You Had A Bad Day
Frustration radiated off Gary Neville. Today was an absolute nightmare, the kind that made him want to scream and bawl his eyes out. He could almost picture the terrified look on Carragher's face if he did unleash those emotions, which would be the only silver lining to this whole mess. But Gary held it in. No screams, no tears. Just clenched fists buried deep in his pockets, eyes squeezed shut, and his head tilted back as if in silent prayer to the ceiling.
The thoughts in his head rattled around frantically, overwhelming him. He tries to focus on his breathing. A therapist of his had taught him about box breathing. Inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for four, hold for four – with each repetition,his body softens.
He feels a bit better. Until he opens his eyes and sees Carragher’s face, inches away from his own, looking at him curiously. Gary startles upright and screeches, “Dick!” Carragher smiles a little and takes a step back.
“You okay, mate?”, asks Carragher, his voice a little lower than it usually is.
Gary nods in the affirmative. “All good,” he mutters.
Carragher's gaze lingers for a beat too long, silently scrutinizing him. Gary, desperate to deflect attention, fumbles for his phone and buries himself in composing an email, blinking back the traitorous tears that well up again.
*
They walk out of their shared dressing room at Sky, towards the MNF studio and it’s the quietest walk they’ve ever shared. No last minute thoughts about the prepared pieces, or arguing over a silly detail, nothing. Carragher is all too aware of the silence but doesn’t break it. Gary, on the other hand, can’t hear the silence over the cacophony in his head.
*
The show is going well, Gary thinks. Carragher does most of the talking. Roy does most of the glaring. Micah does most of the laughing. And Gary does most of the listening. He can sense Carragher looking at him when Roy and Micah are talking and he doesn’t look back. He finds that he wants to close his eyes and look at the darkness behind his lids again. When it finally ends, he shakes everyone’s hands, and Dave gives him a funny look and tells him to, “stop working so hard”.
Gary’s stomach churns. He smiles politely at Dave, anger beginning to simmer in his blood.
A hand squeezes his shoulder and Gary turns to see Carragher by his side. “We’re headed to the pub. Roy’s buying!”
Roy grunts a strange sound but doesn’t refute Carragher’s claim. The four of them walk towards the dressing rooms together, and the corridors echo with Micah’s booming voice drowning out all the other voices. Carragher walks in step with Gary, his hand still around Gary’s shoulder and Gary still wants to cry but doesn’t feel like screaming quite so much anymore.
*
Gary is at home in his pajamas when he finally allows himself to cry. He turns on the television; an old cricket match, India versus Australia, fills the screen. Maybe the pub, with the camaraderie and distraction of his mates, wouldn't have been so bad after all. Maybe it would have distracted him. Nah. He would have probably depressed everyone. This was for the best. He lied to them but with good reason.
“Sorry, I can’t ‘av drinks tonight – got the kids tonight, Emma’s got a thing and they’re staying over at mine.”
Nobody could argue with that. Although Carragher had looked at him as if he couldn’t believe his ears. Stupid scouser. He needed a drink.
With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself to the kitchen, the weight of his steps echoing in the quiet house. As he began to make himself a drink, the doorbell rang, shattering the fragile peace of his solitude. Irritation flared within him. Who could it be at this hour? Didn't people have any manners anymore?
Gary considers ignoring the doorbell, retreating further into his cocoon of misery. But curiosity gets the better of him. Who could possibly be knocking at his door at this hour?
He opens the door and finds a silver haired scouser with a light smile on his lips.
"Jamie?" Gary's voice wavered with surprise as Carragher breezed past him into the house.
"Kids in bed, then?" Carragher's grin widened, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
Gary’s ears turn pink and he begs his body not to betray him. “Yeah. I was just making meself a drink. What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d come give you a hand with the kids since Emma’s at her thing.” He looks at Gary evenly and Gary starts walking towards the kitchen again.
“All under control, Carragher. Maybe find some other kids to take care of?”
Carragher chuckles, “You’re a terrible liar, you know?”
Gary's cheeks burned. "What'll you have to drink?" he deflected, eager to change the subject.
“I’ll have what you’re having.”
Gary now really wants to scream again. He mumbles under his breath and goes towards the fridge when he hears Jamie break out into hysterical giggles. “Is this your drink, mate? A h-h-h- hot chocolate?”
Even with his head stuck in the cold fridge, Gary can feel his face burning up again. He doesn’t respond and continues to move things around in the fridge.
He feels himself being steered away from the fridge, a pair of hands gentle on his waist, the fridge door clicking shut softly behind him.
He makes another hot chocolate and hands it over to Jamie who accepts it with no further comments. They stand in the kitchen, the only sound the quiet clinking of spoons against ceramic.
Gary doesn’t know where it comes from and why he chooses that moment, but the words slip out of his mouth before he realises what he’s saying.
“I got asked to step down as Salford’s CEO today.”
Jamie’s hand, holding the mug, freezes mid-air.
“There was a board meeting and – “ Gary's voice cracks, choked by a sudden wave of emotion. He trails off, unable to finish the sentence.
In a heartbeat, Jamie is by his side, gently taking the drink from his hand and setting it down on the counter.
He pulls Gary into a hug and holds him tight, running a hand up and down Gary’s back. A choked sob escapes Gary’s lips, quickly followed by another, and then another. Jamie rocks him gently. His lips brush against Gary’s temples, and his fingers find themselves drawing little circles at the back of Gary’s neck.
After a long moment, when the ragged gasps for breath subsided, Jamie pulled back slightly, his hands cupping Gary's face. His eyes, usually filled with mischief, are now tender with an emotion Gary did not have guts to name.
"Alright, mate," Jamie says, his voice low and gentle. "Let's hear what happened."
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