Chapter Text
She falls asleep with her head on his chest, and for the first time since the incident in Liverpool, she sleeps peacefully through the entire night.
Rebecca has about a million notifications when she turns her phone back on on Saturday morning.
Ted’s downstairs, no doubt ransacking her kitchen for breakfast and coming up empty. She had really only turned her phone on to check and see if there was anything she could get delivered for breakfast. But she’s sidetracked by the ridiculous number of emails, phone calls, and texts she missed when she had turned her phone off after texting Trent yesterday morning.
Most of them are expected– missed calls from her mother, Sassy, and Nora (she makes a mental note to call Nora back ASAP, doesn’t want to fall back into old patterns with her goddaughter); emails from various publications asking for a comment; texts from the odd acquaintance.
She needs food before she can deal with most of it. But there’s one email that catches her eye. It’s from Dr. Sharon Fieldstone.
She’s surprised to see it, she and the good doctor hadn't really interacted much while the doc was working at the club. Rebecca knows Sharon helped many members of the Greyhounds– including Ted– but Rebecca herself never spoke with her after that first introduction. And Rebecca definitely hasn’t spoken to her since Sharon left AFC Richmond.
She opens the email.
Rebecca,
Here’s the information for an excellent therapist I know. She works often with abuse victims.
The best revenge is living well.
Be well,
Sharon
It’s like a punch to the gut. She doesn’t know Sharon, doesn’t know if the woman is usually so direct, but it works with her.
The scariest part of therapy (because whatever reason she gave Ted last season, the real truth behind her aversion is her fear) was telling someone the truth about her marriage. But she just let Trent Crimm tell all of bloody England so…
She’s interrupted from her thoughts by Ted knocking on the door, gently opening it with a soft smile on his face.
“Well, Boss, I got some bad news for ya. Ain’t nothin’ in that kitchen I can magick into a suitable breakfast.”
She laughs, “I’m not surprised.”
She pats the space next to her on the bed, the space he occupied all through the night. “Come here, we’ll pick a place for delivery.”
A part of her wishes this morning could go differently. Wishes she could take Ted out for brunch, luxuriate in the rare sunshine and cool late-fall temperatures on the patio of some chic cafe. But she’s not ready for that, and she knows that as soon as she steps out of her house she’ll be surrounded by paparazzi. (She’ll have to think of a way to get Ted past them later, doesn’t want to drag him into this anymore than he already is.)
Instead of going out, they order in, and she laughs as he drowns his pancakes in syrup and he frowns at her egg white and veggie omelet, calling it boring and “too healthy for a Saturday.” He steals some of her fruit and slides almost half his pancakes onto her plate. She forces them down, because he smiles at every bite she takes and she’s finding she’d do anything to see that little grin bloom on his face, see his dimples make an appearance.
Ted stays until midafternoon, leaving only because he’s got a pre-arranged Facetime call with Henry. They spend the time watching Absolutely Fabulous reruns. They order pizza for lunch, and Rebecca can’t remember the last time she ate so well two meals in a row. It’s nice, if she doesn’t think too much about what’s going on in the outside world.
But the whole day, Sharon Fieldstone’s email is looming in the back of her mind.
Once Ted’s gone home and Rebecca’s house is empty and silent, she pulls up the email and looks the therapist, Rosalind Tate, up. Rebecca finds the website for the woman’s practice easily. There’s a picture and a blurb about her various degrees and certifications. She’s accomplished, as far as Rebecca can tell. Rebecca guesses she's a few years younger than herself.
The office is in a nondescript building in Kensington. She thinks she could get away with it, attending sessions there without being papped or bothered.
But still, she doesn't call about making an appointment.
The rest of the evening goes by with her flittering from room to room, never really settling long enough to do anything. She had called Nora while she and Ted waited for their breakfast to be delivered, but still needs to call Sassy and her mother.
She sits on the couch, phone ringing on the other end of the line, but as soon as Sassy picks up with an anxious sounding Rebecca? she's up and moving again. She paces the living room for her conversation with Sassy– which is filled with Sassy apologizing as much as berating Rebecca for never saying anything, as expected– and then moves into the kitchen to pour herself some wine before she calls her mother.
But, just as she's about to take a sip, she thinks about the number of wine bottles currently in her recycling bin. Too often these last few weeks she's downed a bottle to numb herself instead of actually feeling whatever it was she was feeling. She doesn't want to live her life like that.
So she pours the wine from her glass down the sink, puts the bottle back in the chiller, and moves upstairs. She lays on her bed, on the side Ted had slept on last night. His scent lingers, woodsy with a hint of sage. It calms her down enough to call her mother.
Deborah picks up on the first ring, and Rebecca wonders if she's just been sitting by her phone for the past 24 hours, waiting for this call.
“Oh, my darling girl.”
Deborah's voice is heavy with tears, and Rebecca's eyes are quick to fill with her own. She sniffs, and for the next few minutes they just sit together in silence, the both of them crying on their ends of the phone.
Eventually she hears her mother take a deep breath, “I am so sorry Rebecca. When I think of all the ways I failed you…I should have seen it, should have protected you from it. From him.”
Rebecca shakes her head. “No mum, it wasn't…I didn't even see it. Not until it felt like it was too late, like there was no way out.”
“But you found a way out, my strong brave girl.”
Rebecca wipes at the tears still sliding down her cheeks. “Sometimes it feels like I'm still stuck in it. Like it's quick sand, and I'll never really be out.”
“Oh Rebecca.”
There's another few moments of silence, and then Deborah clears her throat.
“I'd like to see you, if that's okay? I could come there sometime or you could come up here, either way, doesn't matter to me.”
“I'd like that. You can come here? Stay in the guest room…”
“Sounds perfect, Sausage. You look at your calendar and let me know what days work best for you.”
They stay on the phone for about an hour, Deborah catching Rebecca up on all the drama from her various ladies’ groups. It's nice, a good distraction from the absolute cluster fuck her own life has become, seemingly overnight.
She goes to bed on Saturday feeling marginally good, and even without taking a sleeping pill she sleeps through most of the night.
—
She spends Sunday at home too. They're playing Aston Villa at the Dog Track and she should go, knows she should put on a brave face and get this over with. But she's still feeling raw and exposed, can't face the paparazzi just yet. She texts both Keeley and Ted, and they're both quick to assuage any guilt she might feel about hiding out one more day.
So she stays home. She eats cold leftover pizza from lunch with Ted yesterday for breakfast. She should order some groceries, maybe something to make salad for lunch. But her regular grocery delivery is scheduled for tomorrow and she knows her nutritionist will have prepped meals for the week anyway. For today she just makes do.
She spends the day kind of wandering from room to room. Watches some mindless television. Makes a cup of calming tea. Takes a nap. Reads a few chapters of a book Sassy recommended to her a few months ago that she never got around to.
She's been avoiding any and all tabloids and social media outlets, hoping not to catch her own name in any headlines. But she's also curious. Wants to know how many papers that had painted her the frigid ice queen bitch after her divorce had changed their tune. She wants to know, too, if Rupert has said anything yet.
As she's eating microwave popcorn for dinner (telling herself eating something is better than nothing), she types her name into the search bar on her computer.
(Mistake #1. )
Trent's article is the first one that pops up, and while she’s read it already she hasn't seen it on his site, with all the photos and scans of the medical records and everything. It's overwhelming to say the least. She scrolls down to the comments section.
(Mistake #2. )
She goes back, clicks through some of the other articles. There's so many. Everyone from The Sun and The Daily Mail to The Times and even ESPN have picked up the story.
Rebecca clicks through them all quickly. Most don't really say anything Trent hadn't said. A few different doctors and reporters are quoted. Anonymous club employees gave statements on Friday, apparently, about overhearing fights in the owner's office during Rupert's time as owner.
It's the comments that get her, really. And she knows better, she does. But curiosity killed the cat and all.
Most people– the press and the generally public commenting on it– seem to be on her side. But there's a number of comments asking the most obvious questions.
Why did she stay all those years?
Why come out with the story now?
They're fair questions. She's been asking herself the first one for over three years. She still doesn't have an answer.
Shame overtakes her, and suddenly swallowing each bite of overly buttered popcorn feels impossible. She leaves the half eaten bowl on the kitchen island, goes upstairs.
She tries to relax. She takes a bath, spending over an hour under the bubbles, playing soft jazz from the Bluetooth speaker in the bathroom. When she crawls into bed, she feels restless– her day of not really doing anything leaving a pent up kind of energy that makes it hard to settle.
She gives up, sits against the headboard and grabs her phone. Scrolls through the messages from yesterday. Finds the information she's looking for. Sends a quick email before throwing her phone to the end of the bed and swallowing down half a dose of her sleeping pills.
—
She takes extra time Monday morning getting ready. Picking out a flattering, yet comfortable, skirt and blouse combo. Taking extra care with her makeup. There's one smoothie left from her nutritionist’s last delivery, and she grabs it on her way out the door.
Wilhem, her driver, is waiting on her stoop. “A number of them are across the street, Ms. Welton.”
She nods, and lets Wilhem guide her swiftly to her car, trying her hardest to pay no mind to the men with cameras across the way, snapping photos and yelling out questions.
There's more paparazzi hanging around the carpark at Nelson Road. But Isaac, Collin, and Jamie are also there. Wilhem drives up as close to the door as he can, and Colin moves to Rebecca's side of the car, quickly opening the door while Isaac blocks the papps from seeing her and Jamie offers her a hand to help her out of the car.
“We've got you, boss” is all Isaac says, and then she's being led by her guard dogs into the building.
Jamie lets go of her arm when they get to the stairs leading up to her office, and he and Colin nod at her before heading down the hallway to the locker room. Isaac stays behind for a moment.
“You let me know when you're ready to leave, someone will walk you out, yeah?”
Rebecca feels tears stinging in her eyes, tilts her head back for a quick second to try and stop them from falling. “Thank you, Isaac.”
He shrugs, “team's a family, innit? No thanks necessary.”
She reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, before turning to head up to her office. Keeley is already in there, computer in her lap and papers and calendar spread around her.
“Morning, babes!” she says without even looking up as Rebecca enters and moves to get settled behind her desk. “I have a lunch meeting today, but thought I'd work from here this morning, if that's okay.”
And just like down in the hallway with Isaac, Rebecca feels herself start to tear up. She can't believe she had forgotten– over the last few weeks, since Liverpool– what she has here. These wonderful people who have, for whatever reason, chosen to care about her.
“Of course,” she manages to push the words out past the tears. “Of course, you're welcome here whenever, Keeley.”
Keeley nods at her, soft smile on her face, and Rebecca suddenly has to hug her. She stands from her desk as Keeley stands too, and they've both got their arms around each other in an instant.
Rebecca doesn't know how long they stand like that, saying more with a hug then Rebecca’s said to her in weeks, when Ted's voice breaks the moment.
“Shoot, can I get in on that hug action?”
Keeley pulls back, only a little, laughing and wiping a few tears from her face. She holds an arm out for Ted, and then Rebecca is wrapped in the arms of both her favorite people and she feels so safe .
This hug doesn't last as long, and they're pulling away from each other and settling back in their respective seats. Keeley focuses back on her laptop while Ted slides a pink box across Rebecca's desk.
For the first time since Liverpool, Rebecca’s stomach doesn't roll at the sight of the little box. She drank the smoothie on the drive to the clubhouse, and while she felt satisfied by the blended yogurt, oats, and fruit, she's not exactly full . So she opens the box, takes one biscuit out, and takes a small bite.
It's like coming home.
She takes it slow, only eats the one for now and figures she'll have the rest with her mid-afternoon tea. Ted smiles at her, a proud little thing, but doesn't say anything about it. He just asks her if she knows how to ride a bike and they spend the next fifteen minutes chatting pleasantly, Keeley jumping in every now and then.
Ted stops in the doorway on his way out. He gives Keeley a quick glance, but the other woman seems completely focused on the contract in front of her. So Ted looks back at Rebecca, offering her a shy smile.
“Really good to see you lookin’ so well, Rebecca.”
She blushes, but replies with a quiet thank you . They both know she's got a long road ahead of her, but somehow this– this easy morning with her two best friends– feels like the start of the good part.
Roy comes in about ten minutes after Ted leaves.
He stops in the middle of the room when he notices Keeley, but doesn't say anything. Keeley seems to be actively ignoring his presence, and Rebecca raises an eyebrow at him. He gives a small shake of his head before stepping closer to her desk. He doesn't sit, just stands between the two chairs. When he speaks, his voice is softer than Rebecca’s used to hearing.
“I just wanted to check in on you. See if you needed anything?”
Rebecca smiles, feeling that (now, quite familiar) feeling of love wash over her. “Thank you, Roy. I'm alright.”
He looks at her, assessing, and she's hit by the weight of their history. Roy, more than anyone else, even Leslie, has the best knowledge of what she went through during her marriage. Many of the current roster only started playing for the Greyhounds in the last year or so of Rupert's tenure as owner, so they didn't see as much. But Roy…He's seen more than Rebecca cares to dwell on. She stands, leaning across her desk to take Roy's hand in hers, squeezing once before letting go.
“I really am alright.”
He nods, once. “If that changes…”
“I know where to find you.” She smiles at him and he nods again before turning to leave the office. Keeley says nothing, and he says nothing to her on his way out.
Rebecca waits until she can no longer hear Roy's footsteps on the stairs before looking over at Keeley. The woman is still intently staring at the papers in front of her, but Rebecca can tell her focus is drifting.
She stands, moves to the couch and plops down directly next to Keeley. She takes the papers from Keeley's hands, ignores her disgruntled hey! and turns so she's facing her best friend.
“I've been a horrible friend lately,” Rebecca says. Keeley's eyes go wide and Rebecca knows she's about to interrupt, to fight her in this, but she shakes her head. “I have. I've been so lost in my own head, trying to cope with it all, that I've been ignoring the best relationship that's ever happened to me. The most important relationship in my life.”
Keeley's fulling crying now, and Rebecca pulls her into her so the other woman's head rests on her shoulder, Rebecca’s arms tight around her.
“But, I want to do better. I want to be better. So please, tell me what that was about.”
Keeley shakes her head, takes a few deep breaths before she can speak. “First of all, you are not a horrible friend. I’m a horrible friend. You've been carrying this awful, traumatic thing around with you for forever, and I didn't even see. I mean, I saw, kind of, but I didn't do anything about it.”
Rebecca sighs. “How about we both agree we're humans, and trying our best, and neither of us are horrible people or friends.”
Keeley lets out a little laugh. “I can agree to those terms.”
Rebecca nods, and then asks her question again.
Keeley struggles for a moment, trying to find the right words.
“When I saw…when I understood what I was looking at, when Bex showed me the files and the photos and everything, you know what the first thing I wanted to do was?”
Rebecca shakes her head.
“Well, the absolute first thing I wanted to do was find you, wrap you up in the tightest hug ever and never let you go so nothing like that could ever happen to you again.” Rebecca smiles, squeezes her once.
“But, immediately after that, my next thought was of finding Rupert. Giving him just as good as he gave you all those years. I'm not exactly a pacifist, Rebecca, I've been in my fair share of cat fights. But I'm not violent . But I swear, Rebecca, in that moment? I could have easily killed him.”
Rebecca lifts her head from where it's resting on top of Keeley's, looks at her tiny friend. She's so young , Rebecca forgets sometimes. But as she looks in Keeley's eyes, she believes her. And it's terrifying.
“I don't ever want you doing something that's going to get yourself hurt, or in trouble. Not for me.”
Keeley shakes her head. “You're worth it Rebecca. To make sure you'd never hurt like that again? That he’d never get the chance to hurt you again? I do just about anything.”
Rebecca shakes her head, pulls Keeley back in for another hug. She knows she's not winning this fight. “Thank you. But what does this have to do with Roy?”
Keeley pulls back, stands from the couch, starts pacing in front of the coffee table. “He knew , Rebecca. He knew, and somehow Rupert's still alive? And I know the two of you weren't as close back then, but that shouldn't matter! He knew, and he did nothing . And I…”
She trails off, and Rebecca stands and meets her in the middle of the office. She puts her hands on her shoulders, stopping Keeley's frantic pacing.
“He didn't do nothing, Keeley. He did what I asked him to.” Not in so many words, Rebecca thinks, but she knows her tone and her posture and the look she gave him that night in the alley made it clear– say nothing, do nothing, it's none of your fucking business.
“He's a good man, Keeley. I know you know that.” Keeley huffs, but nods. Rebecca smiles, “and I know that if I hadn't made it clear I wanted him to stay out of it, he would have gone after Rupert. And would probably be in jail, honestly.”
Keeley gives a weak laugh, nods again.
“Don't let me drive the two of you apart, please? I'd hate to have your broken heart on my conscience.”
Keeley smiles at her then, “fine, I'll talk to him, anything for you.”
Keeley stays for about another hour, before she has to leave for her meeting. Higgins pops in not long after, a bag with two salads in one hand and a Tupperware container filled with what looks like Chelsea buns in the other.
“Fancy company for lunch? I made sure there weren't any raisins in the salad.”
She laughs, but gestures to the chairs in front of her desk. He doesn't say anything out right, but Rebecca knows why he's here. Every now and then, as they both work through their salads, she'll glance up to find him eyeing her with such a heavy look, something close to guilt, that he shakes off when he's been caught. She wants to say something, but doesn't know where to start, so she just thanks him again for the salad.
When she's finished, some greens left behind but all the good stuff picked out and eaten, she starts to thank him again but before she can he's sliding the plastic Tupperware towards her.
“Julie's cinnamon apple buns. She wanted to…”
He trails off, but Rebecca understands what he isn't saying. She sighs. This is something she worried about all weekend, people treating her differently now that they knew. It's different, with Ted and Keeley and Roy. Even the boys, and Higgins himself. She knows it's not pity, not from them. But everyone else? The strangers commenting on the articles, the people she passes in the street. Julie Higgins, apparently. She doesn't need or want their pity. What she wants is to just move on somehow.
“That's very kind of her. Please, tell her thank you for me.”
Higgins nods.
(What he doesn't tell her, is that they're not pity buns, they're apology buns. Guilt buns. Because Julie hadn't known what Rebecca had been through, hadn't known what the other woman had survived. And she had thought horrible things about her. And put horrible things out into the universe.
Julie didn't sleep at all on Friday night, after she read Trent's article. She spent those hours baking, instead. Trying to press her apologies into the dough, bake into the buns better things for the woman she once thought– wrongly– so lowly of.)
“I'll let you get back to it,” he says, standing and gathering their lunch trash.
“Thank you, Leslie.”
He nods, “anything, Rebecca.”
And then he's gone.
What's a British owl say?
Ted's text interrupts her staring contest with the apple buns. She smiles. She knows the answer but can't help but play along.
I don't know, what?
Whom, whom.
She smiles again, rolls her eyes.
Get it?
She laughs out loud at that.
Yes, Ted. I get it.
She turns her focus back to the buns. Takes a picture, sends it off to Ted.
Julie Higgins made me apple buns.
What?! You cheating on my biscuits, boss??
😭😭😭
She rolls her eyes again, but leans over to take a picture of the empty pink box in her waste bin.
Phew. Heart just about broke there. Don't scare me like that boss!
I don't think I've ever had apple buns…Look real good.
Would you like to come up after training, try one? There's no way I can eat all of these by myself before they go stale.
I'd never turn down apple buns with my honeybun.
Rebecca blushes, has to reread the text a few times. He's never called her…No one, really, has used saccharine terms of endearment with her before, unless you count Rupert’s false use of the word darling. She's never really wanted people to. She thinks she wouldn't mind Ted using them with her, though.
She must take too long to reply.
Sorry. That was probably a little much, huh?
No, I didn't mind at all.
I'll see you after training?
10-4, Boss Lady.
And somehow boss lady has as much sweetness in it as honeybun .
Between all the various visitors she gets throughout the day, Rebecca doesn't get much work done. She should probably stay another hour or so but she can hear the cacophony of sounds signaling the boys' exodus from the club, knows most of the office staff leave around now too, and she doesn't fancy being here alone.
So she packs up her stuff, checking her phone as she shoulders her bag and grabs her coat from the tree rack. There's an unread email she somehow missed all day. She clicks on it now, heart just about in her throat.
Ms. Welton,
Would this Wednesday work? 9am? I'll put you down on the schedule, just let me know if there's a better time or day for you.
Rosalind Tate, M.D., D.O
Rebecca takes in a deep breath. She shoots off a quick response, adds the meeting to her private calendar.
The little pink square in her calendar app stares up at her.
Therapy, Session 1, 9am