needed that at the time. She was sorry that he looked after her so kindly while she took advantage of that.
But he had disappeared, and she tried her best to learn from her mistakes and move on. And after a month or so, she joined a book club and a group of people in her neighbourhood who went bike riding every morning, and met someone who attended both, just like her. It took her another few months to ask them over for tea, after a lot of encouragement from the group of friends she'd somehow found between the two groups. Friends that called her, just for fun, just to check-in. That popped round with a bottle of non-alcoholic wine and some cheese to share.
It wasn't until after she had all these people beside her, in her court, that she even thought about returning to her job. Not at Richmond. But seeing clients at all. Promising herself and her therapist that she wouldn't fuck this up again. She was doing better, now, had a support network after a long time without. Alex stayed over more nights than not, now, and they were easy and kind and fun and so different from anyone Sharon had ever met.
She hated that Ted had gotten caught up in it all, in her struggle to find connection and meaning. She hated that she’d struggled to find the line between modelling behaviour and crossing her own boundaries, simply because of where she was at in life. But she was doing better now. She just wished it hadn't come at the cost of him.
"Dear Ted,
I wasn't sure how else to contact you, but Beard gave me the address you are staying at, so I thought I'd write you like we're in a Jane Austen novel.
I've written drafts upon drafts of this exact letter and I think I've finally decided on what I ought to say. And that is simply that I miss you. I don't know about you but personally, I had a verifiable shitshow of a year. I recognise now that I pushed you away, and I am sorry, because I miss what we had. I’m not sure where along the way I got lost, but it was somewhere between painting your fingernails on the couch in my office and downloading a dating app because I thought it would fix all my problems.
I don’t write to you to burden you with my issues and anxieties, I hope that’s not what this comes across as. I wanted to apologise, for pushing you away because I was scared that someone could see me. You didn’t deserve that. Neither did I.
I understand if you want to draw a clear line and don’t wish to hear from me, but I hope this letter finds you well.
You know how to contact me, if you’d like.
Best,
Rebecca.
‘Hi, Ted.’
He couldn’t say anything.
‘How are you?’
Unbidden, tears rose to his eyes and started to fall, suddenly remembering all that he’d left behind all those months ago, all the progress he’d made, then lost, and started to make again. Day by day making back that progress with a new therapist, who sometimes told him the same techniques Sharon once had. He’d talked through Sharon with her, had been told that there would be firm boundaries between him and Tracy, his new therapist, as an act of self-compassion. That he wouldn’t be able to contact her outside of hours. That they’d work on learning how to be vulnerable without intimacy. He was ready to accept that he needed that, now.
So he’d told her about his father, told her how terrified he was of passing that pain or that possibility on to Henry. He’d told her about his anxiety, about being anywhere, about being in Kansas, in London, about how he’d isolated from every relationship that had meant anything to him. Except Henry. Although he’d been told that he was emotionally isolated from Henry, too. That maybe he needed to learn how to be sad, to be anxious around his son so he could model how to work through that healthily. He’d snorted out a laugh at first, because he couldn’t even model that for himself yet, how could he possibly model it for Henry?
He was working on it, though. Trying to believe in himself. Taking it bird by bird.
When he’d received the letter he’d folded it compulsively, slipping it in the pocket of his well-worn jeans as he worked, taking it out on his breaks, not even reading it anymore because he knew it by heart, could imagine her saying those words even if the timbre of her voice was getting fainter every day. After a week he’d taken it to Tracy, had handed it to her, had explained Rebecca. Everything that they’d had, everything that they’d shared, and then the way it had fallen away leaving them both a little bit bereft. That he’d left before finding out what she’d been doing all that time. That he’d finally quit something and it did feel a little bit like a death.
‘I’ll just sit here with you, Ted.’ She said, the phone crackling over the transatlantic distance between them, and he listened as she told him that it’d be okay, that she missed him, that she was really glad he called, even if they didn’t speak today.
He hung up without saying a word.
‘I was on the road to falling in love with her, I think.’ Before they’d both pulled back.
‘Sharon?’
‘Rebecca.’
There was a pause. Tracy sat in silences well.
‘I think I’m scared that if I talk to her, I’ll go there again.’ I’m not ready.
‘Why don’t you tell someone else, first, someone safe to share with. Where you won’t have to worry about this.’
He called Roy, for the first time in months.
‘Ted?’
‘Howdy, Roy. Are you- Can I talk to you?’
Roy could hear the vulnerability in Ted’s voice so quickly, recognised it from the time Ted had told them about his panic attacks, so he stood from his desk, went somewhere quiet where no one would disturb him.
And Ted told him everything.
‘Fuck, Ted. I knew you were unwell, I didn’t know you had all of this going on.’ Roy’s voice was low and the simple compassion of it was almost unbearable to Ted, who didn’t say anything in response, already wrung out by the conversation. ‘I’m glad you’ve told me. Does anyone else know?’
‘No. No, they do not.’
‘Fucking hell, Ted. I’m sorry that you didn’t have us, this whole time. I didn’t know how to reach you.’
But he did, now. And across the next few weeks he started calling Roy more frequently, and Roy started calling him, and it became less painful to hear about the club, about the others there. Eventually, he started calling Beard, Higgins. Some of the players. Keeley. Roy urging him that they wanted to hear from him. Tracy telling him the same. Some conversations were harder than others, but it was Keeley in particular who made him cry, telling him that he was family and that if he needed more time then that was okay but that she wanted to see him again, that she loved him. That she was sorry he’d had all this on his shoulders but that she was happy to carry some of that weight for him now if he ever needed to talk.
Eventually, eventually, he called Rebecca again.
Sharon was riding her bike through Richmond, she’d stayed in the general area when she’d moved, too charmed by the bakeries, the cafes, the Richmond green to move too far. But she hadn’t thought about what it would be like to run into Roy and Keeley on a day out.
‘Doctor Fieldstone.’ Roy had said, somewhat coldly, but it was Roy Kent, so she couldn’t really tell if that meant anything.
‘Sharon, how are you?’ Keeley asked, something hidden behind her smile.
‘I’m well, thank you. Just off to meet my partner and their kids for lunch.’ She really tried for affability but there was a bite to the conversation. ‘How are you both, how’s Richmond fairing these days?’
If looks could kill, she’d be gone twelve times over from Roy’s stare alone.
‘We’re well. Everyone’s well.’ Keeley said, her hand over Roy’s arm.
There was a small pause, where they all looked at each other.
‘Have you heard from Ted?’ Sharon asked, a little hint of desperation in her voice at saying his name. She just needed to know that he was okay, that she hadn’t fucked it up too badly for him.
‘Yes.’ Roy returned shortly, Keeley tugging on his arm lightly.
‘He’s okay, he’s still in Kansas.’
It was obvious that she wasn’t going to get anything else out of them, but maybe she should be grateful for that. All she’d wanted to know was that he was okay.
‘Could you apologise to him, for me?’ She said quietly, hands gripping the handlebars tightly.
Keeley looked briefly up at Roy. ‘I think that’s a conversation you need to have,’ she said honestly, ‘I can tell him to give you a call when he’s ready, though.’
‘Hi, Ted.’ She answered the phone the same as last time, now a few months ago.
‘Hi, Rebecca.’
God her heart ached in relief that he’d finally said something, that he’d reached out. It was late, the sun had set some time ago, and she was in bed, her curtains drawn, a lamp on her bedside table spilling light over the room, all the plants she’d filled the space with, the bookshelf full of books that she’d actually made time to read recently.
‘How are you?’
He took a second and every moment felt like an eternity because she wanted so badly for him to keep talking, to tell her. It’d been heartbreaking to hear that he’d reached out to everyone in turn, Beard, Keeley, Roy, Higgins, leaving her for last.
‘I’m okay. It’s been a real nice day, today. I’ve been working on an old friends property, fixing up the place. They’ve got two horses so I took Henry out riding this mornin’.’
She couldn’t help but smile unabashedly, at the mental image of him, skin reddened by the sun, atop a horse, smiling like she remembered. She couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his voice. She felt a buzz in her hand and he’d sent her a photo of exactly that, one of him leaning forward on the pommel, on a massive bay, one of Henry atop a much smaller chestnut pony.
‘You look happy, Henry’s getting so big.’
‘Rebecca-’
‘You don’t need to apologise, Ted.’
He fiddled with the blanket that was strewn over his lap as he sat on the couch, the TV muted in front of him.
‘How about I give you an explanation then?’
‘As long as I can give one in return.’
‘Buddy?’ Ted said, watching a look of terror flash across Henry’s face. The way the boy’s chest rose and fell rapidly and he was looking around unseeingly.
Ted knelt in front of him, put his hand on his cheek, his other hand on his heart, watching as Henry blindly reached out for Ted’s heart, pushing his clammy hand under Ted’s shirt to rest directly on his skin, and Ted breathed steadily, did his best to talk Henry through it, the way Rebecca had done for him, the way Roy had done for him once, too. The way he’d learned to do for himself.
After, he’d wrapped Henry in his arms and whispered apologies to him after he fell asleep.
He rationed himself to calling her only twice a week, kept up with all the other important relationships in his life. But they both knew it was different, between them. It had been more months, more time, and Ted was itching to see them all again, but couldn’t bear to return and see that he didn’t fit anymore, that he didn’t have a job there, that his space had been filled with folks more competent than he ever was, who actually knew the sport, who could handle the high stakes.
But the season was over, and after a lot of long conversations, Rebecca arrived in Kansas, and found him in the barn, half squatting and holding Muesli’s leg between his thighs, clipping away the hoof before getting out a long file and filing away at it. Sweat dripped down his neck, and he had a dusting of stubble on his face, his shirt stuck to his back, his jeans filthy with unmentionable brown stains on them that could only be explained by his proximity to the horse.
He stood after some time, gently placing Muesli’s hoof back to the ground. ‘Feel better, girl?’
Rebecca took a step closer, ‘Ted.’ He turned, and saw her, didn’t for one second think about how much he stank, or the way his hair stuck to his forehead in the humidity of the barn, he walked up to her with an expression on his face that she couldn’t explain, and wrapped his arms around her, buried his face in the crook of her neck and neither of them let go.
Rebecca’s hand was tightly in his when he called, because months ago, Keeley had told him that Sharon wanted to speak to him, that he should reach out when he could. Rebecca had stayed with him for a week before he’d brought it up as something he wanted to do.
He started speaking as soon as she picked up.
‘I want to apologise. I know it was a long time ago, now, but this is something I think I need closure on. You and I both made a mistake, and I want to acknowledge that. I shouldn’t have pressured you to cross your boundaries and become friends with me, I should have respected your position as my therapist. I couldn’t do that at the time, and I made a mistake. I’ve been seeing a new therapist for some time now. I’m sorry, and I hope you’re well.’
Sharon had a lump in her throat as soon as she had seen his name flash on her phone, unbidden memories of him sitting next to her in her old flat coming to mind, of him kissing her, of him riding a bike to work to make her more comfortable.
‘Ted. I’m really glad you called.’ She let out a breath, trying to piece together what she was going to say based on half practiced conversations she’d had in the mirror, based on things she’d talked through with Alex, with her friends, with her therapist.
‘I don’t say any of this as an excuse, I just think it might be helpful for you to know the reasons. I was hurt, when I moved to Richmond, and I had no support network. And I didn’t maintain my boundaries, I let you call me at any time of the day and I let you become my friend. And that wasn’t fair to you and it wasn’t fair to me. I’m truly sorry, Ted.’ There was more to say, there would always be more to say.
The phone call was short, they hung up after only fifteen minutes, enough time to acknowledge where they’d come from, the ways that it had hurt them, how they were healing since. That they didn’t want or need to hear from each other again.
Ted leaned his head on Rebecca’s shoulder and started to feel his shoulders loosen, as something deep inside his chest started to unravel. There were more conversations to have, with Michelle, to apologise for not recognising why she was hurting during their marriage, with Beard, for telling him everything so late, for not being there when he was needed with Jane, with Henry, for passing down parts of him that he didn’t want to see in another generation, but to promise to help him through it, that he wouldn’t leave his side, with Rebecca, to eventually discuss what it meant that she was here with him.
For now, he could sit in a run-down house in Kansas with his best friend by his side and friends only a phone call away, and remember that they were all human, and they were all doing their best. Even when their best was a series of mistakes, that was the humanity in them all. Learning, it turned out, was the unfortunate byproduct, the solution and the process of living.