Page 80 of Too Close To Home

Jake lifted his fist into the air.

Teddy grinned and knocked his own muddy palm against his chest in reply.

And that, right there, was one of those moments making Jake’s sacrifices even more worthwhile. When a quiet pride settled warm beneath his skin. When he knew, no matter what, he’d never stop being Robyn’s little brother and Teddy’s surrogate father.

Fifteen minutes later, the match ended, and the temperature had dropped a few degrees more. Teddy trudged over to him across the grass, hair damp with sweat and mud streaking his legs.

“You see that try?” he said as Jake handed him his water bottle and watched him pour it into his mouth and all over his face.

Jake snorted. “Hard to miss when you were shoutin’ like you’d won the bloody World Cup.”

“I did win it.” Teddy grinned.

Jake slung an arm around the kid’s shoulders and steered him towards the van. “Come on then, champion. Let’s get you fed before you collapse.”

They climbed in, the cold following them inside until Jake twisted the key and cranked the heater to full blast. The vents rattled to life, coughing out blessedly warm air as Teddy waved through the window at his teammates hanging around the pitch.

Jake pulled out of the muddy car park. “You want Maccy D’s or Greggs this time?”

Teddy raised an eyebrow. “Gran’ll go nuts.”

“You leave her to me.” Jake reached over and ruffled Teddy’s hair. Instant regret. “Jesus.” He wiped his clammy palm on his jeans with a grimace. “What’ve they been rolling you in, glue?”

Teddy laughed, swiping his hair back into place. “Gran’s cooking.”

“You can eat a steak bake and one of Gran’s Friday night teas, aye? You’re a growing lad.”

Teddy snorted at that.

Jake swung the van towards the road out of town, heading for the Greggs on the edge of Hartswick. Ten minutes later they parked up in the corner of the car park with two paper bags between them, grease-stained wrappers piling on the dashboard while they dissected every moment of the match.

“You should’ve passed before the line,” Jake said around a mouthful of pastry.

“I scored though.”

“Aye, but you got lucky. Proper teams’ll smash you if you hold the ball that long.”

Teddy rolled his eyes and stole the sausage roll waiting on Jake’s lap.

“Oi!” Jake spat out a load of crumbs with the protest.

“Growing lad, you said.”

“Cheeky git.”

The radio hummed in the background, some chart show spilling through the speakers while the heater roared. Then that song came on. The one crawling up the charts lately. Four lads from Leeds suddenly everywhere. Radio. Festivals. Headlines. Neon Arcade’s first arena tour, announced after last summer’s festival season, had launched them straight into superstardom.

The opening riff filled the van.

Teddy tilted his head, frowning. “Ain’t that—”

Jake switched the radio off, dropping silence into the van again, thick and sudden. “Let’s get you home.”

He started the engine then pulled out of the car park, purposely not turning the radio back on. After the short drive home, he turned onto the Whittons’ gravel drive and gathered up the crumpled wrappers and empty cartons from the dashboard, crushed them into a greasy ball, and shoved the lot under the passenger seat. Evidence removed.

He pointed a warning finger at Teddy. “Say nowt, y’hear?”

Teddy grinned, then jumped out of the van, sprinting up the drive and bursting through the front door as he yelled into the house, “Gran! Jake got me Greggs!”