Like A Coastal Shelf

by WinterSky101

Trent has a difficult phone call. Ted tries to help him in the aftermath. Takes place mid-to-late season 3.

The title comes from Philip Larkin's "This Be The Verse" (the poem Mae recites in 3.11).

---

It was late enough in the evening that Ted didn't expect anyone to be in the office anymore, so he didn't bother knocking before stepping in. His keys were waiting on the desk, just like he thought they would be, and otherwise, the office was…

Not empty. Trent was sitting at his desk, bent over, his head in his hands.

Ted probably could have slipped out without Trent noticing that he'd entered the room at all. He could have just left Trent to whatever was bothering him. He could have gone without saying a word…

But Ted had never been one to leave a friend who looked like they needed someone.

"Oh, hey, Trent," he said brightly. "I didn't know anyone else was in here. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Trent jumped at the sound of Ted's voice, his head whipping up and around. "Ted! No, I'm- I'm done here. Sorry, did you need something?"

"Oh, not from you, don't worry. You're all good. I just forgot my keys." Ted stepped up to the open door that separated his and Beard's part of the office from Trent and Roy's. "Say, Trent, you alright? You look a little… ah, what do y'all say over here, peaky?"

Trent made a face that was probably an attempt at a reassuring smile. "I- I'm fine. Just a… difficult phone call."

Ted nodded. "Ah, I hear you. Wanna talk about it? I think Higgins has left, but I could grab Beard. Pretty sure he hasn't gotten too far. Little emergency Diamond Dogs meeting? What about it?"

The look on Trent's face made his answer clear before he even opened his mouth. "No. Um, thank you, but I don't think that's necessary."

Ted told himself not to push. "Alright, whatever you say. You don't gotta talk about anything you don't want to." He couldn't help pushing a little, though, and he added, "You do have someone you can talk to about it, though, right? Doesn't have to be us. I know there's some things I don't discuss with all the Diamond Dogs. Sometimes, it's just Beard, and sometimes… Well, sometimes, I just go right to Dr. Sharon and talk to her, and I don't talk to anyone else about it. It's all perfectly fine. But it does help to talk about it sometimes, with somebody, at least. You got somebody you can talk to?"

Trent looked at him for a moment, then his gaze flickered down to his desk. "I…"

Ted figured maybe it was alright to push a little more, as long as he didn't push too much. "We can talk about it, if you want. Don't need to get the others. Or we could just, ah, go get something for dinner, how about that? We could go to the Crown & Anchor, maybe. Or we could go somewhere else, if you want. Or- Guess we don't gotta go anywhere, not if you don't want to. Just thought it might be nice not to, you know, be alone. We don't gotta talk about anything, not if you don't want to. I mean, I'll probably talk about something, cause I honestly do not know if I could stay silent for an entire meal, but we don't need to talk about… this."

Ted was babbling. Ted was babbling a lot. But Trent looked… small, and Ted hated the thought of him going back home alone with something clearly weighing on him. If that was what he really wanted, Ted would let him go, but… Well, he'd seen the way Trent had started growing more and more open the more time he spent at Richmond, and he'd noticed how much every little interaction and invitation made him light up, and he didn't think Trent wanted to be alone.

"That… sounds nice, actually," Trent admitted after a long moment, and Ted felt himself relax. "If it wouldn't be a bother."

"Not a bother at all," Ted assured him immediately. "Wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to do it. Crown & Anchor sound good, or you wanna go somewhere else?"

"No, that- That sounds fine."

"Alright, sounds good!" Ted beamed at him and turned to leave the office, then he turned back. "Just, ah- Ope! Gotta grab these. Don't think I'd get too far without 'em." He scooped his keys off his desk, then he paused, considering. "Well, actually, I guess I could get all the way home without 'em, and it wouldn't be a problem until I tried to get in the front door. Okay, you ready?"

Trent blinked at him, then he looked down at his desk. "I- Yes, just let me get my things."

"Alright, you need a hand?"

Trent began gathering his notebooks and pens. "No, I'm fine. Thank you."

"Sounds good, Jeff Wood! Just let me let Beard know that I'll be busy tonight."

Trent froze halfway through sliding his laptop into his bag. "Oh, I didn't realize- If you had plans-"

"Ah, nah, we didn't have any plans," Ted reassured him quickly. "Just sometimes, if I don't got plans and he don't got plans, we end up having dinner together or something. Mostly at the Crown & Anchor, actually. Gosh, either Mae loves us, or she's getting real sick of us. Probably depends on how many games we've won recently." He looked over Trent's emptied desk. "You good to go?"

"Yes, I think that's everything." Ted nodded at him, then he opened the door out to the hall and gestured for Trent to pass him. Trent looked surprised for a moment, then he scurried past Ted. "Oh, uh, thank you."

"No problemo." Ted grinned. "Now, you got a car down in the lot, right? I still haven't gotten the hang of this whole wrong side of the road thing you guys got going on here, so I mostly walk or take the bus. Y'all got really good public transit 'round here, you know that? Back in Kansas, we've got some pretty decent transit in Kansas City, and then outside of that? Not much. School buses, mostly. Do y'all have school buses here?"

"Er, not exactly in the way you do in America, I believe," Trent replied. He looked as if he couldn't quite fathom where Ted's monologue was going, which was a look Ted got often. He was going along with it gamely though, which was a less common reaction and one Ted deeply appreciated.

"Yeah, well, guess you don't really need 'em in the same way that we do, since y'all got other options. Back in the US, you pretty much either take the bus to school, or your parent drives you in. Or you drive yourself, once you get old enough to do that. If you got a car, at least. How old y'all gotta be to drive 'round here?"

"Oh, ah, seventeen."

"Huh. It's sixteen in the States. You can get a learner's permit at fourteen, though. Aw, heck, that's less than five years out for Henry now. Oh, that is weird to think about. You ever feel like that with your daughter? I know she's a lot younger, but still. There've gotta be things that sneak up on you, right? She's, what, four?"

"Nearly five now," Trent replied, visibly softening at the change in topic. "And… yes, I do feel like that with her sometimes. She seems to get bigger every time I see her, somehow. Even if it's only a few days."

Ted nodded. "I getcha. Something weird about seeing a kid every day for years, and then suddenly only seeing 'em sometimes. Guess you get to see your daughter more than I see Henry, though, given that y'all live on the same continent."

Trent blinked as he held open the front door. "Well, yes." He looked a bit uncomfortable with the comparison and strode to his car quickly. "Ah, this one is mine."

"Right, right." Ted walked up to the left side. "And you want me on… this side, right?"

Trent shot him a dry look. "Since I assume I'll be driving, yes."

Ted laughed. "Yeah, definitely better if you drive. You know the way, right?"

"To the Crown & Anchor?" Trent replied, getting in behind the wheel. "Definitely."

"Oh yeah, I have seen you around there, haven't I? You asked for a statement once."

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, because Trent tensed up again, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he pulled out of the parking lot. "I… did, yes. Ted, I know I've apologized before, but… I really am sorry about that article."

It took Ted a moment to make the connection - Trent hadn't done anything with the statement he'd asked for, as far as Ted could recall - but then it clicked, and he knew exactly why Trent seemed tense. "Aw, heck, Trent, you know we're all good!" he said, hoping that playing up the Midwestern charm might calm him down. Trent seemed to find it endearing despite himself. "It's not like you said anything that wasn't true."

"It was just…" Trent looked determinedly out at the road in front of them, his hands still tight on the wheel. "I don't know what happened between you and Nate, and I'm not going to ask, but… He was angry. He came to me first, but he wanted it published. If I hadn't written it, he would have gone to someone else, and I thought… Better me than someone over at the Sun or the Daily Mail. I could… I wouldn't…"

Ted should have known better than to try a distraction with Trent; he was never one to let go of things. It was what had made him such a good journalist - a good journalist that, despite everything, Ted held no grudges against. "I know," he said, gentling his voice. "Don't think I didn't notice that, all things considered, it was actually a pretty nice article. No speculation on whether I was crazy or rude comments about mental health issues. I appreciated that."

Trent still didn't look at him. "I'm sorry I wrote anything at all."

"Nah, you're right, Trent. Nate was angry, and he was gonna get that story out there somehow. If it had to be somebody, I'm glad it was you."

"I'm just sorry it had to be anyone at all."

Ted shrugged. "Yeah, well, if wishes were horses." He saw the opportunity to lighten the mood and seized it. "Y'all got that saying over here?"

Trent hesitated a moment before replying, sounding slightly tentative. "I believe it originates from a Scottish nursery rhyme, so yes, we do."

"Wow, really?" Ted had meant for the words to distract Trent, not him, but he also hadn't expected that answer. "Always figured it was American for some reason. From some place like… Kentucky, maybe. Guess I just associate Kentucky with horses, what with the derby and all. Y'all got derbies over here?"

"Also initially British, actually."

Ted stared at Trent in awe. "Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, because I did not know that either. That's American style biscuits, by the way, not your cookies that you call biscuits."

Trent's lips twitched just slightly. "Yes, I suppose it does make marginally more sense that way."

Ted laughed, and they drove in silence for a few moments. Ted should have let it be, he should have just stayed quiet and let them drive…

But Ted had never been good with silences, and he was never one to stay quiet when a friend was hurting.

"Look," he said quietly, "whichever one you say, it's alright and I'll go with it, but I just want to confirm… Do you want to talk about the phone call or not?"

And there was the tension again, pulling in Trent's shoulders and tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "I'd rather not."

"Alright," Ted said, keeping his voice easy. "That's perfectly fine. Don't need to talk about it at all. Just wanted to check."

Trent was silent for a few moments, his knuckles still white around the wheel. "If I…" he began slowly. He paused, then began again. "Would it be alright if I changed my mind, later? I don't know that I'm going to, but…"

"It would absolutely be alright," Ted assured him. "You can change your mind any time. The offer to talk does not expire. You're one of us now, Trent. You're a Diamond Dog. And we take care of our own."

Trent's fingers flexed around the wheel. Ted almost wanted to reach out and touch him, but he wasn't sure how it would be taken; Trent always kept to himself, physically, and Ted hadn't figured out yet if that was because he wanted to be apart or just didn't dare come close. The car wasn't the right place to figure that out, no matter how much Ted did want to figure it out eventually.

"Thank you," Trent said after a few moments, his voice quiet.

"You're mighty welcome." Luckily, Trent pulled the car into a parking spot in front of a familiar building, and Ted beamed up at the Crown & Anchor. He thought they both needed the break from the conversation.

"Aw, hey, looks like we're here! It's much quicker in a car than walking, I'll tell you that."

"I would imagine so," Trent replied, his voice almost mild enough to hide the edge of amused sarcasm.

"Alrighty then," Ted said, getting out of the car and walking up to the door. "After you," he told Trent, opening it up and stepping aside. He let Trent pass through, then called out, "Mae! Table for two, if you would."

"Oh, just find a table anywhere," Mae dismissed. "Evening, Trent, nice to see you."

"Nice to see you too, Mae," Trent replied with a little twitch of his fingers that was nearly a wave.

"Now, wait a second, you two know each other?" Ted demanded, looking from Mae to Trent. "I didn't realize you came round here that often!"

"He's been a regular here longer than you've been in the country," Mae told Ted. "Doesn't come round quite as much now as he used to, but still more than often enough for me to know his name."

"Well, that is very interesting." Ted turned to Trent. "How come I've never seen you here other than that one time? Or did I miss you other times?"

"I… haven't been coming around much recently, like Mae said. Especially in the last few months," Trent replied. He sounded like he was hedging, but Ted decided he'd push some other time. "Since I left the Independent, things have been much more… hectic."

"I hear you. Changing jobs can be crazy," Ted agreed. "This table good?"

He gestured at the table he and Beard usually shared. Trent blinked down at it and nodded. Ted sat, looking up at Trent until he did the same.

"Alright, now, what do you want to eat? And it's on me."

Trent, predictably, protested. "Ted, I couldn't-"

"Nuh-uh, I don't wanna hear it," Ted said firmly. "If a friend of mine is having a hard time, the food is on me. Even if we're not gonna talk about it. Don't bother trying to fight me on this, cause it's not gonna get you anywhere."

"I-" Trent visibly relented. "Fine. Thank you, Ted."

"Of course, Trent! Now, what do you want to eat?"

"I'll have…" Trent took off his glasses and tapped his lower lip with them, then he tucked them away in his jacket. "Fish and chips, and a pint of whatever's on tap."

"Now, really?" Ted asked, leaning forward slightly. "You're gonna have fish and chips?"

"Is something wrong with that?" Trent asked. His voice was mild, but Ted couldn't quite tell if he really meant it.

"Nah, nothing wrong with it at all. I just figured you'd have something… fancy. Or unique. Feels like that would fit with your vibe a bit more, you know? You always seem fancy and professional."

Trent, to Ted's delight, snorted. "I assure you, I'm really not."

"Well, you always do surprise me," Ted said. "I figured you'd want to eat something I'd never even heard of before." He hesitated. "Although, actually, you surprised me too in ordering something like fish and chips. Always two steps ahead, huh?"

"I…" Trent looked honestly baffled. "Ted, I ordered fish and chips because I like fish and chips."

"Right, sure. You a good chess player, Trent?"

"Well, actually, yes, but that doesn't have anything to do with what I ordered for dinner."

"Uh huh, sure. Let me go place that order with Mae, and I'll be right back with you."

Trent looked bemused, but he nodded as Ted got up from his seat and went up to the bar.

"Hey, Mae, two orders of fish and chips and two pints of Guinness, thanks. And I'll be paying for it, don't let Trent try and convince you otherwise."

"I'll get that out to you soon," Mae agreed. She looked over at the table and lowered her voice as she added, "Is Trent alright? Seems a bit down."

Trent must have really been a regular regular for Mae to be able to tell. "Something's bothering him, but he don't really wanna talk about it. I'm just here to do my best to cheer him up and make sure he doesn't forget he's got friends who care about him."

Mae nodded. "You're a good lad, Ted. 'Specially now that you're winning more games than you're losing."

Ted mimed a blow. "Aw, Mae, gotta be careful you don't jinx it!"

Mae gave him an unimpressed look as she filled two pint glasses with beer. "Take your beers, you ridiculous man."

"Thanks, Mae!"

Trent was staring at the table when Ted returned, but he only jumped a little when Ted set the glasses down. "And here we are, two pints. Mae'll have the fish and chips ready for us soon."

Trent nodded. "Thank you."

"No problemo, Django," Ted replied, which wasn't his best rhyme, but worked well enough. Trent took a sip of his beer, but Ted was pretty sure he saw amusement on his face.

"So," Ted said, taking a sip of his own beer, "how's the book coming along?" A thought occurred to him, and he quickly added, "Unless that's what the difficult phone call was about? Wasn't your publisher or anything, was it?"

"No, the call was unrelated to the book," Trent assured him. He sounded like he was telling the truth. "Which is coming along nicely. I won't be able to finish it until the season ends, though, of course."

"Oh, right, of course. Can't finish the book without knowing the ending!"

Trent raised his beer glass in acknowledgment and took another sip.

"Say, Trent, I've actually got a question for you about your whole book thing," Ted said, figuring he might as well ask the thing that had been on his mind since he first heard Trent's proposal. At Trent's encouraging nod, he asked, "Why Richmond?"

Trent blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Why write the book about Richmond?" Ted elaborated. "I mean, I know you covered us for a while, but back at the beginning of the season, you didn't know how things were gonna go. You didn't know we'd get Zava or do Total Football or any of that. Every pundit thought we were gonna be dead last and get relegated again, and I don't think that would have made a great book. So why'd you choose us?"

For a long moment, Trent just stared at him. Ted couldn't tell if he was formulating an answer or if he resented the question.

"I guess, that is assuming we were your first choice," Ted added after a moment. "Maybe you went to all the other clubs before us and they all said no. Although I don't understand why someone would say no to your offer-"

Trent scoffed. "You're very kind, Ted, but I do know that Ms. Welton, Higgins, and Ms. Jones were all very much against my writing the book. They weren't subtle about shaking their heads, and they weren't entirely out of my peripheral vision."

"Well, they just didn't know yet how great it was gonna be," Ted said firmly. "And I always wanted you there. That's why I said yes, even though they weren't being subtle."

Trent's lips twitched, then he looked down at his beer. "To answer your question, you were my first choice. Or, Richmond was. And as for why… I suppose it's because I knew that, no matter what you did this season, it would be incredible."

Ted folded his hands and rested his chin on them, barely resisting the urge to bat his eyelashes. "Aw, shucks. Even though everyone thought we'd be last?"

"I never did," Trent replied, sounding quietly determined. It was more restrained than the man who'd come barreling down the hall to tell Ted that Total Football would work, but Ted could see shades of that enthusiasm, if hidden. "If I'd chosen another club to cover, I would have gotten a normal, boring story of a season of Premier League football. Just the usual. Coaches doing the same sorts of plays and the same strategies they always did. But I knew that no matter what ended up happening with Richmond this year, it wouldn't be normal or boring. I knew that whatever you decided to do. It wouldn't be anything like what people have seen before. And that makes a great book."

Ted knew that Trent was a Richmond supporter. He knew he'd talked Trent around to his style of coaching, despite his initial is-this-a-fucking-joke reservations. He hadn't known that Trent felt this strongly about it.

"Aww," he said, tilting his head to the side and giving into the urge to bat his eyelashes this time around. Trent had been embarrassed after the hall encounter, and Ted didn't want him to feel awkward about it again. He was pretty sure a joke would clear the atmosphere. "Is this cause you can't help but root for me?"

Trent stared at him for a moment. "Did you just… quote my own article at me? An article I wrote over two years ago?"

"I sure did!" Ted beamed. "I'm gonna be honest, I loved that one, and not just cause I loved spending the day with you beforehand. But I think… That article might've been you writing about me, but it helped me learn a lot about you."

"It did?"

"Well, sure! We did a whole bunch of stuff together that day, and we talked about even more. Reading the article let me see what you thought was the most important. Also let me get an idea of how you felt about me, because let me tell you, Mr. The Independent, you were real hard to read back then."

"Am I not now?"

"I'd like to think you're easier now. Still not sure I'm getting everything, but I know you well enough to get more." Ted shrugged. "We hadn't known each other very long back then, though. The interview and the article and… Heck, that whole experience let me see who you were outside the press room. And then this whole book experience is letting me see who you are outside of being a journalist, and this whole pub experience is letting me see who you are outside of work entirely!"

Trent huffed a quiet laugh and lifted his beer. "I'm afraid I'm not very interesting, in or outside of work."

"Oh no, sir, I do not agree with that at all," Ted said firmly.

Trent coughed a bit on his sip. "You… don't?"

"Not at all. I think you're mighty interesting. And honestly, I'd like to know more about you, if you were comfortable telling me."

Trent tensed slightly. "Ted, I know I said I might change my mind, but-"

"Oh!" Ted shook his head quickly. "No, I'm not- We still don't gotta talk about the phone call if you don't want to. That's not what I was angling for. I want to know the little stuff. You know, your favorite book, or what you wanted to be when you grew up. Or, heck, ew could talk about our kids! I still don't know nearly enough about your little girl. No pressure, of course, but-"

"Here you are, lads," Mae said, interrupting Ted's babbling with two plates. "Two orders of fish and chips. Let me know if you need anything else."

"Looks great as always, Mae, thank you very much," Ted said with a smile.

"Mae, could I have a whiskey?" Trent asked. "Thanks."

"Sure, be right over with that," Mae agreed.

"I hope I'm not being too pushy," Ted said, wondering if this meant he was driving Trent to drink. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. Heck, you don't have to talk at all. I can do all the talking. I think we both know I can do that. Or-"

"When I was young," Trent cut in, "I wanted to be a novelist when I grew up."

"A novelist?" Ted asked brightly, relieved. "I'm not sure I even knew that word when I was little. What sort of novels?"

"The genre depended on the book I'd last read," Trent admitted, "but I always wanted to write happy endings."

Ted imagined a little version of Trent, curling up with a book. "Aww, was little Trent a romantic?"

"A bit, I suppose," Trent admitted, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. "I think it was more that I saw so many endings around me that weren't happy, and I didn't want to add to those. If I were making it all up anyway, I could make up a world where things went right."

Ted ached to ask what sorts of endings Trent saw around him, but that would be too pushy. "Well, that's a real nice thought, Trent," he said instead. "The world needs more happy endings."

Mae set a whiskey down in front of Trent and patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks, Mae," Trent said as she went over to the next table, then he turned to Ted. "I'll drink to that."

They clinked their beer glasses together and drank, Trent finishing his off. They both started on their food, which was as delicious as Mae's food always was. After a few moments of silence, Ted asked, "So why didn't you become a novelist, then? Why switch to journalism?"

"One's a paying job, the other isn't," Trent replied simply. "Not that journalism always paid well, especially when I was younger, but once I had a fixed position and I'd made a name for myself, it was comfortable."

"Huh." Ted popped a fry - he still couldn't think of them as chips - into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "But then you left."

Trent nodded. "I did."

"And you started writing a book, but not a novel. Why not a novel?"

Trent shrugged. "I'm a sports journalist, Ted. I'm known for being a sports journalist. What's a publisher more likely to pick up, a deep dive into a sports team by a sports journalist, or a novel by a sports journalist?"

"Novel with a happily ever after," Ted corrected. Trent nodded, conceding the point. "Heck," Ted continued, "I bet a lot of people would read a novel written by Trent Crimm. Yeah, you wrote sports news before, but your writing skills? Gosh, Trent, you're a real good writer. Don't matter what you're writing about, that'll always come out. And you could always use your sports knowhow for your novel. Write a novel about a football player! Maybe a- a new player who's just joined a new team, and you could write all about him getting to know his teammates! I bet you've met some pretty interesting people you could use for that."

"Hmm, and then get sued for defamation because my characters are clearly based off real players," Trent replied, voice drier than the Sahara. "I'd rather not."

Ted hadn't thought of that. "Right, that's probably a good point."

"Besides," Trent continued, "the Richmond story is coming out like a novel in some ways. Everything you're doing…" He shook his head fondly. "Somehow it's both utter madness and the only thing that makes sense. It's' the sort of thing you'd expect more out of a novel than real life."

Ted beamed at him. "Well, then, I'm glad our kooky team is helping you fulfill your childhood dream!"

"I suppose you are, in a way," Trent said. He took a bite of fish, then asked, "What about you? Did you always want to be a coach?"

Ted shrugged. "Well, I guess I always wanted to help people. The way I see it, coaching is just another way to help people become better versions of themselves, and not just on the pitch."

"I remember discussing this, back when I did that first interview with you," Trent said fondly.

Ted nodded. "Right, when I said I didn't care about winning or losing and you looked at me like your head was fitting to explode."

Trent smiles a little. "I'll admit, I didn't understand your methods back then."

"Well, I didn't really know what I was doing, so I guess I didn't really understand my own methods either. That's one of the things I've learned about coaching, you can't hold on too tight to the ideas you had going in. Sometimes, you come up with the best plan ever, and then it's torn to pieces about five seconds after you get going with it. You know, best laid plans of mice and men and all that."

Trent nodded contemplatively. "No plan survives contact with the enemy."

Ted tipped his head back and forth in the universal gesture for yeah, pretty much. "I don't really like to think of the team as an enemy, but I get what you're saying."

"Right, of course." Trent nodded. "You hardly like to think of the opposing team as the enemy."

"Well, I guess you got me there!"

"How much do you plan, then?" Trent asked curiously. "And how much of it is just… improvised?"

"Doing a little digging for your book?" Ted asked.

He meant it as a joke, but the look on Trent's face was stung. "I- I wasn't- I'm not considering this on the record, you don't have to-"

"Hey, no I didn't mean it in a bad way!" Ted assured him quickly. "You can absolutely put this in your book if you want to. As for improvising versus planning… I do plan, but I'm also pretty good at jumping in with a new idea if I have to. I've got enough little anecdotes in my head to work out a whole season, probably."

"You do always seem to have an anecdote ready for any situation," Trent agreed dryly.

"It's a gift," Ted agreed. "Hey, maybe I should be the writer and you should be the coach. Wanna switch places sometime? We could swap clothes and everything. I could even try to do your accent, and you could try to do mine."

"As… entertaining as that sounds, I think Roy would kill us."

"Aw, he's a big softie, deep down," Ted countered. Trent gave him a look that made it very clear he was still thinking about Roy's suggestion about what to do with bullies. "But he wouldn't like it, that's for sure."

"I'm also not sure the end of the season is the right time for those sorts of games," Trent added.

"What, you don't think you'd be a good coach?" Ted asked. "I think you would be. You sure know a heck of a lot more about football than I do."

"While that may be the case," Trent allowed, "I don't think I'd be able to inspire nearly the amount of loyalty that you do, and your time at Richmond has shown that to be the most important thing."

Loyalty was important, and Ted would get to that, but he had something to address first. "Well, hold on a second there. I don't know that I agree with that assessment of yours. The team loves you."

Trent ducked his head and didn't respond, instead picking at his fries. Ted frowned. "You know," he continued, "any time you're not there, they ask me where you are. That one time you went around to some other coaches to get quotes from them about us, I don't think I've ever seen a group of boys so jealous. Some of 'em were worried you'd find another team you liked more and go write a book about them instead. I think it almost drove Dani to tears."

"That's ridiculous, I'd never-" Trent began, apparently incensed enough at the idea of betraying Richmond that it made him break his silence. He stopped himself, then asked tentatively, "They really cared that much?"

"Those boys sure are fond of you, Trent," Ted said gently. "Honestly, I think we've gotta figure out a way to keep you at Richmond after you finish your book, or we might just have a riot on our hands. And I can tell you right now, the leader would be one Colin Hughes."

Trent's expression softened immediately. "Colin is a good lad," he said, the fondness clear in his voice.

"I don't think that I ever thanked you properly for what you did for him," Ted said. He'd seen the way Colin latched onto Trent, and he'd seen how much Colin bloomed for it. "To tell the truth, I still haven't fully forgiven myself for not seeing that he was struggling. I'm just real glad he didn't have to go through all that on his own."

"He was trying very hard to hide it," Trent said gently. "It's not your fault that you didn't see it."

"I'm still glad you did. I think it's important that everyone has someone to support them. I wasn't there for Colin as much as I should have been, but you were. I really appreciate that, and I know he does too."

Ted had expected a more positive response to his words, but instead, Trent ducked his head again, so quickly it almost looked like a flinch. Ted opened his mouth to apologize, although he wasn't quite sure what he'd done wrong, when Trent said, so quickly the words were almost unintelligible, "The phone call was with my father."

"Oh."

Ted would never admit it, not in a million years, but whenever he heard about someone having a tough relationship with their father, there was a part of him - a bitter, angry little part of him - that hated them for it. "At least you have a father," that little part wanted to say. "You don't understand how good you have it. You have a father, and you don't even appreciate it."

But he always hushed that little part, because it wasn't fair. He knew it wasn't fair. There were wonderful fathers out there, like Sam's, but there were also father's like Jamie's. And if a phone call with his father had brought Trent to this state, Ted had a feeling he knew which side of the spectrum his father was on.

"During our first interview," Trent said quietly, "you said it wasn't always easy to be a coach, but… You said, 'neither is growing up without someone believing in you.'"

Ted had said that. He did believe that. "I… didn't know you remember that so clearly."

"My father wanted a son who was… sporty. He wanted a son who would rather play football than write about it. And he wanted a son who was heterosexual." Trent picked up his whiskey and downed it. "I disappointed him on all counts."

Ted wracked his brain for something to say, something that wasn't trite or overused. Before he could think of anything, Trent continued.

"He was happiest with me when I was married. I suppose he thought I'd… gotten over it, the way he always said I would. It was still awkward with him, especially on my end, but it was… easier. And then, since the divorce…"

Divorces were something Ted knew about, although he knew his had been different from Trent's. "I'm sorry, Trent."

"The divorce was the best thing for both of us," Trent said, sounding like he wholeheartedly believed it. "We couldn't have kept going like we did. I couldn't, at least. But I haven't had a pleasant conversation with my father since it happened. Today is his birthday. I… Honestly, I'm not sure if I was really expecting him to pick up, but he did."

"Well," Ted said, trying to get his feet under him, "I don't know what he said, but I do know that if he ain't proud of you, that's his problem, not yours."

Trent's face twisted. "Ted, I don't- We're the same age. I wasn't asking for some sort of… paternal reassurance from you."

"Well, that's good, cause that wasn't what I was aiming for."

Trent ducked his head again. Ted really wasn't doing too well that night. "Oh. I- Sorry, I didn't mean to presume."

"Hey, no, Trent, don't worry about it. Look I'm just saying" - he took a gamble and added, "As a friend who's the same age, not as a father figure," which made Trent huff something that could be generously termed a laugh - "that you're a real bang-up guy. You're smart as a whip, and you're funny, and you're a damn good writer. And if your dad is too stuck on the son he thought he wanted to realize what a great son he has, that's on him, not on you."

Trent stared at him, eyes wide. "Ted, I-" he began, and his voice broke. "Fuck," he whispered emphatically, wiping at his eyes and looking like he wanted nothing more than to hide. Ted had spent enough time among British people to know that the polite thing to do was pretend he hadn't seen the tears at all, even though every part of him ached to reach out and pull Trent into a hug. It might make him feel better, but it wouldn't help Trent, and that was the important part of the evening.

After a few moments, Trent took a deep breath that only shuddered a bit. "Thank you," he told Ted, his voice quiet and raspy.

"All I said was the truth," Ted said in his gentlest voice. "Ain't nothing you have to thank me for." He had a feeling Trent might have been about to argue, either about the necessity of thanks or the truth in Ted's statement, so Ted quickly added, "And if you're ever having a rough day, or you got something like this weighing on you, you can always come to us. You can call a Diamond Dogs meeting, or if that seems like a little too much to you, you can come to any of us on our own. No one's gonna judge. Heck, you could even talk to Roy, and he'd help you out. He might complain about it first, but he'd do it."

"I don't normally like going to other people when I have a problem," Trent admitted weakly.

"Yeah, I noticed that about you. And hey, it's alright to be a private person. If you don't want to talk about things, you don't have to." Ted gave into his instincts and reached out to put his hand on Trent's. "But if you do want to talk, I want you to know that we're all right here."

Trent looked at Ted's hand like he'd never seen it before. "I- I know." He looked up, and although his eyes were a little red-rimmed, he looked better than he had all night.

"Thank you, Ted."

"You are mighty welcome indeed, Trent," Ted said, and he hoped Trent knew he meant it when he finished, "Any time."