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It’s always tough coming back after the summer break. All the off-season training regimens in the world can’t compare to the day-in and day-out routine of the clubhouse, and usually by day two the locker room is filled with whines and groans from players with muscles too sore to tug off their boots.
Still, this pre-season is tougher than Colin ever remembers experiencing, and it's not hard to know why. Ever since the day he’d so callously sent them out into the world, Nate’s words had dug a space for themselves deep in Colin’s head, right next to all the other things that make him doubt everything good he ever thinks about himself. And while Nate’s apology had been an attempt at ripping them out by the roots, the news of his move to West Ham had made all of his true intentions clear and so the words had sunk in once again, deeper than ever before.
With training starting up in earnest again, it’s easy to see their effect taking hold. And the harder he tries, the more he pushes himself to be better, do better, the worse his game gets and the more Nate’s words ring true. And so it goes, on and on in a vicious cycle that weakens his muscles and steals his sleep.
His temper is starting to run uncontrollably short and he finds his anger flaring at the mildest of things, always dissipating moments later but leaving his skin thrumming with it, his mouth aching with all the words he doesn’t say. It feels like he’s losing control of everything — his muscles won’t move the way he needs them to, the ball doesn’t go where it’s supposed to, his mood swings away from where he wants it to.
He supposes it’s not surprising that it’s Coach Beard who’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back — his mocking response to Colin sharing his mantra with him had hit deep, coming at a time when Colin had been trying his hardest to convince himself of the sentiments even Dr. Sharon couldn’t get to stick, and the lash had never fully healed. And so, when Coach tuts and shakes his head at him after he’s messed up yet another set piece after yet another sleepless night, his temper finally crests and breaks, a tsunami of unreasonable rage that floods his senses, and the worst part is that all it can come up with is a bitter, hissed, “Fuck you.”
Coach’s eyebrows shoot up over his sunglasses but he doesn't say anything, just stares at him a long moment and then unfolds one arm and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Go see Ted.”
Colin storms off, chest heaving, the curious mutters of the other players fading away behind him. Ted’s on the other half of the pitch, standing on the sideline with Roy while they watch the defensive players work through a scenario, and by the time Colin approaches them his anger has already faded, the flash burning bright but brief as always. In its place is mostly shame.
“Well, hey there, Colin!” Ted greets brightly. “You joinin’ us on defense for the day?”
He shakes his head. “Coach told me to come see you after I said something to him that he didn't like.”
Ted squints at him from under his visor. “And what was that?”
“Fuck you.” Saying the words again brings the heat back under his skin, sweeping away any remorse that had built up on the walk over, and it comes out harsher than he means it to. Roy’s eyebrows shoot up in just the same way Beard’s had, and Colin thinks he should get some sort of prize for shocking the stoicism out of both of them within a matter of minutes. After a brief glance at Ted, Roy jogs off towards the players, yelling as he goes.
Colin turns back to find Ted observing him silently. “C’mon,” Ted says with a jerk of his head. “I could use a cup of Will’s finest. It’s watermelon this week, the perfect antidote to a hot day like this.”
Colin despises watermelon, but he doesn’t really think he has much choice in the matter. So he traipses along behind Ted and soon they’re both standing by the jug, half-full plastic cups in hand.
“So,” Ted says, regarding him evenly. “Everything alright?”
He shrugs. “All good, gaffer.” He scratches at the sweat drying on his neck. “Just the heat making me a bit cranky, is all.”
“Mmhm.” Ted takes a sip of his drink, and just watches him, waiting, and Colin hates that look, so he stares at his feet kicking at the ground instead, feeling a vicious stab of satisfaction when he creates a divot in the grass. Then he remembers it’s no longer Nate’s grass he’s kicking and he abruptly deflates, and when he looks up at Ted, Nate’s vicious sneer still in his mind, his brain connects the two faces and what’s left of his anger leaves him in a whoosh.
Ted latches onto it, prompting him with a questioning shake of his head.
Colin blows out a sharp breath. “Coach, why aren’t you angry?” Ted’s brow furrows. “At Nate,” he adds, and Ted’s mouth falls gently shut, recognition softening his features. “I mean, you didn’t even deserve what he did. At least with me, I can see why he…I was such a piece of shit before with—”
“Hey now,” Ted cuts in. “I thought Dr. Sharon told you to stop saying that about yourself.”
“Yeah, but this is different. 'Cos it actually applies here, doesn’t it?”
Judging by Ted’s frown, he doesn’t seem to agree. “Look Colin, I don’t know what Nate did or said to you — and you don’t have to tell me,” he adds before Colin can open his mouth. “‘Course, and this goes without sayin’ even though I’m about to say it anyway — if you ever did want to tell me, I’d be more than happy to listen. But whatever it was, I think it’s good to remember that sometimes…most times, actually, these things are—they’re more about the person saying them than—” He cuts himself off, and his hand crumples the cup involuntarily, the crinkle of plastic loud between them.
He shakes himself a bit, and his whole demeanor shifts, and when he speaks again he’s no longer ‘Coach’. He’s just a man, one who’d been bowled over by a loose cannon, somehow gotten back up, and is now sticking out a hand to help up someone else who’d been struck by the same thing. “It’s not about you, is what I’m trying to say. Doesn’t mean it hurts any less, of course. And I'm not gonna tell you to be a goldfish or anythin’ like that. I know it's not that easy, with these sorta situations. But…I learned the hard way that holding on to hurt like that, well, it ain't doin’ no one any good. Least of all you.”
Colin bites his lip, and the depth of emotion behind Ted’s clearly hard-earned advice makes him tear his gaze away. He gets it, he really does. But the problem is, he has no fucking clue how to start.
“I miss Dr. Sharon,” he sighs after a long silence. “Um,” he fumbles, realising how that might come off. “Not that this wasn’t—I mean—”
Ted looks at him, amused. “I miss her too. She was like our very own Mary Poppins, huh? Just floating on down here on that weird bicycle of hers and giving us all the kick in the butt we needed. But”—he tilts his head, his look measuring—“you know, she’s not actually Julie Andrews in a seminal musical fantasy film. We can look at getting her back for another stint, especially — and I hate to say it like this — but especially if you think that’ll help with your game, Higgins should be able to swing it. Can’t say when, though.”
Colin nods, staring down at the ground.
“But look, and I don’t wanna be too presumptuous here, but if there’s something bigger goin’ on, or even if you just feel like you need help getting unstuck right here right now, well, if it helps you to know, since Doc left I’ve been seeing someone else. Someone she herself recommended. And it’s been…well, listen I ain’t gonna stand here and pretend to you that everything gets magically all fixed up overnight, but…it’s been helpful.”
Dr. Sharon had left him with a short list of recommendations as well. But she’d also made a small notation next to the ones that focused primarily on ‘gender and sexually diverse clients’ (“Queer stuff”, she’d elaborated bluntly at his blank look, and his face had immediately flushed) and every time he thought about it his stomach roiled and his palms got sweaty.
Still, it was obvious to anyone who looked that Ted’s been different recently. Lighter than Colin has ever seen him, but somehow steadier as well, like shedding some of his load has made it easier for him to balance the rest of it. And as Colin stands there, feeling like he’s about to vibrate right out of his skin, he thinks that maybe he could use a little different right now.
“Thanks, Coach. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Ted nods and bounces on his heels, hand in his pocket. “I’ll tell ya somethin’ else. As much as I’d love to hold on to every player that crosses my path, there are people ‘round here who run the books who don’t really abide by that sorta thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sayin’ we wouldn’t keep you around if you weren’t capable. Barkingham Palace aside, the boss ain’t exactly runnin’ a charity here. You’re a heck of a player, Colin, not just ‘cos of your skills with the ball, but because of the energy you bring to the team. And there are a whole load of people here who admire you, myself included, though that probably doesn’t mean as much since I’ve only been watching this sport a couple years now. Doesn’t matter. My point is, lately I think you’ve been spendin’ too much time staring at your cleats—sorry, boots. Might be worth picking your head up once in awhile and lookin’ round at all that.”
Colin stares at him, not quite sure what to say.
“Coach, how do you…” He looks away, out towards the pitch and at his teammates, at the people he spends almost every waking hour around and who he still can’t seem to share such a big part of him with. “You just always seem to keep seeing all the good stuff. Even when the world is shoving lots of shit right in your face, you just, you keep expecting the best of people and I…” He trails off, cheeks hot, not quite sure what he’s trying to say.
Ted is quiet for long enough that Colin risks a glance at him, and the compassion in his eyes makes his own burn. When he catches Colin looking, he shrugs. “You know Colin, I ain’t so religious no more, as much as it saddens my momma to hear that. But if I had to put my faith in something, I guess you can say I put it in people. Because sometimes, sure, they disappoint you. And it can—” His voice quivers and he pauses to clear his throat. “It can hurt a whole lot. But sometimes they surprise you. And sometimes, if you give ‘em enough of a chance”—his eyes dart up to the building beside them, straight to the window Ms. Welton likes to yell through, and he smiles so tenderly it makes Colin’s heart clench— “sometimes, they can even take your breath away.”
Colin looks back at the players again and, as they’re wont to do, his eyes inevitably drift over to Isaac.
“People can’t surprise you if you don’t give ‘em a chance,” Ted says quietly from beside him and Colin had always liked him well enough, as a gaffer, but after today he’s got a whole new kind of respect for him and everything he must’ve already seen in this life.
He doesn’t say anything else though, and eventually Ted claps him on the shoulder, sensing that the conversation’s run its course. “Anyway. Listen, I’m glad your little outburst meant we got to have this chat, but I’m afraid I’m still gonna have to ask you to run ten laps for me after training is done.”
He sighs, exhaustion creeping into his bones, but he hasn’t got anyone else but himself to blame at this point. “Yeah, alright.”
“Good,” Ted says with a sharp nod. “Now, if there’s nothin’ else, you better get back to it. We’re gonna need y’all working like the well-oiled machine I know you can be when the season starts next week.” And as he heads off back to the defensive drills, Colin puts his untouched drink down on the table, his mind still churning.
“Hey, Coach,” he calls, before he jogs back to his team, and Ted pauses and turns back towards him. “Thanks.”
Ted’s answering smile is so bright that Colin can’t help but smile back in response. “Anytime.”
At the end of training, Colin drops out of the pack of players heading back towards the clubhouse and waits for the three coaches trailing behind them.
“Coach?” he calls as they near and both Ted and Beard glance over at him. “Can I speak to you for a second?” he asks, keeping his gaze squarely on Beard. Beard nods and Colin falls into step beside him, while on his other side Roy and Ted pick up their conservation once more.
“I, uh, just wanted to say sorry. For how I spoke to you earlier.”
Beard looks at him through his sunglasses, enigmatic as ever. "You’re forgiven," he says simply, doesn’t say anything else after that, and honestly Colin is grateful. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Ted smiling at him.
He gives them both a nod, then takes off for his first punishment lap, his legs weary but his heart feeling lighter than it has in days.
By the time he gets back into the locker room it’s mostly cleared out. The last of the players are heading out the door as Colin enters, calling cheerful goodbyes to him as they go, and the coaches are in their office, shut away for their post-training debrief. Soon there’s only one other person in the room, showered and dressed and sitting right in front of Colin’s locker.
He flops down next to him but he’s exhausted enough that his aim is off and he half collapses on top of Isaac, who must really be worried because he doesn’t even flinch at Colin’s sweat and grass stains all over his fit.
“Alright, bruv?”
Colin sighs, too tired to even bother waving the concern away. “Not really.” It’s ridiculous that the warmth of Isaac pressed against his side is still comforting, even now when his entire body feels like it's about to overheat and combust. But there’s such a solidness to him that when he sits next to him like this, it feels almost like some of Isaac’s calm rubs off on him, soothing him. Because even though anyone who’s ever seen one of Isaac’s own angry outbursts would disagree, to Colin he’s always seemed like he sails smoothly through rough currents, so unruffled by the opinion of others around him.
Except, Colin suddenly remembers with a frown, at the beginning of last season.
“Isaac,” he starts, looking over at him, and Isaac hums in question. “How come you never saw Dr. Sharon? Back when you were all stressed about taking over as captain.”
Isaac looks surprised, then contemplative. “S’pose when Roy came back I didn't really have much I needed to talk to her about, innit? Since he sorta knew how to get me out of my head and all that.”
“It’s not ‘cos you think it’s like…sissy behaviour or anything?”
“What? No, course not, what the fuck.” And Colin knew that’d be the case, knew he’d been being ridiculous. But still. It’s reassuring to hear nonetheless. He nods slowly, gaze drifting back forwards, and Isaac nudges him. “Seriously, Colin, what’s going on?” He’s silent for a moment and when he speaks again, it’s much harsher. “Is this about Nate?”
He shoots a brief glance at Isaac at that, and his eyebrows are knitted together, his expression as fierce as the day Colin had told him what Nate had said to him all those months ago, just because he needed someone else to help him make sense of it all. He looks down at his lap. He should’ve known Isaac would figure him out. “It is, a bit.” He picks at the dried mud on his knee. “But it’s…there’s some other stuff too. Stuff I haven’t been too good about dealing with.”
“Huh.” And when Colin looks at him, he seems oddly pensive. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Thanks, but I think I’m going to…I’m gonna try talking to a professional first. Think it could help me figure out some things.”
Isaac pats his knee, back of his hand brushing lightly against Colin’s fingers, and yep, there are definitely some things Colin needs to figure out. “Gotta do what’s right for you, I respect that. But offer’s always open. You know I’m always here for you, right?”
Colin smiles at him, a lump in his throat, touched and comforted and absurdly sad, all at once. “I know.”