Chapter Text
To Rebecca,
Keels <3: babes u good?
u dont usually sleep this late
have u seen it yet???!!!! I’ll kill him!!!!1
call me when u wake up, lovely 😙😙😙
And to Ted,
Keeley Jones, PR Queen: Hiya Ted! Gimme a ring when ur up, yeah?
They’re all a buncha pricks
I’m handling it, don’t you worry your lil moustache off, k?
When Rebecca finally manages to bear looking at her phone screen, she discovers that the Daily Mail has published new drivel straight from the head offices at West Ham. It’s not expressly stated that Rupert has paid off the poor journalist to write such a mockery. Still, it will be blatantly obvious to all who know her that this article is a desperate, needy, pathetic attempt to regain control of the narrative.
MANIPULATIVE MALICIOUS FIASCO by WELTON AND LASSO?
By Lloyd Griffiths
Concerned loved ones speak directly to the Daily Mail about the Richmond “Power Couple’s” true feelings for each other, their club, and their fans.
Brace yourself, dear reader. What I’m about to say may just change your very view of the world. Sometimes, celebrities can be fake off-camera (or off-pitch in this case). Gasp ! And sometimes, this fakery involves the most pure and true of all human emotions: love. Most celebrity relationships are viewed at arm’s length, stunt or not, but what happens when an entire community is not only involved but dependent on the ruse?
It’s no secret that Rebecca Welton and Ted Lasso have upended the very nature of British Football in the last three years. Lasso, the consummate optimist, is regularly plagued by very public breakdowns as new rumours swirl about the nature of his divorce and subsequent relationship with his boss (not to mention his abandoning of a very young son in rural America). Football’s favourite Ice Queen is equally no stranger to salacious gossip and drama - who could ever forget her years (and headlines) as Mrs Mannion? From hiring an American Premier League coach to encouraging open discussions of mental health in sports to dating her gaffer , Welton has been at the forefront of a brave new dawn in sports, but is this trailblazing image nothing but a mirage?
Sources close to the pair are concerned, and have sought out this publication to point out incongruencies they hope will open the public’s eye to the deception that the Premier League’s royal couple has blinded us to.
When Rebecca Welton took ownership of AFC Richmond, she was ill-prepared and ill-suited for the position. Many might say she still is. After relinquishing his ownership in their messy divorce, Welton’s ex-husband Rupert Mannion (current owner of competing team, West Ham United) sought to find peace between them to help the transition run smoothly. He was, after all, very vocally the most loyal supporter of the club, with a long standing love for Richmond itself (Mannion has donated over 10 million pounds to local Richmond charities across the last decade, and raised millions more through annual benefit drives). Welton rejected all aid offered, and thus her team was relegated through numerous missteps that could have been easily avoided due to pitfalls that a more experienced club owner would hardly have stumbled into. Perhaps the most notable misstep was hiring an American who believed football is played in halves on his first day as manager (see: “Welton’s New AFC Richmond Apppoints American as Manager!” for more).
As a result of their relegation in 2020, it’s no secret that AFC Richmond has been struggling both on the field and off, once losing over half their long-term investors in a single fiscal quarter. After a near-miss with promotion in May 2021, the Greyhounds were widely (re: exclusively) predicted to come last in the 2022 season (“...because there’s no twenty-first,” said Nathan Shelley, former AFC Richmond kitman-turned-assistant coach and assumed protegé of Ted Lasso himself, in his first press conference as West Ham’s head coach) leading to even more financial issue as smaller investors and shareholders began to panic. It was only this last season, afterall - post-spectacular and utterly surprising acquisition and loss of Ajax and Juventus veteran football star Zava - that Lasso’s Greyhounds have begun to turn the tide. This year, despite a couple lucky wins, the team has played solidly mid-table.
So, dear readers, what is there to watch for in this odd marriage of minds? What is everybody so concerned about?
Sources close to the pair believe a separation is imminent, if not already in place. Neither Welton nor, rumoured (but never confirmed) husband, Ted Lasso have proven longevity in their past relationships (please see previous articles “ Manager Makes Marriage Mistake” and “Ted Lasso: Kansas to Chaos” for background), and it seems a break was always inevitable.
“People love love, and nothing sells better than sex,” an anonymous source says, “the stunt for the press was a masterstroke; give the people something to obsess over and stocks go up. It’s just a pity that the town is so enamoured when the pair of them don’t have a care in the world about what fallout Richmond will endure when they break up. You have to admit this is a mistake. The owner of a football club can’t marry her gaffer, that’s a major conflict of insterest - it’s a human resources nightmare! I feel for Richmond. For any success Lasso may be having now, you can’t imagine she’d keep him on when things go south. As a lifelong supporter myself, it will be a sad day to see the Greyhounds plunged back into absent mediocrity all because of their owner’s workplace misconduct.”
When asked why it seemed a separation was imminent, the source had this to say:
“Ted Lasso has proven himself an unstable individual and ineffectual coach. Look back at the tie streaks, the pitch-side panic attacks. It’s no wonder Nathan Shelley left for better pastures when Lasso was taking all the credit for his brilliance. Rebecca has never been known for her sound judgement or business acumen. She has a record with this sort of stuff, Rebecca, I’m not surprised she’s gotten her hands dirty with an employee. I mean, for god’s sake, they’ve got a former centrefold for a PR manager. There’s even a rumour he brings her biscuits every morning, has done since he arrived even (before his divorce, mind you). It’s very domestic, and the timing of it all… I suppose one must consider the facts: He’s a man in football with a reputation of being mentally unfit and she’s a floundering leader with a history of nicknames like Randy Rebecca . But now they’re beloved! It leaves a person thinking – and I haven’t even mentioned that little boy he left back in America.”
Henry Lasso, age 9, is pictured above with his mother, Michelle Keller (formerly Lasso), out and about in his hometown of Overland Park, Kansas.
The source denied to comment when asked directly whether or not they believed Tedbecca to be a media stunt to save a failing institution–
“Utter horseshit,” Rebecca spits as she scrolls angrily down the rest of the article. She catches divorce, unstable , fatherhood and unfit step-mother before locking her phone with a huff, explaining offhandedly: “It’s Rupert, of course – their source . And that picture! I’ll fucking sue them.”
She hates him. Rebecca doesn’t hate many people but Rupert Mannion is at the top of that list. Nothing sells better than sex indeed, since the Sun beat their all-time record on a single edition when they broke the first of many Mannion cheating scandals. Nothing sells better than sex ? W ell of course not. The bastard should know . Rebecca didn’t think she’d said it aloud, but beside her Ted stirs.
She’s sitting upright and he’s still sprawled flat on the couch, thigh pressed against her bum. It feels like he’s running hot. Or maybe that’s just a side affect of physical contact while harbouring a terribly ill-advised crush. They spooned through the night (a fact that should disquiet Rebecca, but instead she finds herself unable to chastise herself for letting it happen). He doesn’t say anything to her outburst, but shifts a little to reach for his phone. After giving him a moment to peruse what she’s just read, Rebecca finds herself disappointed when Ted sighs in turn and lays the phone down atop his chest. She glances at his face, and finds he’s closed his eyes again. For a moment, all Rebecca can do is watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he dozes, face entirely slack in relaxation. She’s jealous, and worried, and wondering what he was dreaming of before the rude interruption. Maybe Kansas. Maybe Henry.
A little point in her chest begins to burn, deep inside her ribs and nestled in her heart, a feeling totally aside from the minor hangover that’s attempting to crush her skull (oh, how she desperately misses her twenties when she could drink an entire value bottle of cheap wine and feel nothing the next day). Rebecca would have kissed him last night, and somehow that idea has given her permission to feel personally slighted by this idea Rupert has provided that she and Ted don’t know what they’re doing. Her eyes find the line of wainscoting that ornaments her living room walls and trace it around the space like a track for her mental rollercoaster of thoughts.
Somewhere in the world, ideally in the pits of hell, Rupert Mannion woke up to photos of her happiness (because if there was one nice thing about that article it was the pretty snapshots of her and Ted on the pre-gala red carpet, grinning at each other, paired with post-gala pictures of them escaping hand-in-hand) and decided he had nothing better to do than try and ruin it for her. For them. Nevermind that a gorgeous twenty-something (wife or otherwise…) had probably been lying naked in bed next to him at the very moment he’d flared with jealousy. She can easily imagine him rolling over from the corpse-like position he used to sleep in to check his notifications and immediately foaming at the mouth over his continued failure to ruin her. She can imagine the incensed speed-dial to that greedy louse Lloyd Griffith at the Daily Mail, who inevitably ate up every single word out of Rupert’s disgusting, twat mouth. She shakes her head slightly at the image of him in bed somewhere tropical, scowling at his phone while a gorgeous new day dawns behind him, entirely unnoticed by the bitter octogenarian. How sad for him .
Rebecca looks down at Ted again; he’s breathing so steadily she wonders if he might’ve gone back to sleep.
She gnaws at the side of her thumb nail where her pristine pink manicure has cracked slightly after a mishap with a corkscrew, and contemplates what exactly her ex-husband’s game is. Rebecca knows Rupert must be chomping at the bit to call their bluff. The charade has gone on for so long that she can hardly believe they’ve gotten away with it herself. Marriage records are public knowledge in England, and anyone can pull up the certificate as long as they have the right information. Besides the lack of date or venue for nosy nellies to hone in on, Rebecca is confident that only a miracle has kept Rupert from bribing somebody within the government to do their own search. Actually, she’s flabbergasted that nobody has leaked the lack of documentation on their own after so long.
Rebecca figures she’s correct in assuming Rupert has no solid reason to cry wolf on their apparent relationship; nothing except the idea that she is actually happy and enjoying life for once (because, in spite of the lies and convoluted masterminding, Rebecca feels egregiously content). She’s hit with another deep current of loathing for her ex-husband just as soon as the first wave subsides. It’s one thing to bring her into it, another to drag Ted’s name through the mud, but it’s entirely reprehensible to bring and innocent child into the fray as ammunition against a father’s greatest insecurity and Rebecca ranks it among the top five worst things Rupert Mannion has ever done.
“Hey you,” Rebecca nudges Ted with her hip and his eyes fly open immediately. Not asleep, then.
“Yeah, Boss?”
“Come here.”
Ted shakes his head. “Nuh uh.” Tears are beading at the corners of his eyes. Everything in Rebecca softens at the look he’s giving her, the way he looks like he’d rather run across the English Channel than talk about it, but she’s not going to let him out of it so easily.
“ Yuh huh ,” she smiles with a lithe roll of her eyes, lifting one of his hands from where it’s fallen atop his phone to her lips, “I insist.” Pressing a chaste kiss to Ted’s knuckle, she holds his hand close to her heart as he rights himself.
“R’becca,” he whines, and the blonde nearly snort-laughs at the ridiculousness of the sound. Rebecca’s so screwed, she cares about this stupid, lovely American so much she doesn’t even care she just snorted. He tries lifting his head and makes a face. “Can’t tell if I’m hungover or if everyone in the universe is mad at me.”
“Both, I guess.”
“Hmm.” Ted groans, hauling himself up. “Nah. Not quite.”
“He’s a twat.”
“Who? Mike Drucker? ’Cause the hangover line is pretty good in my opinion–”
“No, Ted. Rupert. The article.”
“Oh, yeah, ‘course. Right.”
Her hands drop to her lap, still encasing his, as his forehead falls softly against her shoulder. It’s a little too late that Rebecca realises the pyjama set she put on last night is probably not the best choice for a platonic, fake-married, drunken sleepover where they’ve slept tangled in each other’s arms, but Ted doesn’t seem to care a bit. The strap of her camisole has slid down her bicep, and his hot breath dancing down the slope of her breast invigorates something in Rebecca that supersedes her hangover headache. She can’t tell from this angle if he’s closed his eyes again or if he’s looking at…
“Water?” She asks hoarsely, clearing her throat and finding that her mouth tastes awful lot like old champagne all of a sudden. Ted doesn’t move, though he does nod but Rebecca doesn’t really know what to do with that. He’s still leaning against her shoulder and she’s not gonna throw him off, after all. How cruel.
They sit there a while longer, an indeterminable amount of time wherein Rebecca begins to disassociate looking at the crown moulding above the living room’s wide open entryway. Ted’s body quaking gently against Rebecca’s eventually rouses her enough to realise he’s begun to cry. One of her hands finds it’s way to the soft hairs at the nape of his neck, nails dragging lazily up and down his neck. When Rebecca was a child in need of comfort, it’s what her mother had done.
“Don’t you think on this for a moment, love,” she urges, “you’re a wonderful father. Henry loves you so much. You’re a wonderful man, too. They’re wrong. You’re bloody brilliant at everything you do, Ted, you are.”
“It’s not that,” he says into her skin, “why can’t they leave us alone? Isn’t it enough that they follow us here? Now they’re followin’ my son around, too? And why can’t he let you be happy? Don’t’cha think you deserve some peace?” Rebecca’s back straightens. Her mouth opens and closes twice before she can form any kind of reply.
“He’s just an old fart who should stop talking.” This earns her a chuckle, but when her phone vibrates harshly against the glass table again Ted frees himself from her grasp with hardly a second glance and slips off to the washroom. She watches him leave, the hand that had been buried in his hair hovering where he’d left her behind, and waits until the washroom door clicks shut before reaching for her mobile.
Keels <3: it WAS fucking Rupert. CONFIRMED ASSHOLE!! Well… wbk
he’s a trashbag of a man. got a friend at DM who spilled
well, not a friend anymore after the dressing down I just gave
him. higgs sent me a weird voice memo abt libel?? At fkn
five??? five is not a real hour. doubt u wanna sue but…
honestly ted should bc that pic of henry….
u sure ur okay?
we could do brunch??? Hair of the dog? I could go for a verrry
dirty martini right about now.
Rebecca: You don’t even like martinis.
Keels <3: SHE LIVES!!!???
and yeah yuck but i could def deal with a good vom bc im 100%
still kinda sloshed and tht seems a quick fix
Rebecca: Hm. Maybe not your best plan.
Please tell me you didn’t burn your DM bridge just because you’re drunk.
Keels <3: nah, babes, neverrr
got way higher than drunk last night anyway
1 (one) press nightmare to deal with at a time yeah?
speaking of, where tf is theodore i cant get him
Rebecca: He’s with me.
Keels <3: OH?!!!!??? OKAY!!!!!! COOL!!!!!!!!1
u make my job soooo easy <3333
/s
if you couldnt tell.
Rebecca: As if I know what /s means.
Keels <3: ???!!!! nvm
he okay tho? was beginning 2 think mayb he jumped in the thames
Rebecca: We’re working on it.
Do your job and he’ll be fine. 💜
Keels <3: yes mistress welton ma’am;))))))
Rebecca: I swear to god…
Bye.
Keels <3: 🎉 😺 ♥️ 🥵🥵🥵🥵
Rebecca’s attention drifts back to the article, and Twitter, and the pictures from the gala. There are posts gushing over her yellow gown, laughing at long-rage paparazzi photos of Rupert’s wrinkly chest (apparently he’s in Ibiza?!), criticising the idea of PR relationships being bad things, being good things, existing at all… For every tweet against them there are five more in support. Every word Rupert provided in the interview is being passionately lambasted by twitter accounts with her face, or Ted’s face, or both. Or both with little hearts and crowns surrounding them. It’s a cacophony of perspectives, and yet the people , the community that was supposed to fall to their knees at the Daily Mail’s command are not falling. Rebecca even catches a couple tweets in French and Italian she understands, even a couple in Welsh that she definitely doesn’t, all tagged #tedbecca and in support of two middle-aged pseudo-celebrities who own/manage a Premier Leage team that some of these accounts neither seem to watch or even care about! The reach of their Twitter fame is fucking daunting as hell to Rebecca, but she’d be remiss not to admit to herself that it’s honestly quite lovely that so many people, with no reason to care about her and Ted, care so deeply. She feels guilty and proud and loved all at once. They’re lying to these people who’ve done nothing but support them. Sure every once in a while she’ll scroll past a troll or two, and even though she’s been on a streak of ignoring the haters…it scratches something sad and forgotten in her soul.
@natethe_chunderkid: i believe it. met her irl shes a fucking cunt, and the #wanker is a shithead. bet she only hired him in the first place to fuck over richmond. he SUCKS n always has. if welton’s gonna fuck around she should give kent the position, and ig make him manager too #randyrebecca
It’s nothing new, per se, but the visciousness makes Rebecca suck in a breath that goes down wrong. She splutters a bit, throwing her phone down violently onto her couch, only to bounce off pitifully as she coughs. Nobody’s ever gotten so close to the truth before, not even when the team was performing their worst, or the headlines were so monumentally crappy that Rebecca thought about running away to the Maldives for good. It’s extra painful on some level that an account called Nate the Chunderkid has tweeted it, and that the faceless user has apparently met her before. In the back of Rebecca’s mind she wonders if it’s actually Nate himself, but then Keeley’s crash course on Twitter literacy from the previous fall swoops back in to call that fear a bit stupid, yeah ? Though if it were, she wouldn’t blame him. Rebecca knows she was a right cunt to Nathan, but bloody hell was that a low blow.
The washroom door clicks open and Ted appears from the hall. He’s wan, and a little blotchy around the neck, and Rebecca can’t help herself from reaching out toward him. He floats forward automatically, shuffling back to the couch until his cold fingertips find her heated ones.
“Sorry ’bout that,” he murmurs, voice rough, “you ’kay?”
Rebecca hums softly, setting her phone back down on the coffee table with a shaky breath. Ted squeezes her hand twice.
“We both deserve peace, you’re right.” It’s not a realistic ask of the universe, not when their names are inextricably tied to some of the greatest past, and future, scandals in British football history. Not when the world somehow knows their names. Not when bloody Taylor Swift had apparently made a reference to Richmond giving a speech about women in power last month (Rebecca still wasn’t, and would easily never be, over that). “Maybe one day.”
“I’m sorry–”
“Whatever for?”
“All this. It’s my fault, Becca, things were finally calming down and…” Ted’s face is wracked with guilt. “And then I got sloppy.”
“I think you’ve said sorry enough for a lifetime,” Rebecca squeezes his hand firmly in turn, earning a pitiful little smile. Her cheeks heat. He has no right being this beautiful (and she has no right to think such things). “Right, well, shall we order breakfast?”
If Rebecca spends the next forty-eight hours losing her mind, that’s none of your business.
If she’s constantly checking Twitter? If she’s made a secret, burner account to like and repost different accounts to lurk without being noticed? If she’s joined in with the fans tweeting abuse at Rupert for funsies? If she’s bookmarked a healthy number of tedbecca fancams? If she’s started letting herself fall entirely and freely for one Ted Lasso? Well, that’s not her problem, not yours.
And if she had a sex dream about her gaffer last night..?
The way Ted’s sitting in front of her this morning is positively obscene. Rebecca is pretty sure she doesn’t even need fingers to count the number of times she’s ever seen Ted Lasso in shorts, but here he is. For the first time ever his knees are on display and Rebecca feels like one of those so-called gentlemen in a bloody period drama whinging and swooning over a glimpse of a woman’s ankle. Worse than that, though, Ted’s thighs are on display.
He’s sitting no differently than usual, perched on the edge of the chair, and leaning forward on his elbows, totally engrossed in the story he’s telling that started as a tangent from his morning Biscuits with the Boss question. Rebecca can’t even remember what it was. Even if she could, it’s doubtful she’d spend even a second ruminating on her answer when the hem of those chino shorts are pulled taut like that against his pale thighs. Rebecca chews on the end of the last un-gnawed pen in her office as she tries (and fails) to keep her gaze from his lap. She can’t help but wonder when the last time his legs saw sun could have been, and what he might look like laid out on the yacht off Mallorca with her.
“Boss?”
“Hm?” Rebecca startles, eyes flicking to his in an instant. She flushes at his expression, not judgemental but clearly amused to have caught her doing something she definitely shouldn’t be. He’s still her employee, for god’s sake, and her friend, and this behaviour is absolutely inappropriate. And yet…
“You sure you’re alright?”
“Yes, absolutely. Why wouldn’t I be?” Her reply comes far too quick.
“’Cause you’ve been starin’ through your table for the better part of the last ten minutes and I’m pre tty sure you don’t know what the heck I’ve been blabbering on about.” Ted sits up straight and crosses one leg over the other. Rebecca nearly whines – she hasn’t wanted like this in a very long time. “Thought I oughta check in.”
He leans back, running a hand through his impeccably styled hair and mussing it just enough to leave a single tendril falling loose over his forehead. Rebecca feels so fucked , and not in the way she wants to be.
“So, what do you think about the whole Paddington in Peru recasting Mrs Brown thing? I get Sally Hawkins wanted to hand over the reigns but I dunno, I like the little family we’ve come to love, feels wrong leavin’ now.”
“Do you like being married to me?” Rebecca should count herself lucky that Ted isn’t drinking anything at that moment because even without the liquid he manages to choke on empty air. “You’re okay, right? You’re not feeling… a little bit odd? ”
“Sweetheart, I’m peachy keen. Frankly, my back’s never felt better.” This time a little squeak of a noise does escape from between Rebecca’s pink lips as Ted stretches his arms above his head and his polo shirt rides up his stomach ever so slightly. He’s doing this on purpose , she complains in silence. “Where’d you buy that mattress? Clouds R Us?”
He slept over the night of the gala and he’s been sleeping over since. Easy excuse or no, once the sleepovers start they can’t just come back from that. It’s one thing that husband and wife look like they’re sleeping apart, but another to separate once they’ve been spotted. All that to say, Ted was just across the hall this morning when Rebecca woke, gasping, from the most beautiful dream full of sweat and sex and passionate admissions. All she had to do was walk less than thirty seconds and she could have had the real thing.
“Have you ever thought about what would have happened if we’d gone about this differently?”
“What, told ’em the truth from the get go? Yeah, ‘course I do. but we’ve been havin’ fun so I don–”
“No, no, I mean all of it. If I’d hired you with the right intentions, if I hadn’t returned Tartt, if we weren’t relegated, if you hadn’t slept with Florence!”
“Sassy–?”
“If this were real,” Rebecca cut him off before he got caught up, leaving Ted furrowing his brow. “If the story was true.” At the edge of her peripheral vision, the blonde could just see the green army man standing at attention between her pen cup and the baby pink box of biscuits.
“I–uh, what?”
“Oh, honestly.” Fighting the urge to bang her head on the glass desk, Rebecca attempted to find a succinct, non-crazy way to describe her feelings. She couldn’t outright admit anything to Ted – god no, the idea of doing that was terrifying – but maybe whatever was going on with her hormones resulted from a fake-married Stockholm Syndrome. Maybe she wasn’t actually head over heels for the loveable idiot before her, and it was just… circumstance and loneliness that made Rebecca worship every little brush of their hands. “You once said the easiest thing in the world was being tied to me.” I’d marry you in a heartbeat , that’s what he said.
“And? That hasn’t changed, Becca.”
“I only mean–” God, what does she mean? “You’re happy… right?”
He’s quiet long enough that Rebecca grows insecure about the question and begins pressing her index finger against biscuit crumbs on the desk, smashing them into the glass.
“Honestly, boss, I think this is the happiest I’ve been in a very long time.” She doesn’t know how it could be. For months they’ve been followed, stalked, and harassed, they’ve endured lies and smear campaigns and aggression. And support. And laughter. Her therapeutic masseuse did say that the knots in her neck (knots that had hardly loosened since the divorce) were finally loosening.
“I love spendin’ all this extra time, don’t you? Pretty sure our sleepovers are grade A, though I’m still holdin’ out for a pillow fight, missy. It might be hard to believe, given how old farts like Rupes are, but I like being around you, Rebecca Welton. I like your high heels, and as much as I love how tall y’are, I like bein’ one of the only people who’ve seen you without ’em. I like that your guilty pleasure’s old Disney movies. I like that you’ve been hiding the fact you know who wins Bake Off, even though you’re a terrible liar. I like the music you listen to, because sometimes you close your eyes and get this little smile on your face like nothin’ in the world could ever go wrong while it’s playin’. I like your sense’a humor. I like the little noise you make when you have your first biscuit after a long weekend. I like people tyin’ our names together. Rebecca, I like you .”
“You do?” She’s trying not to get her hopes up. She’s trying so hard, but nobody’s ever just… liked who she is. Not Rupert, not Florence, not even her mother and father. Maybe Nora, and Keeley. Ted’s monologue feels like the most precious gift.
“Sure thing, Regina King. Though if you’re not feelin’ it I apologise profusely and promise I’m gonna step up. Ain’t nothin’ I want more than to see you smile.”
Well fuck me .
And fuck me.
“ I don’t even know what to say.” Rebecca really didn’t. She’d prefer to scramble over this desk and plant one on him, but that’s not exactly realistic. “Ted Lasso, you softie.”
“Nuh uh, that’s Ted Welton- Lasso to you.”
“Oh, is that so? I didn’t know you were married.”
“Eh, little known fact. She’s kinda my whole world.”
“Coach Lasso! Coach Lasso!”
“Any comment on the article?”
“Coach Lasso!”
“Oi! Lasso! Coach Lasso! Over here!”
“What do you have to say about the rumours of your relationship being a sham!?”
“How are you going to respond?”
“Coach Lasso! Coach Lasso!”
From the second the door opened, it’s an onslaught. Rebecca slips in quietly behind Ted and Leslie, and presses herself to the wall like that would keep the room of hungry jackals from noticing her. To his credit, Ted looks calm and collected. He shakes Trent’s hand as he steps up to the desk, smiling at the few media members who aren’t screaming at him, and takes a sip from the bottle of still water that’s waiting for him. Rebecca knows that this controlled exterior is just that, a facade, and that Ted’s just waiting for the right moment to begin. He’s gotten good at managing the narrative, and she knows he refuses to comment about what they're waiting for.
“Coach Lasso! Any comment on the recent accusations?”
“Coach Lasso! Coach Lasso!”
Ted leans back in his chair, folding his hands placidly over his belly. Rebecca stifles a smirk, all too aware that cameras are trained on her, too.
They haven’t called this presser to address the article, not by far, and there are bigger things at stake than a momentary peace. They’re in it now, the season's final stretch, only three matches left before kingdom come and they’re (miraculously) tied with West Ham for third place on the table. This presser has been scheduled for months to address finals strategies and congratulate the Greyhounds who have just finished up with their national teams.
“Coach Lasso! What do you have to say about–?”
“Can you comment on–?”
“Coach–!”
Rebecca’s getting antsy with how long he’s leaving it. They’re only asking the same questions they’ve been shouting from sidewalks and out car windows and calling Keeley about for a week now. It’s exhausting, honestly. How long will it take for them to take the hint? They’re not going to bloody talk about it! Ted had passionately defended not going after the Daily Mail in court for publishing that picture of Henry, settling for the club’s solicitors to reach out on his behalf and threaten them just enough with a lawsuit to scare them off (Rebecca insisted they do something and that was the best she could get). She’s desperate for them to back off, and watching Ted sit there quietly, placidly taking the rancid questions in stride, letting them fall off his back like water on a leaf, is utterly destroying Rebecca.
“Say something , Ted,” she mutters under her breath. The words are swallowed up by the din but Leslie, at her side like usual, nods in stressed agreement.
“Coach Lasso! Coach Lasso!”
God, would they just shut up already? It’s like watching a bunch of self-obsessed secondary students chatting away, totally oblivious to the poor first-year teacher at the front of the room who just wants to struggle through another awful act of Romeo and Juliet and then go home. In uni Sassy had been a cover teacher for the local secondary while getting her Masters in child psych; she’d fucking hated it, but it had given the woman some “much needed insight into the minds of actual little shits”. This presser was throwing Rebecca right back to their nights bitching about the teens over bottles of cheap wine and Poundland crisps. As is, she feels Sassy’s pain. Her heart feels like it’s on time with a samba and she’s beginning to feel the flutter of anxiety coming up her throat. In her heels, Rebecca squeezes her toes together again and again to keep from fidgeting too much. She’s far too antsy to be here right now, too anxious. God knows how he’s doing it. Rebecca’s phone buzzes in her hand as Ted takes another languid sip of water.
Keels <3: the actual fuck is he doing?
Rebecca: I have no idea.
I might actually strangle him if it goes on much longer.
Keels <3: !!! dont do that !!!
“Coach Lasso! Oi! Coach Lasso!”
“Coach Lasso–!”
“Any comment on–?”
“Over here–!”
Keels <3: did u know he was gonna do this?
Rebecca: Do you really think I would’ve let him?
Keels <3: … no? idk. i dunno ur kinks
but feel free to tell me abt them anytime 👀
“Is he… okay?” Asks Leslie. Rebecca jumps slightly, pressing her phone to her chest just in case (not that there’s anything naughty , and she knows he has about a million sons but…).
“Haven’t the foggiest,” she replies, watching Ted adjust the primary microphone needlessly. “He told me this morning he, and I quote: has a plan.”
“That’s possibly the vaguest thing Ted has ever said.”
“Precisely. That’s what worries me.”
“You don’t think he knows what he’s doing?”
“Absolutely not.”
Keels <3: wot r u 2 whispering about
Fucking hell . She’d forgotten this is streaming. Rebecca glances around, eyes locking on the camera in the back that’s certainly not centred where it’s supposed to. She narrows her eyes at the David the cameraman, who quickly swings back to Ted.
Keels <3: fuck that was hot
It’s been nearly ten minutes of this now, and though the press have begun looking at each other in confusion they’ve not actually stopped calling out repetitive, exhausting questions. Ted’s just about finished his water.
“Coach Lasso! What do you have to say about the allegations regarding the abandonment of your son?”
Rebecca catches the second it starts. Ted’s hands, previously resting loosely on his torso or casually fiddling with the bottled water cap, disappear under the desk. His shoulders stiffen, his back straightens. Before Rebecca knows what the hell she’s doing, she’s pressing her mobile into Leslie’s hands and stepping up onto the platform.
“Oi!” She shouts, the room stunning into blissful silence. “I’m going to say this once, and then you’re all going to ask one question about football, and then you’ll be dismissed. Got it?” The sea of cameras and notepads and recording devices seems to murmur their agreement. From behind her, Rebecca hears Ted squeak out a little yes ma’am. “Good.”
Someone in the back coughs demurely. It makes Rebecca want to scream.
“Hey,” he whispers, and she turns to glance at him. Ted’s got his mic covered with one shaking hand and is leaning forward in the shadow she’s casting to look up at her with big, moon eyes. “You okay?”
Rebecca nods at him and makes a little face trying to encourage him to head out if he needs to. He misinterprets and comes to stand next to her. She wants to tell Ted it’s okay , you can leave if you need to, but then his hand slips into hers and the quaking of their hands begins to calm. Rebecca hadn’t even known she was shaking. Cameras flash for a moment, dying as her eyes rake across the room once more. His thumb smoothes across her knuckles and all of a sudden Rebecca knows where she’s going with this.
“When I acquired the club, we were broken. I was broken, and no matter how much sports tape we put on the problem it wouldn’t fix. And then Ted. He’s a tireless optimist not because he’s a delusional, dumb American or because he just is , but because he sees the good in everyone he meets. The genuine good. He saw potential in the Greyhounds, in the town of Richmond, in this very room. You saw it! You saw the change. You’ve seen the good.” Rebecca takes a good look around the room, acknowledging the legion of journalists old and young who’ve all taken shots at her personally. Whether or not they went low or high (and it had usually been low), every single person in this room with a credential had taken a swing at Rebecca’s personal life. Even Trent. Even Higgins. Even Keeley , watching from her office at KJPR, had been on her at one point (one very low, deserved point, that first season with the Americans). Her head turned, seeking out Ted, his cheeks tinged with pink. “For the first time in a long time, I saw the good too.
“Now I understand that headlines regarding Coach Lasso and myself make your bosses an astounding amount of money, and you’re free to speculate, but there is one thing I will not tolerate from this moment forward.
Number one: all family will be left alone. You will not send anyone to America for unrelated photographs of a minor, and you will not print any photographs, sans-blur, that you already have without Coach Lasso’s permission.
Gossip all you please, we’re public figures and understand the nature of these things, but the second your pens cross into libel the club will come down on your organisations hard. I will not hesitate to bar you from my press room. Got it?” Quiet agreement rippled throughout the room. “Now. Does anybody have a question?”
Ted squeezes her hand, but Rebecca cannot find it within her to look at him. She’s sure he’s proud (not only that Rebecca stood up for Henry, Ted, and herself, but also for keeping a relative calm through the speech) but doesn’t know what her face might do upon seeing his reaction. At this very moment there is so much love coursing through her veins that Rebecca knows she’ll snap if he so much as smiles in her direction. The crowd is quiet, silence only broken by the occasional cleared throat and clicked pen. And then…
“Ms. Welton! Thoughts on the current tie with West Ham United?” asks Marcus Adebayo, the Independent. Rebecca sighs in relief.
“They’re a fine team, but really, please address all football-related to my husband .” She chances it, closing her eyes at the last possible second before she turns to kiss him on the cheek. The problem is that Rebecca doesn’t see Ted turn toward her in turn. Her lips press to the corner of his before she straightens in shock and departs from the platform.
“Good job, Rebecca,” Leslie praises as she finds her spot by his side. She’s shaking slightly under Ted’s shocked gaze. Higgins returns her phone. “Keeley.”
“Right.” Clearing her throat, Rebecca watches Ted lean casually against the front of the desk. He faces forward, grinning a little stupidly, giving Rebecca a second to check her notifications; they’re all from Keeley and consist entirely of exclamation points.
“What was that question again, Marcus? ‘Fraid the wifey sent me into orbit for a moment.” He says it so smoothly, despite having forgone that moniker since last summer. Rebecca smiles involuntarily, fingers lifting to press against her lips. She can still feel him there.
“Ah, I asked her thoughts on the current tie with West Ham United?”
“Gotcha. I’m gonna repeat her now, so feel free to quote me instead if ya want, but they’re a fine team. Nate’s doing some great work over there and I wish him luck for these final matches. Now! Any questions ’bout our boys?”
It happens again, the slip, before the final match of the season, after dancing around the incident for a week and a half. Rebecca is standing between Roy and Beard, watching Ted give the boys a final pep talk, enamoured by how he loves each of his players. She can see just how much the Greyhounds love him in return. Jamie looks almost moved to tears.
As the team gathers in a huddle, Rebecca stands back. She doesn’t want to intervene in their traditions, knowing that her presence in the locker room is a novel thing, but Isaac gestures for her to join. And who is she to refuse the team captain? She puts her hand in hesitantly and Isaac begins the count. When the boys break in loud cheers Ted turns to her and gathers Rebecca in, rising on his tiptoes to rest his forehead on hers.
“Tell me to win this.” He whispers as the boys file out.
“What?” Rebecca gazes at him, searching for his feelings in his face. Ted stays guarded, eyes slipping shut. He looks relaxed, but she knows he gets pre-match jitters.
“You know I don’t care ’bout winnin’ or losin’. Tell me to win this for you, and we will.”
“Coach Lasso,” she starts, hands slipping up to cup his face. He shudders at her touch. “ Ted , would you please win this for me?”
It’s AFC Richmond versus Manchester City, and the Mancunians are expected to have a leg up. This time, the teams are tied. It’s anyone’s game. Even Leslie’s son has money on the Greyhounds coming second.
“Rebecca, I’ll win the whole fucking thing for you.” Rebecca doesn’t have time to be shocked at the depth in his voice, because the next second he’s pressing his lips chastely to hers and disappearing around the corner.
She spends the match in absent disbelief. Rebecca’s seated next to Keeley and in front of the Higginses, but she’s unsure how she got from the locker rooms to the owner’s box in the first place. Keeley hands her a bag of crisps, and Rebecca munches on them occasionally, but her eyes never leave the bench. Ted’s in his element, calling out to players as they pass, referring back to Beard and Roy frequently for plays. Sometimes he glances up toward her and then Rebecca’s heart skips a beat. When Man City scores, Rebecca can hear Ted saying “it’s okay! It’s okay! Next time!” in her head over the crowd's roar.
Thank goodness the final is a home game, otherwise Rebecca would not have been able to get away with how apathetic she must appear to spectators. Keeley has to pinch her sometimes to get a reaction, and attempts to haul her giantess best friend up when Richmond finally scores (Sam Obisanya and Jamie Tartt are playing magnificently). Rebecca’s mind is stuck on that kiss, on that moment when his voice dropped and his breath ghosted over hers and his moustache tickled her nose. She’s stuck considering the possibilities of what this means.
At half, Ted looks up to her box and waves. The teams are tied 1-1 after a brutal fight from Man City, but the Greyhounds don’t look tired in the least. Dani’s managed a nosebleed, Jamie’s covered in dirt, and Zoreaux’s mask is askew but each of them high-five their coaches as they pass. They’re put on the big screens, Ted’s dimples on full display as he grins up toward her. Rebecca has no idea how well he can see her, but she mouths hi, Ted back anyway before he salutes and follows the boys back down the tunnel.
God, I love him , Rebecca thinks before she can censor herself. She gasps aloud.
“What? What is it, babe?” Keeley’s right there, poking and prodding and trying to get her bestie to reply.
“I’m about to make your job a lot harder.”
“The hell are you talking about?”
“I think I love him, Keeley.”
In the row behind them, Higgins’ trips over his own feet on his way to the refreshment table.
“No you bloody don’t.”
“Excuse me?!” Rebecca glares at Keeley, the first time she’s looked at the girl all match, and finds blank disbelief all over her face.
“You can’t think you love Ted Lasso, Rebecca, honestly.” Rolling her eyes, Keeley crosses her arms primly. Her bracelets snag slightly on the silk AFC Richmond scarf she’s repurposed as a shirt.
“And whyever not?!” Rebecca’s close to outrage. Higgins appears to her left and hands her a flute of champagne. It gets downed immediately. “I’m well within my right. Just because he’s Ted doesn’t mean I don’t love the man! And why shouldn’t I? I think his jokes are funny – yes, I actually do! I think the moustache is actually quite fetching, and he makes me like chino shorts. God, his forearms drive me crazy and I think it’s cute when he snores at night! I’ve kept it secret who won Bake Off last season for six months because he wanted it to be a surprise and I couldn’t bare to deprive him of that! I watched American football with him once and I actually liked it because he gets so excited and it’s adorable. My chest feels tight when he isn’t around, and my heart feels like it’s about to burst watching him and Henry on facetime. He makes my tea in the morning even thought he can’t stand it and even though he makes them at my house he never lets me have a biscuit before Biscuits with the Boss which I should find infuriating but I only ever find endearing! If that’s not love? What is!? I can’t believe it! I really thought you–” Rebecca trailed off as she realised not only the scene she was causing, but also that Keeley had begun to giggle behind her hand. “What?”
“Oh, Rebecca, I only wanted to tell you that it’s impossible to think you love him when it’s obvious you’re already head over heels!”
The match resumes. Rebecca finds it a little easier to focus on the players now that those three words have escaped her lips, but only just. Ted’s got a fire behind him. All three coaches do. She’s not sure what went on in the interval, but the Greyhounds genuinely look like they’re having fun . Man City looks like they’re doing their job. The Lasso Way, Rebecca thinks fondly as Tartt manages a bloody gorgeous goal.
It’s 2-1 Richmond when City’s Grealish fouls Obisanya. A gasp is heard around Nelson Road as Sam writhes on the ground, holding his ankle. Rebecca looks to Ted, feeling the beginnings of panic rising. There’s still so much time left in the second half, and though Dani is fantastic, the buddy pair of Sam and Jamie has been unstoppable this season. She knows the only reason Richmond has a leg up over Manchester City is because of Total Football and the enduring trust that the Greyhound boys have built. Eventually, Sam stands. A quick glance at the bench tells Rebecca that the boy is just fine. Even from this distance she can tell Coach Kent is pleased with himself, and Rebecca recalls Keeley telling the story of how Roy helped Sam find his way that first season. The ref calls for a free kick, and suddenly number 24 no longer seems injured. Rebecca grins.
Sam scores handily, leaving it 3-1 Richmond. The sky blue jerseys scattered around Nelson Road are up in arms, but the red and blues are singing Fat Bottomed Girls at the top of their lungs.
By the time the whistle blows, City has managed another goal. It’s not enough.
AFC RICHMOND - 3
MANCHESTER CITY - 2
Rebecca almost melts with relief as fans flood the pitch. She can’t quite believe it. Keeley is screaming by her side, jumping up and down like a little maniac. Leslie and Julie Higgins are snogging. Rebecca searches for Ted in the crowd but the team is being overrun. Fans are hugging, crying, kissing the grass; they’re clapping Tartt on the back as he makes his way over to Pep Guardiola. The pair shake hands like old friends. Then, he turns and jogs back to the centre. Rebecca spots him: at the heart of his team… doing the running man.
“I have to go,” she half laughs, half yells at Keeley who responds with wide eyes and a knowing smirk.
“Don’t be daft, I’m right behind you! My boyfriend just won the Premier League!” Rebecca nearly stumbles up the steps. This is a new revelation, she wasn’t aware Roy and Keeley had made it official again (after a year of reconnecting, bloody hell).
Rebecca almost blacks out as they sprint through the halls, her only focus is getting to Ted, seeing Ted, loving Ted. Some time before the tunnel she kicks off her heels and goes barefoot. Keeley can barely keep up as the woman barrels out onto the grassy pitch, pushing (not unkindly) past droves of fans in scarlet and blue until she spots the bright yellow socks of her team. Her team. Jamie spots her first, and shouts for the boys to make room for the Queen, yeh?
When she locks eyes with Ted, Rebecca knows it’s over. She’s done pretending, they both are, and he meets her. They smash into each other, a messy embrace of clumsy limbs and tears Rebecca didn’t know she was crying.
“You did it.” She says, a little stupidly. “You won.” All around them the team is still hugging and celebrating. If Rebecca had eyes for anyone other than her gaffer she would have gotten an eyeful watching Keeley climb Roy like a tree.
“We won,” he clarifies, and she knows he doesn’t just mean the players.
“Ted, I–”
“Rebecca–”
They both laugh. Ted’s hands sneak around from the embrace until they rest against her hips. Rebecca’s find his face.
“I love you,” she breathes like a release. “I love you, Ted Lasso.”
For a horrifying moment, Rebecca thinks she’s gotten it wrong. He blinks at her, mouth going slack. Confetti begins to fall (she’s so glad they’ve won, Leslie had been so excited about the biodegradable confetti he insisted on buying ‘just in case’).
“That’s Ted Welton-Lasso to you.”
And then… and then he surges forward and kisses her.
If she’d been half capable of coherent thought, Rebecca might have found it embarrassing to be kissed so passionately by her gaffer in front of their team, their team who’d cottoned on to the show. Absently, Rebecca notes that she thinks it’s Sam who’s cheering the loudest.
She wraps her arms around his neck, hauling herself closer to him (he really is taller than her, huh) on bare tiptoe in the grass. Ted’s moustache tickles, but the way his fingertips dig into her hip as he bites her lip makes her forget the world. She loves him, she loves him, she loves him, and he– Ted pulls back suddenly.
“I love you too, Becca.”
She has barely a millisecond to react before a bright orange liquid is dumped over them like a tidal wave. Ted and Rebecca stare at each other in doe-eyed shock. They’re sticky, and they smell like orange flavouring. Ted throws his head back and laughs, and even though Rebecca knows her clothes are ruined forever, she thinks this sight is maybe the most wonderful vista she’s ever seen.
“Sorry to ruin the moment! Did we do it right?” Sam cuts in. “I wasn’t sure if– but Jamie and Will said–” Ted cuts him off by pulling the young man into a sloppy sports-mixy hug. Rebecca comes down to Earth enough to realise the boys are all looking on in quiet expectation, waiting. She doesn’t quite know what’s just happened.
“Nah, it’s perfect .”
“ WE GOT ‘EM! ” Jamie cries, and the boys respond with pure jubilation, all jumping, hugging, and crowding in on Rebecca and Ted, not caring about the sports-mix shower they’ve just given them. McAdoo hands Will the Premier League Trophy and promptly hoists the kid up on his shoulders with help from Jan Maas and O’Brien. From somewhere, Coaches Beard and Roy appear, equally damp and separately grumpy (guess who), to join the team hug.
“What was that?!” She whisper-yells in Ted’s ear, smushed between him and Colin Huges, caught up in the revelry.
“American football tradition.” The coach beams. “It’s what you do when you win the whole fucking thing.” He kissed her soundly. It was more teeth than anything, both of them all silly smiles, but Rebecca had never been happier.
WELTON-LASSOS WIN ALL
By Marcus Adebayo
In a fairy-tale ending to an incredible season, AFC Richmond has emerged victorious as the champions of the Premier League. The underdog team, led by their charismatic coach Ted Lasso and the brilliant leadership of owner Rebecca Welton, defied all odds and secured a historic win. Adding an extra touch of magic to their triumph, a heartwarming moment unfolded on the field as Welton and Lasso shared a celebratory kiss, sealing their shared journey of transformation and triumph.
From the beginning of the season, AFC Richmond faced numerous challenges. The team, once ailing and demoralised, found renewed hope under the guidance of Ted Lasso, an American football coach whose unorthodox methods and unwavering positivity breathed new life into the club. Together, Rebecca and Ted worked tirelessly to rebuild the team’s spirit and camaraderie, instilling a sense of belief that transcended their roles as owner and coach. As the players began to embrace Lasso’s unconventional coaching style, their performances soared, and AFC Richmond climbed up the league table.
Throughout the season, the team faced setbacks and obstacles, testing their resolve. But with each challenge, their bond grew stronger. As AFC Richmond secured their place at the top of the Premier League, the final matchup between the Greyhounds and Manchester City proved to be a momentous occasion. The tension was palpable, and the match was fiercely contested. Three years ago it would have been laughable to put the names Pep Guardiola and Ted Lasso together as equal adversaries, but yesterday the players fought valiantly, showcasing the indomitable spirit that had been instilled in them by their coach and owner.
When the final whistle blew, signalling AFC Richmond’s victory 3-2, Nelson Road erupted in a wave of jubilation. The players, elated and overcome with emotion, rushed to embrace one another. In the midst of the joyous chaos, Rebecca Welton and Ted Lasso found themselves face to face. In a spontaneous and heartfelt gesture, the likes of which we have not seen since their bombshell press conference last summer, Rebecca and Ted leaned in and shared a passionate kiss. It was a poignant moment, symbolising the triumph of love, unity, and the extraordinary power of believing in oneself and others.
The image of Rebecca Welton and Ted Lasso locked in that celebratory embrace will forever be etched in the memories of AFC Richmond fans worldwide. Their unlikely partnership, built on mutual respect and growth, exemplifies the transformative power of sports and the enduring bonds forged in the pursuit of a common goal.
As the confetti rained down on the pitch, AFC Richmond’s victory became more than just a sporting achievement—it represented a testament to the indomitable human spirit and the ability to overcome adversity. With AFC Richmond etching their name in football history, the legacy of this remarkable season will endure, serving as an inspiration for future generations of players, coaches, and fans alike. The story of their triumph will forever remind us that sometimes, against all odds, dreams do come true on the hallowed grounds of the football field.
