Ted looked up to see a confused (and then immediately concerned) Trent Crimm looking down at him, notebook at the ready for a quote. He wiped at his eyes again, hoping they weren't as red as Rudolph's nose.

"Trent Crimm, The Independent," Ted said, forcing a smile. "Are you my ghost of Christmas Present?"

"Pardon?" Trent understood the reference, but it seemed apropos of something he wasn't privy to.

Ted held up his phone. "My wife—ex-wife—just sent me a video of our boy playing with the guilt gift I got him. Was reminding me of our last few Christmases, is all." Ted looked around behind Trent and at the play area. "Speaking of kiddos, where's Maddy? The few times I've seen you out and about in the real world, she's been glued to you like a stamp on an envelope."

Trent adjusted his glasses. It was a tic that started when he first began covering football press conferences right out of college. The move allotted him a brief moment to collect himself while also making him appear like he had some sort of upper hand with the question he was about to ask. Only right then, there was no question, only an honest answer.

"She's not with me, I'm afraid. I just dropped her off at my ex's for the rest of Christmas."

Ted nodded in understanding. "Ain't that a kick in the shins."

Trent nodded, not sure if that was a common Americanism or something completely unique to Ted. "I'm surprised you're not back in America, Coach Lasso. Kansas, right?"

"Correctamundo, baseball fungo," Ted said, adding, "It's a type of bat used in practice. To hit fly balls," when Trent's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "And, no sir, I couldn't make it back home this year. Not with that game tomorrow."

"Ah, yes," Trent said. "I'm sorry about that. Kind of a Boxing Day tradition around these parts."

"I get it. We have football on Thanksgiving over in America," Ted replied. "American football. Even though only the kicker fella uses his foot. You don't need to rub in my face how ridiculous it is, I already know. But, hey… tradition, am I right?"

Trent smiled and nodded, appreciating the sentiment for what it was. "May I ask what you're doing alone on a park bench in this neighborhood?"

Ted chewed on the inside of his cheek. Trent Crimm, The Independent was standing like he would in the press room at the club. "Off the record?"

"Of course," Trent said. He slid his notebook in his jacket pocket, knowing this was not the time nor place to pry for any sort of scoop, but sort of hoping for one all the same. (Unless Ted was willing to give him one, anyway.)

"Well, Trent Crimm, The Independent, I'm a little lost. I kinda got to thinking while I was walking and ended up strolling right on out of my neighborhood to wherever this place is."

Trent had lived here so long, he couldn't physically get lost anymore, but he understood how one's mind could wander while the man himself was wandering. "Where are you trying to get to, Coach Lasso?"

"Please, it's just Ted. We're not at Nelson Road."

"Where are you trying to get to, Ted?" Trent asked, putting a little extra emphasis on the other man's name for good measure.

"Nelson Road." Ted smiled as Trent raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Or thereabouts, I guess. My apartment is near the stadium, but y'all have a surprising lack of signs for it around here. Like y'all just know where to go or something."

Trent sighed. "You've found us out. Brits are genetically programmed to automatically locate any football pitch."

It was Ted's turn for his eyebrows to raise. "Was that a joke, Trent Crimm, The Independent? I love that droll sarcasm y'all got over here."

"Ted?"

"Yes, Trent Crimm, The Independent?"

"For fuck's sake, just call me Trent." Ted's eyes sparkled as Trent swore at him, knowing he had pushed a button. "As you said, we're not at Nelson Road."

"No, we are not. Could you please point me in the right direction, Trent?" Ted put the same little extra emphasis on the other man's name just as Trent had done for him mere moments ago.

"I could actually do you one better," Trent said with a sigh of resignation. "I was heading to an assisted living facility near Nelson Road. Would you like to walk with me?"

A warm smile spread across Ted's face and Trent kept a neutral guise as he recognized the relief and gratitude on the other man's face. "I just got turned around is all, Trent. I don't think I need to be put in a nursing home just yet," Ted joked. "But seriously, I would like that very much, sir. To walk with you. I appreciate you."

The two man walked in fairly comfortable silence for nearly a minute when Ted, with his hands clenched in his pockets, asked, "So… assisted living facility?"

Trent nodded. "My granddad. On my father's side. My parents usually visit him on Christmas, but they're on holiday celebrating their anniversary, so I volunteered among the siblings to be the one to take over granddad duties this year since I knew I wouldn't have Maddy this afternoon."

"That's mighty generous of you."

"Eh," Trent said. "My sisters have families of their own and live further away. But, truth be told, it wasn't magnanimity driving me today. I selfishly didn't want to be alone all afternoon."

"I get that," Ted said quietly toward the ground before clearing his throat and looking back up at Trent. "You, uh, close with your granddad?"

Trent smiled at the question, as if he was remembering something pleasant. Ted had seen Trent smile like that once before during one of the times he bumped into the other man while Trent was out with his daughter. Trent seemed so closed off among the folks in the press pool that it was nice seeing this softer side to him. It was like an emotional eclipse—rare, but awe-inspiring.

"I am," Trent said fondly. "He's the one who introduced me to football when I was a child. He'd take me to matches and he set up a makeshift goal for me in his and Gran's backyard."

"Did you play growing up? Like at school or for your community or anything?"

"I did. Not very well, mind you. There's a reason I write about sports for a living instead of play them." Trent chuckled quietly to himself. "What about you? Did you play football growing up? American football, I mean. Since that's what you coached back in America?"

It was Ted's turn to laugh. "You know, I actually played basketball. Y'all have that here? Bunch of tall gents running up and down a court tossing a ball into a hoop."

"But you're not—"

"—Tall? Oh, I am well aware," Ted said with a grin. "But I was in grade school. I hit a growth spurt before my classmates and, for a while there, I was the tallest in the bunch. Then they all got taller and I stayed the same height. I peaked too early, Trent."

"And football?"

Ted shook his head. "Never played. But like you I went to a bunch of games with my grandpa and my dad. I learned that sport inside and out because it was something they loved, you know? And I loved it too. The strategy. How it truly is a team effort to move the ball up and down the field, or stop the other guys from trying to do just that. Coaching was a way for me to share my love of the game with likeminded folks while also helping them become better men in the process. Kinda sneak those life lessons in there when I could."

"Like what you're doing with the Richmond team." It wasn't a question. Trent had seen firsthand Ted's seemingly odd methods for getting those young men inspired.

"Yes, sir," Ted said with a smile. "Sometimes a nudge in the right direction off the field makes a bigger impact on the field than yelling something from the sidelines."

"That's a good quote," Trent said, more to himself than to Ted. He reached for his notebook, but stopped himself.

"I'll say it again sometime on the record, but I'm liking not having to worry about what comes out of my mouth today, if it's all the same to you."

"Of course," Trent said as they came to an intersection near Nelson Road. He had to make a right to get to the assisted living facility. He wasn't sure which way Ted had to go. "Well… I'm off this way. I assume you can get to your flat from here all right?"

Ted looked around at their surroundings and nodded. He did know where he was now, but he also wasn't looking forward to going back to his building. There was nothing there for him except for whiskey, It's a Wonderful Life, and more reminders of how he was alone on Christmas.

"Do you think it'd be okay if I walked with you to your granddad's place, now that I know where I am? It's just that I'm enjoying the heck outta your company," Ted admitted. "You're easy to talk to without the notebook. Of which I mean no disrespect to you or your profession," Ted was quick to add on. "You're a damn fine journalist, Trent."

Ted and Trent both knew Ted was rambling, but he had also said out loud something Trent had been thinking during their walk—he was enjoying Ted's company too.

The only substantial amount of time the two men spent together, one-on-one, was soon after Ted first came to coach Richmond. It was an odd day and one that Trent thought about often, though he would never admit it to anyone. How forthcoming Ted was with Trent's questions, even after Trent had asked, rather rudely during a press conference, if Ted's hiring had been "a fucking joke." It wasn't one of Trent's finer moments, but he had been mad someone who was such a stranger to the sport was now coaching the team he had loved his whole life. It didn't shake Ted.

At least it didn't seem to.

When Trent was finally able to overlook the odd accent and unyielding politeness, he found Ted to be a smart and compassionate man. Someone football needed. Someone Trent was warming up to being around because he liked smart and compassionate men. The truth was, he liked Ted and liked knowing he couldn't act on liking Ted because Ted was off limits in more ways than one. It was a harmless schoolboy crush that reminded Trent he was, in fact, capable of feeling and he wasn't the heartless monster some of his readers claimed him to be.

"I'm enjoying your company as well," Trent said with as genuine a smile as he could offer as he gestured to the right. "The facility is this way."

They slipped back into conversation and, before either of them were aware, Ted was still next to Trent's side as they approached the check-in desk inside the assisted living facility where guests signed in and received visitor badges.

It was only when the woman handed Trent two badges that he and Ted realized what had happened. Ted laughed easily and went to excuse himself to go back to his place, but Trent caught his elbow as Ted started to back away.

"Stay. If you want, I mean," Trent said, trying to cover up the slight beg in his voice even though his eyes plead for Ted not to leave. "My granddad likes meeting new people."

Without breaking eye contact, Ted nodded. "Okay. Yeah. It'd be my pleasure." With Trent's hand still on his elbow, Ted turned to the woman at the sign-in desk. "I guess you want me to put my John Hancock on that visitor list, huh?" The woman gave him an odd look. "Oh, sorry. Y'all don't like him over here as much as we got a kick out of him over there. That's my bad."