OVERKILL ★ CHAPTER ONE
(Coach Beard's Lady-Friend's Youngest Daughter.)

NO ONE NEEDS TO POINT out to Quinn Zheng that being a squatter in her older sister's flat at the age of twenty-two is pathetic. She already knows.

To be fair, she's still trying to figure out what the hell she should even be doing with her current situation. The sane part of her brain is telling her to go back home as soon as possible; catch the next available flight to New York and figure out everything there.

But the selfish, fearful part of her mind is telling her to stay in Kingston; to keep finding comfort in her older sister's guest room. She doubts Christa will ever kick her out, or mind her stay unless she gets extremely unbearable (which statistically is forty-seven percent), and her fiancé more or less goes along with whatever Christa wants, anyway. Maybe just a little longer. She'll give it a few more days and then she'll start figuring it all out. Procrastination has never been a healthy habit, but Quinn reminds herself that she's never actually failed to complete anything despite that unhealthy trait.

A thought in the back of her head tells her that what she's doing isn't procrastination, it's suppression. She pushes that thought to the back of her mind.

She continues to stare blankly at the television—or, the telly, as Harvey says. She bites back a giggle as she thinks of her soon to be brother-in-law's accent. She wraps her lips around her spoon to conceal the noise, crunching on her cheerios. The last thing she wants is for Christa to find herself laughing on her own, and thinking that she's gonna completely psychotic.

Thankfully, Christa misses her little giggle-fit by a moment. "Got any plans today, sis?" she asks as she enters the kitchen.

It's clear she's asking out of courtesy since it's been clear for the past week and a half that Quinn showed up at her doorstep with nowhere to go, and no idea what to do.

Quinn shrugs. She doesn't want to admit that her current plans consisted of sitting on the couch and exploring the wondrous possibilities of movies that could be on UK Netflix.

"Might go out, walk around. Get some coffee maybe," she fibs.

Christa doesn't seem pleased with the answer. She knows Quinn doesn't plan to step a single toe outside the comfort of the flat. Still, not wanting to start an argument, Christa indulges, "That's nice, there's a lot to explore. There's actually this really nice lunch spot a few blocks down. Harvey's a regular there, and they love him. Just say you know who he is, and they'll probably give you a free meal."

Quinn snorts. "I'll definitely take advantage of the benefits of King Harvey's celebrity status here."

Harvey—Christa's fiancé—is a pediatrician in Kingston. He opened a practice two years prior, and supposedly, nearly everyone is in love with him. Not only was he loaded beyond Quinn's comprehension, but he's also known for being uncharacteristically nice; the type of nice where you question whether or not you wanna thank him or punch him in the face (Quinn thinks he has quite the punchable face, but in a somewhat endearing way). There's only one other person she would label as that kind of nice.

"I want you to make the most of your stay here," Christa says. "However long you stay, I want you to enjoy it." She's well informed of the difficulties her younger sister will face once she decides to go home. "I don't have to leave for work yet. Let's think of stuff you can do."

Quinn refrains from snapping at her sister, telling her that she'll be fine and she'd rather not go out today, or any day after. She knows Christa just wants to help, but it's hard to accept that help sometimes. She's already bruised her ego enough, spending a large chunk of money from her bank account to fly to England just so she can cry in Christa's arms.

"Fine," Quinn grumbles, entertaining the idea of going out for her sister's sake. If she wasn't staying in Christa's home for free, she'd happily growl a very nasty Fuck off, Christa and march to her room, and adding more of a dramatic effect by slamming the door.

Admittedly, at twenty-two, Quinn still sometimes possesses the mindset of a teenager.

"Perfect!" Christa slides out a chair from the table, and settles herself by Quinn. She taps the wooden table with her hands. "Let's see . . . I suppose London isn't too far, but I'm not sure if you want to take that commute alone for your first time. There are a lot of sightseeing spots there that you can check out, though." Christa assesses Quinn's reaction for a moment. "Does that interest you?"

Quinn hums disapprovingly. "Doing tourist shit isn't fun when you don't have a family to argue with the whole time."

"I would argue that it's more fun because you don't have a family to argue with the whole time. But fair enough. Maybe I can still make you a reservation at the lunch place Harvey likes?"

Quinn makes a sour face. "And sit alone?"

This seems to tick Christa off. "You're sitting alone in this flat, Quinn!"

"That's different," argues Quinn, "and you know it!"

Christa shoots her sister an agitated look, deciding to choose peace over a nonsensical fight on whether or not it is different (It is, Quinn decides in her head).

"Fine," Christa flails her hands in defeat, "no tourist-y shit, no lunch . . . do you even wanna walk?"

"My feet hurt," shrugs Quinn.

"Christ," Christa mutters. "There's a bookstore two shops down. Barely any walking, you can sit and pretend to read a book so it won't look like you're a loser sitting alone."

Quinn grimaces, upset that her sister managed to find a way to appease her random complaints. She racks her brain for a counterargument; something that will eventually land her on the couch with a remote in her hand.

"I don't read," Quinn says, opting to be childish. "I only read books when it's Beard who gives them to me." That's not necessarily a true statement, but she hopes that the mention of something sentimental would speak to Christa's soft side.

Instead, a lightbulb seems to flicker on in her sister's head. Her eyes widen and she grins, "Beard!"

Quinn jumps, not prepared for Christa's voice to go up ten octaves. "Jesus, yes . . . Beard. Remember who he is?"

Beard, which is a nickname everyone who knows him substitutes his government name for, is a good friend of Quinn's mother, which led to him being pronounced her godfather shortly after her birth. He's a man of very few words, and even fewer smiles. Quinn finds, though, that his actions speak louder than any social courtesy he lacks. He's shown up to all of her birthdays, gifting her with books that cater towards whatever lesson he deemed important to learn at her age. If her parents asked him to show up at a piano recital, he'd be there (in the back row though, observing the scene to monotonously debrief with Quinn later).

Their interactions have lessened since Beard decided to accompany Ted Lasso (who would open a completely different conversation altogether) in his football coaching endeavors at Wichita State University—a considerably far school from her college in New York.

"Of course I remember who he is," scolds Christa, but her grin doesn't lessen. "But haven't you heard? He's here, in the UK!"

Quinn's eyes shoot up. "Seriously?"

"Yes!" Christa looks up, trying to recount the information that was given to her. "Mom told me a few weeks ago. He's here with Ted, remember him?"

Quinn nods. Of course she remembers Ted. How could she, or anyway else, ever forget him?

"Apparently, they're both coaching some soccer—sorry, football—team here. Mom called to tell me to tell me a few weeks after they came. She wanted to see if I was interested in seeing him and catching up . . . I said maybe. But I never followed up after that." Christa pulls out her phone. "She gave me his number, do you want it?" she asks, hopeful.

Quinn doesn't need it. She's had it memorized since kindergarten when her parents engrained it in her head as an emergency contact. Today, he's somewhere buried in her contacts. When everything fell apart back in New York, she even considered calling him. They hadn't a genuine conversation in years, apart for the yearly Happy Birthday call. That strain in their relationship was only due to Quinn getting busy in college, but there was never any bad blood. Still, felt weird to turn to him for advice, despite how desperately she wanted to. She's been meaning to give him a call. With her mind reeling, though, it had slipped her mind—until now.

Quinn thinks this is the first good news she's heard during her stay in England. A reunion with her godfather doesn't sound bad at all. It's much better than a phone call, which is what Quinn initially thought was her only option.

"Is the place he works close?" asks Quinn curiously.

Christa perks up at her sister's genuine curiosity. "Yes! I'm pretty sure. It's a football club in Richmond! I think it's a few towns over, I'm not too familiar with the geography of it all, though." She takes out her phone. "I can ask Harvey for directions . . . if you're considering going?"

The hopeful glint in her eyes is something Quinn prefers over a few minutes ago, where Christa's look seemed almost pitiful; pitiful like she can clearly see how lost her younger sister is, but unable to figure out how to help at all. Quinn doesn't like how that look makes her feel. She doesn't like feeling small, despite being the younger sibling. She wishes she could have her shit together like Christa.

Quinn takes out her own phone from her pajama pants to search her contacts for Beard, alerting him of her spontaneous plans. Guess where I am!!!!! She sends the message and sees Christa still awaiting an answer to her last question.

"Yeah," says Quinn. She rolls her eyes when Christa's smile widens, very happy with that decision as she shoots a text to Harvey.

★

The commute from Kingston to Richmond is a quick one, wrapping up in less then twenty minutes. Quinn takes the time on her ride to do more research on Beard and Ted's ventures in the UK.

According to an article she found online by The Independent, Beard was hired as a new coach for AFC Richmond, a Premier League football club in England. He accepted the job in accompaniment with the club's new football manager, Ted Lasso. Apparently, Premier League clubs are a big fucking deal; the kind of deal where you wouldn't want an ex-American football coach to be managing it. The article clearly seems to possess a negative view on Ted's managing, calling him all sorts of names that shouldn't be appropriate for a big-time news outlet. Quinn scowls. What the hell happened to un-biased sources?

She closes the tab and goes from reading what the world has to say about Ted and Beard to sending for an Uber to pick her up at the station.

During the drive, she stares impressedly at the small town that seems to be full of life. She thinks she prefers the town's architecture over Kingston's. She's always been a sucker for cute little towns you'd find on Pinterest, though. She wishes she could bottle up her sights and put them in a tiny glass case to stare at every day. Maybe they'll have some sort of tourist-memento-version of her thought in one of the little shops that occupy the streets.

"Thank you so much," says Quinn with a smile once she reaches her destination.

The car parks at the front entrance and she's just about to exit the car when she hears the driver call out, "Oi!"

Oh God, she thinks. Of course her Uber driver is going to be some sort of weird creep that she's gonna have to take out her pepper spray for.

Against her better judgment and out of fear, though, she turns to look at the driver's face in the rearview mirror. Her voice is nervous when she mumbles out, "Yeah?"

"You an American?" he asks, accent thick and gravely.

Her eyebrows raise and she nods. Is she about to get mugged for being an American? Maybe she should've expected this outcome. She racks her brain for any personal belongings in the purse over her shoulder. She supposes she can do without it . . . she only needs her phone, really. And all her important cards are in a little card slot on her phone case, anyway. She's going to be fine. She's convincing herself really hard of it.

"So you know that Lasso lad then, don't you?"

Quinn's expression becomes offended. "Who are you to think all Americans know each other? . . . But yes. I do—my previous statement stays true, though!"

The driver scoffs. "Go ahead and wish that wanker my absolute worst, will you? Now get out of me car, and have a great day!"

Quinn stares, dumbfounded, not expecting that type of reaction. A mugging would make more sense than that. The wires in her brain connect to move her body out of the vehicle, but that's all it can do as she watches the car drive away.

"What the fuck is a wanker?" she mumbles. And why the hell did Ted gather enough notoriety to have middle-aged British men insult him when he's not even there?

She visibly shakes, trying to rid her body of the odd interaction as she hikes the strap of her purse farther up her shoulders. At least all her belongings are still in her possession. She looks around to see if anyone had noticed the abnormal interaction. Thankfully, the area seems to be deserted at this point in the day.

Quinn finally takes her time to judge her surroundings. She stares at Nelson Road—specifically how official and gaudy it looks—and decides then and there that there's no way her Beard could possibly work in a place like his, let alone in a position as high as coach.

But her godfather has always been known for surprises.

She enters the facility, feeling a slight chill of cool air from the running A.C. in the place. Thank God, thinks Quinn. She's getting very tired of the "no air conditioning" nonsense that runs across England.

She spots a lady at the front desk and presents herself with a nervous smile.

"Hi," begins Quinn, "I'm here to meet someone that works here?" The last part comes out as more of a question, unsure of the right words to use when describing being a guest here.

The woman hums. "First and last name of the person you are visiting, please."

"Um . . ." Quinn trails off, unsure how to state her next words without feeling like a complete idiot. If these weren't the exact instructions her godfather told her to do upon arrival, she'd toss it all out the window and resort to staying at the entrance until he could spare enough time to find her. "First and last name is . . . Coach Beard."

The woman doesn't appear to be phased by the strangeness of using Coach Beard as a first and last name. Instead, she hums politely. "I should've guessed you're here to see one of them—with your accent and all."

Quinn raises an eyebrow. "Is everyone around here just gonna assume every person with an American accent is related to them?"

"Yes," the woman responds simply. She clicks a few buttons on her keyboard and looks up at Quinn, "I've alerted security of your arrival. Someone should be here soon to—"

The lady doesn't get a chance to finish. Not when a familiar, cheery voice cuts through their conversation, "Do my eyes deceive me . . . or is that Quinn-Ana-Banana!"

The voice echoes against the walls as Quinn turns to see Ted Lasso (the only person in the world to ever refer to her using that nickname) walking towards her with his arms spread wide, ready for a hug.

"Ted!" Quinn exclaims happily as she closes and distance and wraps her arms around his shoulders.

With Beard as her godfather, Ted had been a constant in her childhood by association. He's always possessed the ability to control a room, making everyone comfortable and happy in his presence. Even now, unbeknownst to him, Ted's hug provides a comfort that Quinn hasn't felt in a long time. She pushes any unpleasant thoughts and worries aside, and rests her head against Ted's shoulder.

"You ain't lettin' up, buttercup," he laughs. "When's the last time someone's given you a proper hug?" Though Ted's question can be perceived with malice, his tone prevents anyone from ever thinking so. His arm wraps a little tighter around the girl to show that he doesn't mind the prolonged hug one bit.

Quinn snorts. "I'm sorry," she says as she pulls away.

"Nothing to apologize for, darling," counters Ted. He says his thanks to the lady at the front desk and begins to walk away, motioning for Quinn to follow him.

"Coach told me you were coming this morning—almost smiled and everything! I just didn't know that I'd have the absolute pleasure of seeing you first . . . he'll be a little ticked off at that."

The jokingly competitive streak Ted and Beard have had over Quinn's affection has been going on since she was a child, where they'd argue over who'd get to carry her to the park. It boosted her childish ego and made her laugh at the time. Once she grew old enough to understand that they did it to entertain her by making her feel special, she expected them to stop.

They rivalry is still clearly there though, with the competitive tone of Ted's voice. Even well into her young adult years, they're still making her feel as important as they did when she was a child. Quinn smiles to herself, and links her arm to Ted's elbow, pulling herself closer as he guides her through the halls.

"I was just taking the time to drop something off at my boss' office before I ran into you, cutie patootie—they still call you that?"

"I don't know who they is, Ted, because no one has ever called me that."

Ted hums and stares off wistfully, "Must be thinking of another cutie patootie, then." He snaps out of his joking daze and grins. "Anyway, I'll take you to Beard soon. But first, I wanna introduce you to my wonderful boss. You're gonna love her, Quinn. She's a girlboss."

Quinn giggles at Ted's insistent use of terms that he isn't even entirely sure the meanings of. Ted's a total sweetheart. She doesn't understand why anyone would call him a—

"Wanker."

Ted pauses, eyes wide as he nudges Quinn with his shoulder. "Care to tell me where you learned that unique not-at-all offensive term, Quinn Pin?"

"My Uber driver told me to call you a wanker," recalls Quinn. "It's a funny word, right? And I know it's definitely not a nice term, but I thought I'd relay the message since I was just shocked he even knew who you were."

Ted hums and guides you up a set of stairs. "Wish there's a way you could tell him thanks for me."

"How about I leave him a five-star rating on Uber?"

"That's definitely an option."

Quinn giggles all the way to a large set of doors.

Ted pauses in front of it and takes a deep breath in and out. "Okay, Quinnie, are you ready to meet the coolest girl in the world—other than you, of course."

Quinn isn't sure if she's ready to meet the boss of this whole operation within the first ten minutes of stepping into the club. But if Ted's sure about it, she'll go along despite her nerves. "Lay her on me, Teddy!"

Ted grins at the enthusiasm, and pushes one of the doors open. "Good morning, Your Majesty Rebecca—and Higgins!"

The only other two people in the room halt their conversation to jump at Ted's elaborate entrance. The man takes quicker to recover than the woman, however, smiling at the door. "Ted!"

"'Morning to my crew," Ted waltzes in, taking his backpack down from his shoulder. "I have an extremely special guest to introduce today." He pulls Quinn to his side and gestures at her like she's a prize about to be sold off (in a much more wholesome way than people normally do to others).

The man in a suit gasps, placing his hands over his mouth in shock. "You have a daughter?"

Ted's smile falters, clearly unprepared for that response. "No, but honest mistake. If Quinnie here were my daughter, then I'm not sure the genetics had genetic-ed properly. But alas, there are wonders and mysteries in science," he trails off wistfully. "This is Quinn! And she is— get ready for this, friends—Coach Beard's lady friend's youngest daughter! Or, to put it more simply," shrugs Ted, "Coach Beard's goddaughter."

The two older adults shockingly hum, eyes widening as it falls into place. Quinn is still trying to process all the words that came out of Ted's mouth. It's been a few years, and she's a little rusty on processing Ted's tangents.

The other two, though, seem to process just fine.

"A new fact about Coach Beard is always a fun fact," the man grins kindly. He pushes his glasses up and sticks his hand out. "It's lovely to meet you, Quinn. You can call me Higgins."

Quinn accepts Higgins' hand with a smile. She's always had a soft spot for kind, old people.

"Yes, yes," the woman beside him who's sitting speaks. Quinn reels at how posh the woman sounds, like she can command a room with just a single word. She understands why Ted called her a girlboss. Except maybe girlboss is too light of a term for the woman before her. "It's wonderful to meet you, Quinn. I'm Rebecca." She sticks her hand out.

Quinn swears there's nothing softer than the palm of Rebecca's hand. Her mouth forms an 'o' shape as she stares at the woman, unable to contain her awe.

Ted peers over to look at Quinn's face, lost in Rebecca's presence. He snaps his fingers in front of her face, and suddenly she's back to reality.

"Well," says Ted with a steady grin, "that seems like a normal reaction to me."

"I, as well, am not surprised," says Higgins, tenderly. He smiles down and Rebecca, whose eyes avert awkwardly from the man beside her.

"Anyway," Rebecca seemingly tries to get the attention off herself. She's even humble, Quinn thinks. "What brings you to Richmond, Quinn?"

And there is the question Quinn has been mentally dreading. "Well," she picks apart the truths in her head that are acceptable to say out loud, "I'm visiting my sister. She lives in Kingston, actually, but when I heard Ted and my godfather were here, I texted immediately to ask if I could come."

Rebecca nods. "Lovely. I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay."

Quinn utters a thank you, and looks back at Ted to see if he has any other quips to fill the silence that's bound to come from her lack of speaking. He doesn't need to, though, since Rebecca's voice cuts through the air.

"Is there anything else that brings you here, Ted?" Her eyes trail to his backpack that makes Quinn guess that there is something else, and the woman is anticipating it.

Ted snaps her fingers. "Yes! Almost forgot to bring these to you, Boss." He unzips his backpack and pulls out a small, pink cardboard box.

Quinn is proudly a victim to the fascination towards small, cutely packaged things. And she finds herself growing curious to know the contents inside.

She watches as Rebecca opens the flap on top to reveal rectangular-shaped biscuits that fit perfectly in the box. She pulls one out and takes a bite, and even Quinn can tell that Rebecca is nothing short of delighted to the taste.

"Where'd you get those?" questions Quinn.

Ted looks down at her. "Can't say in here. It'll ruin Biscuits with the Boss."

Quinn coo's, putting her hands to her chest. "That's so thoughtful, Teddy."

Ted smiles tenderly. "Thanks, Quinnie Bug." He claps his hands, "What do you say we leave these fellas to it? I'll go down and bring you to Beard."

Quinn perks up at the mention of her godfather. "Please."

Ted slings his backpack back on his shoulders and grins at his superiors. "See ya later, moon craters!"

Higgins laughs at the rhyme and Rebecca waves goodbye. "It was so nice getting to meet you, Quinn! You'll have to come to a game sometime!"

Quinn looks up at Ted curiously, seeing if he'd agree to the comment. Maybe the thought of having people from home view the games will make him nervous.

Ted stares blankly at Rebecca. "I think that idea is ridiculous . . . -ly amazing!" exclaims Ted, finally sporting a grin. "C'mon, we gotta pitch that idea to good old Beard-o."

Quinn laughs as she leaves Rebecca's office with a grin, her mind off her anxieties for the first time in the last week.

★

A/N: Yay!!! First chapter done!!! I'm trying to get everything established.

Also I live in the states and have never stepped foot outside of this country. So if anything geographical is wrong or if I get some terminology incorrect, please feel free to correct me!! I try to do some research but I feel like I'm bound to get something wrong.

I plan on Quinn meeting the team in the next chapter, so that should be interesting.