Chapter Text
They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered
- F. Scott Fitzgerald
Rebecca thought she’d never get married again.
Been there, done that, survived (just). She has no intention of being stupid enough to punish herself with another poor choice and a lifetime of regret.
Except, suddenly, one day she is married again.
It goes like this:
Rebecca is lonely. Achingly, horrifyingly, lonely.
She’s been divorced for a year now, and she feels more lonely than ever.
It doesn’t matter that for the first time in decades (maybe ever) she’s building what feels like genuine friendships with honest-to-goodness nice people like Keeley (and Ted of all people). Truthfully, she’s still a little shocked that they actually seem to like her.
But despite these new, developing friendships, she’s still desperately lonely no matter what she seems to do.
And being alone is the thing of which she’s most frightened.
It’s exactly how Rupert told her she’d end up, and she hates the fact that he’s right.
Some nights, when her house is so quiet the silence seems to echo, she wonders whether being miserable in his company (and tolerating his unfaithfulness) would have been a better option.
She knows it wouldn’t, but the loneliness is just so encompassing.
Possibly the only thing worse than being alone in her home is being alone at the multitude of formal functions she has to attend. As a Premier League owner, her calendar is full of gala’s, parties, meetings and lunches with shareholders she can’t avoid without causing great offense.
There’s something about attending all these events on her own, with everyone knowing she’s on her own, that makes them that much more painful than they need to be (which really is saying something, as she’s always found them excruciatingly painful even while she was married).
In hindsight, she thinks it all possibly starts the day she decides she’s sick of doing it all on her own, and drags Ted along to the Crown and Anchor on a whim.
She’s not particularly fussed about it being Ted accompanying her (though for some inexplicable reason she’s starting to enjoy his company more and more). Rather, she’s far more focused on her main goal of having someone else there to deal with the Milk sisters, because God knows she just can’t today and she has no doubt they’re going to just lap him up (goddamn puns).
Except instead of the Milk sisters, Rupert is there, smiling and suave.
Her heart sinks into her shoes because Rupert has brought Bex, and she’s brought Ted, her very midwestern, butt-of-all-jokes gaffer with her.
Before she has the chance to draw her breath, Rupert sticks the metaphorical knife between her ribs with the news of his engagement and Bex’s new AFC Richmond shares. She feels like she’s bleeding out (spilling milk) all over the floor while Ted continues to make redundant puns; the way Rupert looks at her lets her know exactly how pathetic he finds it.
Ted smiles and thickens his accent, and Rebecca wants the floor to open up and swallow her (and all that spilled milk) down.
Until there’s a glint in Ted’s eye and a deliberate toss of the dart right through the middle of Rupert’s ego; Rebecca suddenly realises just how grossly she has under-estimated Ted.
Oh, she’s had hints and vague notions that there’s a lot more to Ted than what she initially judged from those ridiculous dancing videos on the internet. Judgements she’d made in less than a second the first time he opened his mouth and spoke with that accent. Judgements, she thinks now, he’d done nothing to dispel (and possibly worked to maintain).
She feels completely off-kilter and has no idea who the man beaming at her through his ridiculous mustache actually is. Or what he wants from her in return.
Because men (everyone really) always want something from her. Nothing is for free.
So she waits for him to start calling in the favours.
And while she waits, she figures she may as well make him earn it. She starts dragging him along to more and more League functions as an unconventional plus-one because it turns out he’s surprisingly good company, and she feels marginally less likely to stab someone with a fork when they piss her off.
It’s not completely unusual as many managers attend those functions, but perhaps it’s the regularity with which they attend together that starts the rumour-mill whispering. When he starts accompanying her to non-League functions, the whispering unexpectedly turns into a cacophony which rages in a media storm for several horrendous weeks.
Despite the rumours and the media presence, she finds she doesn’t care, because somewhere in between entrees and terrible jokes she realises that hollow, aching loneliness seems to be filled with the comfort of biscuits and cheerful brown eyes, a familiar smile that warms her inside.
Eventually the tabloids lose interest in speculating about whether they’re shagging or not, and she releases a breath of relief that no one seems to care anymore. They’re so used to Ted accompanying her now it’s of more interest on the odd occasion that he doesn’t join her (she rolls her eyes at the flurry of articles suggesting they’ve broken up).
She’s surprised to discover she enjoys having him with her; not only is Ted fun and amusing, but he stands beside her as though he’s protecting her. He does it in a way that doesn’t diminish her authority or independence. Rather like a teammate instead of a paternalistic authority figure.
She finds she likes it, even though she’s still waiting for Ted to present a growing list of everything he’s done for her.
Except Ted never asks. Never turns around and hands her the account of how much she owes him for all the times he’s cared about her, supported her and championed her. All he seems to ask of her is her company.
He even gives her his forgiveness freely when she finally confesses her sins, holding her tenderly while talking about love in his heart. He makes her feel safe and comfortable and reassured in a way no one else ever has, particularly so in the comfort of his arms with his voice whispering in her ear.
Rebecca has never, ever met anyone like him ever before. She’s completely baffled, and has no idea what to do with what he appears to be offering her: unconditional friendship. Support. Care. Nothing required in return.
“Coupon for life, little lady,” he tells her, and it’s ridiculous because who actually calls anyone a ‘little lady’, but his smile is so sweet and his words so sincere she slips her pinky into his and it feels like a pact.
After the team is officially relegated he tries to give her his resignation, and it’s at the moment that Rebecca realises there’s no way in hell she’ll let him walk out of her life, let alone out of her team. So she turns down his resignation and instead asks him a rather large favour. Probably slightly more unusual than the regular requests to accompany her to a gala or meeting, because this one takes place in their off-season and over in Las Vegas.
“Vegas Vegas, as in US of A Vegas?” Ted clarifies, eyebrows raised.
“Do you know of any other Las Vegas’s?” Rebecca asks him around a mouthful of biscuit, and then immediately regrets it.
“Well actually there is another Las Vegas in New Mexico, but I suppose technically that’s still in the US so—”
“Ted!” she says, and she’s pretty sure he can hear her rolling her eyes, not just see her doing it.
“Can we visit Caesars Palace?” he asks hopefully.
She rolls her eyes again. “So that’s a yes?” she clarifies.
When he nods, she picks up the phone to confirm the jet and have her travel agent rearrange his tickets so he can travel on to Kansas once they’re finished in Las Vegas.
And that’s how Ted and Rebecca end up going to Vegas together.
Vegas with Ted is fun.
The air is thick and heavy, and even though she’s been to Vegas before, it feels like the first time she’s properly visited instead of just spending time in a hotel and at restaurants and functions.
He makes her visit Caesars first (as promised) where they watch a show. Afterwards they wander up and down the Strip admiring all the flashing lights and people and chaos around them.
The next day they catch up for breakfast—both awake far too early thanks to the time difference—and enjoy another stroll in the early dawn before they make their way to the venue where the meeting is taking place. They greet several other League owners they already know, and then go on to meet their international counterparts.
She gets tired of the pitying looks in the eyes of the men (yes, we’ve been relegated, but you have to remember the club was run into the ground when we took it on), but mostly she gets angry at the veiled looks she thinks Ted must simply not see. The only thing that stops her telling them all to fuck off is Ted’s quick interventions and de-escalations.
She can see these men judging him and finding him lacking. Can see the way they roll their eyes or their lips twitch in poorly disguised mockery, and it infuriates her that they would treat this wonderful man as though he’s a joke.
By the end of the day she’s almost vibrating with rage and her jaw aches from keeping her fake smile plastered in place.
“I don’t even know why we came,” she tells Ted the minute they’re in the private car heading back to their hotel. “The whole sporting industry is run by misogynistic, judgemental arseholes.”
Ted hums in a way that makes her think he agrees, but stays quiet by her side.
“I’m sorry they treated you like that,” she tells him once the silence lingers for longer than she’s used to with Ted.
He turns to her, curiosity on his face. “Like what?”
She flounders, not really sure how to put into words what’s gotten her so upset without implying that other people think he’s an idiot. And then he smiles. “Just kidding. It’s that whole ‘be curious, not judgemental’ thing again,” he says with a shrug, and she marvels that he can seem to just brush off people thinking he’s beneath them.
“But they shouldn’t—”
“I’m used to people underestimating me,” Ted says, smiling gently at her. “I stopped associating my own worth with other people’s opinions and expectations a long time ago, Rebecca. But I appreciate you caring.”
It strikes her just how wise Ted is, and it makes her chest ache that this is something he’s faced his whole life.
Rebecca hates being thought a fool. Hates being judged. Hates being treated like—or made to look like—an idiot, even though she’s just as culpable of doing it to others. So she can’t abide it when those she cares about are treated poorly.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.
“For what?”
“Judging you like that.”
When he smiles at her this time, there’s a softness in his eyes. He reaches over and loosely takes her hand in his, squeezing her fingers gently. “You stopped judging the minute you stopped trying to defend yourself.”
She blinks, not really sure what to make of that, but then the car pulls to a stop at their hotel and the moment is broken.
“Want to go for a drink?” he asks once he’s helped her out onto the pavement.
“Let me go freshen up first,” she tells him. “That early start is catching up to me now, and I need to get rid of the scent of neanderthal from my clothes.”
He chuckles. “Downstairs in thirty minutes?”
It takes her closer to fifty minutes, but it doesn’t seem to faze him (he does know her, afterall). There are two cocktails sitting on the bar before him—espresso martinis, he says, to try and give them a caffeinated jolt so they last until a respectable hour.
It’s another fun evening of food and people watching, good conversation and perhaps a few too many drinks.
It’s still early when they return to their hotel. Despite her exhaustion, she’s still a little buzzed from the alcohol and lack of sleep and the last thing she wants is the silence of an empty hotel room. It’s a relief when Ted nods in question towards the bar they started in several hours earlier; she smiles her agreement and allows him to guide her to a small secluded booth before he heads back to the bar to order their drinks.
Rupert used to order for her, and it drove her mad because it was always champagne or white wine, only a gin & tonic if she interceded when he was in the right mood (it’s not really a sophisticated look in public, darling). She trusts Ted though, because she knows he pays attention to her. He knows she quite likes a whiskey as a nightcap before they all finish up at the Crown & Anchor.
He doesn’t let her down; the amber liquid is smooth as velvet when it warms the back of her throat and settles in her chest.
“Perfect,” she says, taking another sip, ice clinking in the glass.
And each time their glasses are empty, ice cubes melting, he looks at her with a question in his eyes and she nods, much preferring the warmth of the alcohol and his company to that empty, stark suite waiting for her upstairs.
They’re sitting side by side now, his warmth pressed against her and their smiles slightly sloppy. She wonders aimlessly how many drinks they’ve had. It’s late—much later than she’d intended staying up—and the small bar is nearly empty, but Ted seems as reluctant to leave as she does.
“I don’t like the quiet,” Ted tells her, breaking the settled silence between them.
She smiles, nudging him with her shoulder. “I never would have guessed by how much you talk.”
He chuckles, rolling his half empty glass so the ice cubes rattle and the liquid swirls around the edges. “No. On my own. I don’t like being on my own. It feels… empty.”
She knows what he means, and is a bit sad that he must be dreading his empty room as much as she’s trying not to think about hers. It’s easy sometimes to forget that underneath that positive, smiley veneer, Ted’s probably just as lonely and lost as she is even though he rarely mentions it.
“I miss having someone else there,” she tells him understandingly.
“Just their presence,” he agrees.
She doesn’t miss the bitter silences and feeling like a failure, but she’s still not sure if the loneliness is actually that much better.
“I miss not being alone.”
Ted’s silent for a time, before he raises his glass and takes another sip; the mood is decidedly melancholy now between them, and she marvels and worries that this part of Ted is creeping out, a forlornness in him she’s rarely seen. She’s seen his panic, his fear, even a hint of anger. But mostly it’s sunshine and belief and so much optimism she wonders where he finds it all. She wonders how much he hides beneath his chatter.
“I miss being married,” he confesses finally.
“Me too,” Rebecca admits. “But I don’t miss Rupert.”
She watches as he swills his drink around again before sighing. “I miss Henry.”
She thinks it’s telling that he doesn’t say he misses his wife, and her heart aches for this man beside her, at the glimpse of the sadness in his soul. Part of her can’t believe his wife let him go—surely, as far as men go, there couldn’t possibly be a better man to be married to?
If Ted showed his wife just half the amount of care he’s shown her she can’t imagine ever being unhappy. She wishes she’d married Ted all those years ago, instead of Rupert, and then maybe she’d be happy.
“We should get married,” she says, the words falling out before she realises what she’s said.
“What?” he asks, blinking.
“That way we wouldn’t be lonely,” she says. “We’d always have someone.”
It’s only then that she recognises just how petrified she is of him leaving her. Of yet another person in her life turning their back on her and walking away. Perhaps, she thinks wildly, this is not a problem solved by an irrational marriage proposal, but irrational or not, she’s a little shocked but just how desperately she suddenly wants this. Wants him.
She’s not naive enough to think marriage would stop Ted from leaving, just that it would give an extra layer of insurance and complication before allowing him to wriggle out of her life. And, if she suspects Ted’s as honourable as she thinks he is, part of her thinks maybe if he made that promise, he’d do everything in his power to keep it.
“You’ll always have me,” he says softly, and she has to blink to stop her eyes from burning, looking down at the whiskey still sitting almost untouched in her own glass. “Coupon for life, remember?”
Her chest aches painfully when she links her pinky with the one he’s proffering to her over their glasses, a tangible reminder of a promise already made.
“It was a stupid idea anyway,” she says.
She’s clearly had far too much to drink because a tear—a fucking tear —drips unexpectedly onto the table next to her glass (when did she start crying anyway?).
“No it wasn’t!” Ted soothes, abandoning her pinky so slide his hand comfortingly over her own. “It’s not a stupid idea.”
“I just miss having someone that’s… mine. My person.”
His fingers squeeze hers again. “Me too.”
“My plus one,” she continues, alcohol clearly taking over the conversation.
“I’ll always be your plus one,” he vows. “And your person. You’re right, Rebecca, we should get married. Seal the deal.”
When she raises her eyes to his, he’s staring at her intently, so seriously she knows he’s not messing with her. “Really?”
“Let’s go get married.”
He doesn’t let go of her hand as he tugs her out of the booth; they wobble a little together, leaning sloppily against each other as they wind their way back out of the hotel in search of a taxi.
She knows she’s had too much to drink (clearly, she’s just proposed to Ted and is apparently about to marry the ridiculously wonderful mustachioed man), but everything feels crystal clear to her in this moment: the kiss of the summer’s night against her slightly sweaty skin, the warmth of his hand holding comfortingly onto hers, the way the lights flash and sparkle through the taxi windows like something wonderful. The way she suddenly feels in her bones that this will be the best thing she’s ever done.
The taxi deposits them outside a wedding chapel with large neon signs (classy, but then classy was a large church and a white gown and a man who didn’t mean his wedding vows). There’s a jewelry store next door, and Ted tugs her into there first. They take their time deliberating, and it feels so calm and right that they’re doing this.
The bands are plain gold, soft and warm under the lights. Hers is thin and delicate, so unassuming it’s completely unlike anything she usually wears. But it matches the one Ted’s chosen, and the sight of them resting together on a small piece of velvet while Ted pays (he insists) makes something low in her chest swoop pleasantly.
They watch the couple before them, giggly and silly and clearly in love, and she feels a bit sad because she was like that once: desperately in love and dreaming of a future that turned out to be little more than an illusion Rupert spun to trap her in his web.
When it’s their turn, they’re both subdued and serious, voices earnest and genuine as they promise to have and to hold, to love and to cherish. Her eyes burn again, filling with tears, because she knows she loves Ted and that he loves her, and she thinks this kind of love is probably better than romantic love ever could be.
Afterwards when they get back to the hotel and say goodnight at her door, he presses a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth, mustache scratching at her skin, and she smiles happily, because for the first time that she can remember, she doesn’t feel lonely.