TWs: Ted Lasso's panic attack from S2E6 is observed, but not discussed in depth at all.

Some lines of dialogue taken from S2E1 and S2E7.

The start of the new football season felt like a blessing, as Trent was grateful to be back in the press room and away from his editor, Eric, who had spent most of the summer trying to get Trent to go back through his work that was posted on the web and insert words and phrases from an SEO list he was given by the marketing department. Trent tried to reason with him that he would try to use the list of words/phrases organically in anything he wrote going forward, but he wasn't going to change what had already been printed and posted. If Eric wanted that to happen, one of the interns or assistants could do it. It wasn't worth Trent's time, nor his energy, to go back through hundreds upon hundreds of articles.

Richmond's first match of the season was a doozy, with the accidental death of the team's mascot, Earl, via a kicked ball from Dani Rojas. Trent was glad he hadn't brought Alice with him, as he sometimes did. She still didn't have a great grasp on what death was and he wasn't ready to have that conversation with her just yet.

Though the death of Earl was a grim cloud over the match, Trent hoped to spin the accident into a more personal write-up for The Independent, as opposed to the usual Richmond lost, but here were some interesting plays angle. The profile he did on Ted last season did well online and gave Trent the idea to focus each match's overview as a means to dive a little deeper into one of the players or coaches' stories—humanize those involved with the team to The Independent's readers a bit.

When Ted called on him at the press conference, Trent stood up and announced himself, as per usual, but everyone else in the room filled in his publication for him, en masse. He didn't take offense—in fact, it amused him—and proceeded to ask Ted if there was any comment about Earl. Earl had been with the Greyhounds longer than Ted, but he figured Ted could still provide a heartfelt quote about the late mascot.

Ted didn't have a quote, though. Instead, he told a story about a dog he had grown up around. One who had attacked him as a child (causing Ted to be afraid of dogs) and then who Ted later befriended and took care of until it had to be put down when Ted was in high school. Trent wasn't expecting the melancholic glimpse into Ted's past like that, but was grateful for it all the same. He watched Ted disappear into his own words and wondered when the last time was that Ted thought of that experience, let alone shared it out loud. Even though it was relatable, the story also seemed deeply personal—like it was a defining moment in Ted Lasso's own coming-of-age story—and Trent felt honored to be among the people hearing it firsthand from the man himself.

The story didn't quite answer Trent's question about Earl, but at the same time Ted's response was both a question and answer unto itself. This was the first time Trent had seen Ted in months and his wistfulness regarding his past with this dog (whose affect on Ted's life ran the gamut of emotions) burrowed its way straight to Trent's heart and made itself at home.

"It's funny to think about the things in your life that can make you cry just knowing that they existed, and then become the same thing that make you cry knowing that they're now gone," Ted said as he stared at something only he could see. "I think those things come into our lives to help us get from one place to a better one." Ted looked at Trent to finish answering his question that he didn't really answer. "And I hope we helped Earl do just that. We gonna miss him around here a whole bunch. Yeah."

Ted's eyes were wet and his voice was laced with a sadness Trent had never heard from the other man before. Trent couldn't help but smile at Ted's vulnerability because he was shamelessly appreciative for it. There was no attempt by Ted to hide or cover what he was feeling and Trent felt oddly proud of him. It made feel Trent that much more grateful that Coach Lasso was the man seated in the front of the room. Trent had worried Ted might be sacked after being unable to keep the team from relegation, but the entire coaching staff was in tact for this new season, with the permanent addition of former kit man Nathan Shelley as an assistant coach.

When the presser was over, Trent surprised himself when he walked up to Ted on his own volition.

"Welcome back, Coach Lasso," Trent said as he took off his glasses and held them in his hand.

"Why thank you, Trent Crimm, The Independent," Ted said with a smile. "Glad to still see you among the folks covering the game today. Uh… what I mean is, I didn't know if you only covered Premier League teams."

Trent smiled and chuckled. "I guess I relegated myself," he admitted, which caused Ted to look both amused and confused. "Because of my seniority with the paper, I could have swapped a colleague for a Premier League team to cover this season, but I opted to stay with Richmond."

"Any particular reason?" Ted asked, his eyes twinkling like he expected a saucy secret to come his way.

Trent went to adjust his glasses, but realized he was holding them. "Well, Nelson Road is within walking distance of my flat." If that wasn't one of the dumbest things to ever come out of Trent's mouth, he didn't know what was.

Ted just grinned and shook his head. "Well, there ya go. Lower that carbon footprint."

Coach Beard (whose first name Trent had yet to learn, despite dedicating time to research just that) ducked his head back into the press room. "Coach." He nodded his head toward the hallway and Ted stood up as if it were a reflex to Beard's request.

"Be right there, mon frère," Ted said to his fellow coach before turning back around to address Trent. He stuck out his hand, which Trent shook. "I guess I'll see ya same bat-time, same bat-channel." When Trent gave Ted a supremely confused look as he let go of his hand, Ted laughed and said, "Looks like someone missed out on Adam West Batman reruns as a kid. Now, that's a darn shame. He was easily the best Batman ever, though I do get why people enjoy that fella from Newsies." Ted saluted Trent and headed for the door, but not before pausing to say, "It's good to see you, Trent. Please tell your sister and little Miss Giant Alice I say hello."

"Will do," Trent said with a nod as Ted exited.

On his walk home, Trent replayed his conversation with Ted in his head, wondering if he should have said It's good to see you too. I stayed with Richmond because I believe you can coach this team to a winning season now that you've got your footing with the players. But what he knew that really meant, even though he would never say it out loud, was I stayed because of you.

It wasn't like Trent hadn't been busy during the off-season. There were some long-form investigative pieces he had gotten a chance to be a part of after butting heads with Eric, in addition to doing some freelance profiles of various players and coaches he had done for a few international publications. That, on top of taking care of Alice, took up a majority of Trent's time. He knew his sister hoped he would go on at least one date, but that never happened. He did manage to go to most of the Sunday dinners at his parents' home. They were more tolerable because of Alice—while Gerald Crimm hadn't exactly doted on his son when he was a young boy, he was really leaning into the whole being a granddad gig. Trent wanted to question Why now? but he bit his tongue and tried to be grateful Alice didn't dread visiting her grandparents.

But when Trent wasn't at work, or being hands-on with Alice, or being appreciative of his parents' affection for their granddaughter, Trent's thoughts sometimes did drift to Ted that summer. He would forever blame Allie for planting that seed, but Trent wondered about what happened with Ted for him to no longer be wearing his wedding ring. He wondered how he was doing back in America and whether he was coming back. He wondered how one person could seem to get so much joy from helping other people discover parts of themselves that no one else had celebrated. He wondered what it meant that this felt so different than when he first realized he fancied Thomas.

As the start of the season drew nearer and it was confirmed Ted was still the coach of the Greyhounds, Trent tried to rationalize with himself that he didn't actually like Ted as anything more than someone who was friendly to him and his family. That the seemingly silly crush he was harboring was of his own design—something to distract him from actually trying to find someone. That pining after someone unattainable was safe because nothing could happen. Not that Trent was pining. Just thinking and wondering. Wondering and thinking. He was sure as soon as he saw Ted at the press conference, he would realize how ridiculous he was being and everything could go back to how it was the prior season.

But then Ted told that story about that dog and Trent's plan went to shit. Ted was still an unattainable entity, obviously, but the silly crush was alive and well. Unlike Earl. (Rest in peace, Earl.) Trent was a professional, though. And he would do his job, and do it well, because that's what needed to be done.

It worked for a while. Work was busy. Alice was enrolled in pre-school and Trent had signed her up for a parent/child program where kids got to try out a bunch of different activities to see if they had early interest in any particular arts or sports. So, at least one afternoon a week, Trent and Alice (alongside other kids her age and at least one of their guardians) would partake in anything from painting to ballet to football. Trent tried not to let it bother him that he was the oldest person there by probably 10 years and the only single dad. It helped that Alice seemed to enjoy every activity she tried and didn't get frustrated or bored like some of the other kids. (He counted that as a parenting win.)

Richmond's season began with a string of draws and Trent wondered if that was somehow his fault—that the team he was covering was stuck because he himself was stuck. Things got exponentially exciting, though, when the Richmond team came out onto the field, each player with a wide piece of black tape covering the Dubai Air logo on their jersey. Led by Sam Obisanya, the men of the Richmond football club were taking a stand against Dubai Air's parent company Cerithium Oil, which was polluting Obisanya's home country of Nigeria as the government turned a blind eye to the destruction.

In the press room after Richmond's loss, Trent was energized when Sam didn't want to talk about football. So much so, that Trent asked, on the record, if Sam was openly accusing the Nigerian government of corruption. When Sam said yes, Trent knew that was what he needed to write about from that match—not that the Greyhounds finally broke their streak of draws with a loss, but that one of the team's star players was as influential and passionate off the field as he was on it.

Trent spent that night researching Cerithium Oil's relationship to the Nigerian government, pulling numbers about how much money was spent and on what. He was proud of what he was able to gather overnight and marched into Eric's office the following day, eager to pitch a longer piece about the amount of money the Nigerian government was willing to spend even though it was hurting its own citizens.

"Nope," Eric said, not even batting an eyelash.

"I beg your pardon?" Trent asked, both confused and annoyed. "Eric, this is a huge deal and something people need to know about."

"Sure, but not from you," Eric said. "Write about the game."

"I have," Trent said, "but I would like do a piece on this too. I've already started on the research."

It had been a rhetoric statement, but Eric answered anyway. "Great. You can pass your notes along to whoever gets the assignment."

"I want to be the one who writes this," Trent said through gritted teeth.

"Why? Because you're a Nigerian whose home is being destroyed from a corrupt government and their oil buddies?" Eric asked. "No? I didn't think so. Someone in the world politics section will handle this."

Trent knew he needed to remove himself from Eric's office before he said something he regretted. Mouth pinched shut, he trudged back to his desk and scrolled through pictures of his daughter while he took deep breaths to calm down. More than 20 years into his career, Trent thought he would be doing bigger things with his writing at this point.

With a sigh, he opened up a new document on his computer and started typing an overview of the game the night before. If the Greyhounds could get themselves out of their rut, he could too.

On instinct, Trent rose out of his seat as Ted Lasso, hands in his pockets, started running off the pitch mid-Tottenham Spurs match. It was only after the people sitting behind him in the press box yelled at him to sit down that Trent realized he was at work and it wasn't his business or responsibility to do anything about anything with regard to a coach leaving the field (except to put it in his notes and remember to include it in his writeup for the following day).

It was no surprise that Ted was not in the press room after the match, nor that any of the other coaches offered up much of an update besides that Ted had food poisoning. Though he jotted that piece of information down, it didn't sit well with Trent. He had seen Ted put his hands in his pockets before when he seemed nervous. Trent's own experience with food poisoning was that when it hits you, it doesn't make you nervous, it just makes you extremely ill. Ted putting his hands in his pockets was a purposeful reaction to whatever was going on with him. And, whatever it was, Trent hoped Ted was okay.

Trent understood being nervous, as he very much was too lately. When Bantr became Richmond's sponsor after the whole Dubai Air debacle, Trent downloaded the app out of curiosity. He had used pretty much every dating app in existence while he and Thomas were apart, and then had started to revisit them over the summer. Though there were plenty of attractive men on there, Trent swiped right on everyone mostly because he didn't feel ready to date yet, but partially because the one person he realized he was actually interested in was not even remotely a potential option. And also because almost everyone's profile was either a grammatical disaster or they didn't have one at all. Like a heavily photoshopped and filtered profile pic was supposed to be enough to entice you to swipe right.

Trent was in his mid-40s, for fuck's sake. He wanted more from someone than a fake picture. And that was why Bantr didn't seem half bad.

Having to use only written conversation to connect on Bantr was the ideal scenario for Trent and he found himself on the app most evenings after Alice was in bed. Not all of the conversations he had with men on there were intellectually stimulating, but there was one person, username MadeASadSongBetter/actual name Jude (yes, like the Beatles song…), who Trent looked forward to messaging with. After a couple weeks of easy back and forth, Jude asked Trent out for dinner at the Crown & Anchor and—without even consulting Allie—he accepted. A day and time was set. Jude said he'd be wearing a striped shirt so Trent would recognize him when he got there.

Allie did end up having to watch Alice that night since Trent's usual evening sitter became unavailable at the last minute, so Trent did have to fess up that his evening out was for pleasure and not work. (Allie had already figured that out, as she already had Richmond's schedule in her calendar. Nothing could get past her.)

"She can stay here for the night, you know," Allie told her brother as he dropped Alice off at her home. Alice ran straight to back of the house where Uncle Ant usually could be found with the box of treats she only was allowed to have while visiting when neither of her cousins were home. "In case you want to have someone over."

"It's a first date, Al," Trent said through gritted teeth as he handed his sister Alice's bag of toys, snacks, and medicine for the cold she had.

"Fine… then how about you let me keep her so you can have a night by yourself?" Allie asked.

"Only if she wants to stay," Trent said.

"Hey Al," Allie yelled across the house. "You want to stay with me and Uncle Ant tonight?"

"YES PLEASE," Alice yelled back, followed by a maniacal shriek of laughter.

Allie shrugged when Trent looked betrayed. "Her majesty has spoken."

"Fine, I'll pick her up tomorrow morning," Trent said, slightly annoyed. His face softened, though, when he reminded himself how truly grateful he was for his sister and her family. He knew things would be so much harder for him if they weren't around/supportive. "Thank you, and Ant, for doing this."

"It's our pleasure," Allie said before turning her brother around and shoving him gently back out the door. "Go have fun. Call me later if you need to. But I hope not to hear from you until tomorrow, do you understand?"

Trent nodded as he gave her a wave without turning back around. It was only a date. He could do this. He had been on dates before.

When Trent walked into the Crown & Anchor and saw a mustached man in a striped shirt waiting for him at the bar, he almost apologized and walked straight out of the pub. Instead, he took a second to collect himself, plastered on what he hoped was a friendly smile, and approached who he was sure was Jude. They exchanged hellos and found a booth, each ordering a pint of lager to start.

Talking to Jude in person didn't come quite as easily to Trent as messaging on Bantr. The addition of tone and awareness of a need to keep conversation going, as opposed to just having bits of chat strung together over several evenings, was ever-present. Jude was friendly, though, and that let Trent ease up just a bit. He was up front with not having been on a date in a while and that he was a single father, mindful not to overshare or go into detail about anything. He didn't want to scare Jude off (or worse, bore him) and figured if this went anywhere, there would be plenty of time to dive deeper into their pasts, presents, and futures later. That night, Trent was just hoping to enjoy himself and talk to another adult man who was also looking for connection.

Jude seemed kind enough. He was a maths teacher for a secondary school in the area and liked anything related to science fiction. That wasn't really Trent's favorite genre, but he appreciated when people were unabashedly passionate about books and niche popular culture.

Over three lagers apiece and shared platters of appetizers, Trent and Jude spent a pleasant couple hours smiling at each other and laughing a little easier than Trent knew he usually would (were he not tipsy and nervous). When Jude asked Trent if he was interested in coming around to his place to continue talking with a bit more privacy, Trent threw caution to the wind and agreed, remembering he didn't have to pick up Alice that night.

Trent insisted on paying the bill and left a generous tip for the lad who waited on them (Trent had been to the Crown & Anchor enough over the years to know everyone on staff and knew Ian was working his way through university while supporting his mum). As he and Jude were making their way toward the exit, Trent saw Ted Lasso sitting at the bar and his first thought was how grateful he was to see the other man in person after whatever it was that happened at the Spurs match.

The Spurs match.

Trent could talk to Ted about the Spurs match. Yes. Work. He needed to talk to Ted about work stuff. That was fine to do. Especially for a scoop. Yes. Scoop. Eric would love that.

(Fuck Eric.)

Trent grabbed Jude's arm and told him he'd be outside in two seconds before strolling over toward Ted.

"Of all the pub joints…" Trent joked, startling Ted who was mid-sip of his beer.

"Trent Crimm of The Independent," Ted said with a mild look of panic in his eyes as he crossed his arms and hunched over a bit, as if he was trying to disappear. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was just having a bite to eat, you know?" Trent said, wondering why he didn't just say he was on a date and saw Ted on his way out the door. "As we're here, I would love to get an official statement about your early departure from the Spurs match." Trent pulled his glasses from his jacket pocket and slid them on and then got out his notebook and pen, going into reporter-mode (because why else would he walk over to Ted in the first place if not for work…).

Besides… it wasn't like they were friends. It wasn't like Trent was wishing the mustached man whose flat he was headed to after leaving the Crown & Anchor was the man's in front of him and not the own who he had just asked to wait outside.

Don't be tipsy, Trent was telling himself as he was also trying to telepathically encourage Ted to tell him why he really left the pitch during the Spurs match.

Ted stuck with the food poisoning story, but Trent could tell from the look in Ted's eyes and the way his shoulders stayed tense the entire time he was talking that that wasn't the truth. If it was anybody else, Trent would have kept asking questions, but he couldn't do that to Ted—not when Ted looked like he was mentally preparing himself to be ripped open and exposed by someone he thought he could trust. Ted hadn't shoved his hands into his pockets at all, but his arms stayed crossed and his body language screamed he was uncomfortable even if his voice remained measuredly even. Trent was a good journalist, but he wasn't heartless. A scoop wasn't worth hurting someone, especially if that someone was Ted.

So, with a smile and a "Love our chats," Trent let Ted off the hook. He had taken up enough of Ted's free time and made him feel unsafe—a horrible combination of offenses against someone who you professionally respected and privately had feelings toward—on top of the fact that Jude was hopefully still waiting for him outside.

Jude. Shit. He was on a date.

Trent thanked Mae on his way out of the pub and was glad to see that Jude hadn't left without him.

"Hey, thanks for waiting," Trent said.

"Of course," Jude said with a wider smile than Trent felt he deserved. "Is everything okay?"

Trent nodded. "Yeah… just had to get a quote for work."

"For work? Don't you cover football?" Jude asked as he gestured for Trent to start walking with them in a direction away from the pub and down a side street.

"I do… that was Richmond's head coach in there. He missed the last press conference, so I was following up about a potential story," Trent said.

"Oh, right," Jude said. "He's the one who got food poisoning, yeah?"

"Yes," Trent said. "Food poisoning."

Jude's flat was only a few blocks from the pub, though in the opposite direction of how Trent would get to his own if that's where he was headed. Small talk about football filled the time it took to enter Jude's building and walk up the couple flights of stairs to his front door.

Trent was impressed by how neat and clean Jude's living room was and wondered if it was always like that, or if he had meticulously straightened it in hopes that he would be bringing Trent back after their date.

Jude told Trent to have a seat and asked if Trent wanted anything from the fully stocked bar of fairly decent brands of spirits that was situated under a print of Van Gogh's Starry Night. Trent agreed to a whiskey and made a mental note that the bottle Jude poured from had been priorly unopened. So… either Jude was not a whiskey drinker, or this was a new bottle specifically meant to fill out the bar. Trent had taken off his glasses and slid them in his pocket as Jude handed him his tumbler. He didn't see what Jude poured for himself, but it was something clear. Probably gin or vodka. Trent wasn't one for clear alcohol—it reminded him of university and G&Ts with Thomas and even then he hadn't liked it.

After clinking their glasses together and chuckling as they each sipped their drink, Jude situated himself toward Trent in a way that very clearly indicated to Trent that the other man had more on his mind than just chatting. It was something Trent thought about on their walk over and he decided if Jude initiated something, then he would figure it out in the moment if it's what he wanted to.

Jude took off his own glasses and put them and his glass on his coffee table. Trent allowed Jude to take his tumbler out of his hand and set it on the table as well. When Jude cupped his hand to Trent's jaw and leaned in for a tentative first kiss, Trent didn't stop him. The contact was brief and more mustache than mouth. Trent wondered if that's what it would feel like if Ted kissed him. Ted's mustache was nicer than Jude's. Ted wasn't there though. This was Jude in Jude's flat and Jude was the one kissing him. Trent tried to make up for his roaming thoughts by kissing Jude back with more enthusiasm than he was actually feeling because he thought that might be what Jude wanted. Because Jude certainly must have been expecting something, right? It was his flat. They were drinking his alcohol. He was the one who asked Trent on the date.

And as much as Trent had said to his sister that he wasn't ready to go out on a date, he realized he was. The drinks. The dinner. The smiles. The laughter. Accidentally bumping into each other on the walk after. Tasting each other's drink of choice as they made out on the couch like they weren't grown men who had bills to pay and therapy appointments to keep. It was all completely doable and Trent was grateful to know that.

It just didn't feel right with Jude. And that wasn't Jude's fault at all.

To his credit, Jude figured it out for himself. He pulled away when something changed in how Trent was kissing and reacting to being kissed. It was like a switch had gone off and the light inside Trent was out.

"I'm so sorry," Trent said quietly as Jude backed away from him. "Tonight's been lovely. It has. But I should go…"

"I can't say I'm not disappointed," Jude admitted. "But it's better to figure it out sooner than later, isn't it?"

Trent wanted to hug Jude for the smile he was able to offer even though Trent knew he was ruining the other man's night. It was true, though. Better to figure it out that night than months or years from now. They both had to want it. And while Trent did want something again, he couldn't go on right then. Not when he was thinking about someone else.

Instead of taking a cab to his flat, Trent walked. He wondered what it meant that he hadn't thought of Thomas the whole night except for when Jude poured himself gin. He wondered if he was only thinking so much about Ted because he saw Ted, and that was just an excuse to keep thinking about him instead of giving Jude a real chance.

He did like Ted, though, and thought about him often. He still very much wondered why he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. He wondered what went on in his head to cause him to stick his hands inside his pockets. Why he ran off the field at the Spurs match. Why he always has that look in his eyes like he's genuinely glad to be among the living. How he has such a positive attitude about life and the team even when people (including Trent) have thrown wrench after wrench at him. Trent wondered what made Ted happy. Who made Ted happy. If he could be one of those people.

But it didn't matter. Ted was the coach of the team Trent covered for work. Immediate conflict of interest right there. Ted was straight, as far as Trent knew. If he was, that was also an immediate no. If he wasn't, it still didn't matter because there was still a conflict of interest because of work and even if Ted happened to like men, it didn't mean that Trent would necessarily be a man that Ted liked like that.

Once inside his flat, Trent locked his front door, took off his glasses and the jacket he was wearing, and then flopped down onto his couch, covering his face with both hands.

He hoped when he was sober, this would all just seem like an unfortunate spiral brought on by the random coincidence that Jude happened to have a mustache and Ted happened to be at the Crown & Anchor while Trent was there on his date. It didn't have to be anything more than the alcohol-induced mind ramblings of a lonely man.

He was such a lonely man.

"It is barely 10 o'clock, Trent," Allie said in lieu of Hello when Trent rang her up after his shower. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Trent grumbled into the phone. He was already less tipsy than earlier. Now he was just frustrated as he sat on his bed with his hair done up in a towel to dry it some.

"Oooooo, did he leave when you bored him to death talking about football?"

"No," Trent said, too tired to even come up with some witty retort. "I left, actually. Mid-snog."

"Oh… I'm sorry," Allie said, concerned. "Are you all right?"

"No," Trent replied. "I mean, I am. But I'm not." He sighed. "I was doing fine tonight, Al. Drinks and dinner were fine. Jude was nice. Smart. Teaches maths. But I couldn't get past the fact that he was not who I wanted to be kissing."

"That's okay," Allie said gently. "No one expected you to find your soulmate or whatever on your first first date after Thomas."

Trent scratched his head through the towel. He had had a first first date before, with Thomas. And now he had a first first date post-Thomas. There were so many more first firsts to go and that was already exhausting.

"How'd Alice do tonight?" Trent asked, not wanting to talk about Thomas or first first anythings.

"No, no, no, you don't get to change the subject like that. Al's fine. Ant read her five stories. She's an angel. It was so smart of you to have a girl."

"You know I had nothing to do with that," Trent said.

"You know what I mean," Allie said, knowing she said something she probably shouldn't have. "Boys are trouble. Your kid is the best."

"She is," Trent said with a small smile. "And boys are trouble."

"Which includes you," Allie remarked.

"I won't argue with that," Trent said before sighing. "But you're trouble too."

"How do you figure?" Allie asked.

"I like Ted," Trent said quietly.

There was a lengthy pause before Allie finally spoke up. "Oh," Allie said.

"Yeah," Trent said. "I saw him at the pub tonight and we talked and then he was all I could think about when Jude was kissing me and I just couldn't…"

"Trent, it's okay—"

"—No, it's not," Trent said. "It's unprofessional."

"Well… what are you going to do about it?" Allie asked.

"I'll get over it," Trent said. "I have to. I can't like him like that, Al. So if you could just help me out and not talk about him, or tease me about him, or bring him up ever again, I would really appreciate it."

"I'm so sorry," Allie said softly.

"I'd ask for a transfer to a different team, but I think that would draw attention to something I would rather not draw any attention to," Trent said. "I just need to get through the rest of this season in one piece and then I will try again with the dating apps or whatever, I promise."

"You don't have to promise me anything, Trent. It's your life."

"No part of my life feels like it's mine—everything's either for work or for Alice," Trent said. "Though the ultimate irony of that is the pieces I most want to write for work keep getting given to other people. So work's not mine either." He almost said Neither is Alice, but he didn't. She was his. She was his everything.

"Maybe you should just start over," Allie said. "Go back to university and study astrophysics or welding or something."

Trent sighed. "Yeah, maybe."

"It will all be okay, little brother," Allie said.

"Yeah, maybe," Trent repeated.

"Try and get some sleep."

"You know that's not going to happen," Trent said.

"I'm sorry your night was shit," Allie said. "See you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yes. Tomorrow."