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.