OVERKILL ★ CHAPTER TWO
(Raspberries and Lemonade.)

"SO, QUINNIE BUG, TELL ME, how are your folks doing these days?"

Quinn racks her brain for an answer. Look for truths that are acceptable to say out loud. "I think they're doing okay . . . I guess I've been too caught up in work and college stuff to really check in on them." That isn't a lie, Quinn decides. It's a partial truth. It was the truth.

If Ted catches any hesitancy in her tone, he chooses not to say anything regarding the topic of her parents. "Gee, honeybee, hearin' you talk about college and working is making me feel like one of those old fellows playing chess at the park."

Quinn looks up, her brows furrowed. "It's making you feel like Beard?"

Ted snorts. He wraps his arm around Quinn's shoulders and pulls her along.

The remainder of the walk (Quinn swears Ted decided to take some extra long path, though . . . there's no way the clubhouse could possibly be this extensive to get through. She doesn't even know where they're going!) is spent by Ted filling in the silence, updating her on the progress—"mental, not physical"—of the Richmond team and talks of "Oh, you're gonna love the boys. Such a welcoming bunch . . . Hopefully more to you than to me."

That definitely does not manage to scare Quinn into nearly requesting to skip ever meeting the team altogether.

Ted tells her about Henry, who Quinn has only had the pleasure of meeting a few times when he was much younger and could barely walk. He's supposedly gotten very into soccer (it's gonna take awhile for Quinn to even think about calling the sport football), and building LEGO sets meant for adults. Ted even says that Henry's ventured into building certain objects from scratch, which Quinn thinks is very impressive considering her brain at seven-years old didn't have the attention span to even follow the guide books to build a set.

Quinn notes how happy Ted is to talk about Henry. She isn't sure if he's naturally talkative when the topic is on his kid, or if he just notices her aversion of talking about her own life, that he's decided to take over the conversation in his own way. Either way, she's grateful for the easy stream of discussion. Her days have consisted of silence—mostly on her part—and meaningless chatter when Christa and Harvey were around.

"—and he promised me and Michele that he'd never play with it inside the house. But I come home from work and what did I see Henry playing with?"

"The Simpson-themed helicopter," the two say together.

Ted snaps his fingers. "You read my mind, Quinnie. Man, no one ever talks about the struggles of simultaneously trying to be a Simpson-memorabilia collector and having a son."

Quinn nods solemnly, giving Ted a light pat on the back in comfort.

He comes to a halt a few moments later, and the two stand outside a closed door. "Anyway, I texted Coach that you're here and he says he's getting something ready for you in there. We kinda left Nate—great guy, you'll meet him later—to watch over the team . . . we're not entirely sure if that was the best idea, but this is a special occasion! We'll reap the consequences after this heartfelt reunion . . . geez, I feel like I'm about to witness those military family reunion videos with my very own eyeballs—no pixels." Ted looks up at the ceiling and mutters, "Thank you, lasik surgery." He looks back down at Quinn. "Ready, Freddy?"

Quinn's been ready since she found out two hours ago that her and her godfather were on the same continent, but she decides to let Ted have his moment. "I'm ready."

Ted moves to open the door, but he doesn't even get a chance because, at the same time, the door is pulled back with serious force. The two are met with the wide eyes and straight face of Coach Beard.

His eyes go back and forth between Quinn and Ted. "I've been listening to you guys talk out here the entire time. I grew impatient. I opened the door."

Quinn doesn't even process half of Coach Beard's words because in an instant, she's jumping and squealing and wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him into a bone crushing hug that she didn't even think she was capable of executing. It takes a few moments, but Beard eventually wraps his arms around her, squeezing her tight enough to rival her hold.

"I can't believe you're here," exclaims Quinn into his shoulder. "I've missed you so much."

"I'd be offended if you didn't miss me," says Coach, "it's been nearly four years. The last time I saw you, you had a bob and cried because you looked like Dora."

Quinn pulls back and shoves Beard off her. "So you admit I looked like Dora! You filthy liar!"

Beard raises his hands in surrender. "You think I would've admitted it to you then? You wouldn't have gone to college if I did. So you're welcome . . . Because I'm the reason you went to college."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "At the expense of my dignity."

To the side, Ted coughs and puts away his phone. "You know, I started recording in hopes it'll be the military reunion I'd dreamed of. I didn't expect you two to start fighting two seconds in."

"That's the best reunion you're gonna get," laughs Quinn. "So, Coach Beard, Teddy here says you have a gift for me?"

Beard wraps his arms around Quinn's shoulders and guides her into the locker room. "Right this way, Rocky."

Quinn is led into a smaller office inside the locker room. She knows immediately that the desks pressed across one another are Ted and Beard's. On Beard's desk, which faces away from the rest of the locker room, sits a basket full of . . . cleaning supplies?

Quinn turns to Beard. "Is this supposed to be for me?"

Beard shrugs. "Had no time to go out and get an actual gift. I improvised."

Because the gesture is completely on-brand for her godfather to do, Quinn chooses not to comment. She pulls out a spray bottle labeled Mr. Muscle, which she guesses is the UK's version of Windex. Mentally, Quinn gives a point to America, because she prefers the blue liquid better.

"Also the janitor will probably use that to clean the bathrooms later, so I don't think you can keep anything in the basket."

"Can I keep the basket?"

Beard shakes his head. "The basket's not even mine."

"I don't know if I should be flattered, or offended."

"You can be both," Ted cuts in cheerily. "Flatterfended."

Beard points to Ted like he's completely understood the gesture.

Quinn can barely contain the small grin that takes over her face at the ludicrous moment taking place before her.

It's nice to have them around again.

★

Ted and Beard eventually herd Quinn out of the locker room. Training comes to and end soon and they both decide to spare her an overwhelming introduction to the team—especially after Beard said that the energy was "deranged" right before he left them with Nate on the pitch.

"I'm sure you'll get a chance to meet everyone eventually," promises Ted, and Quinn refrains from saying that she'd be more okay with not meeting the team at all.

She knows how boys on sports teams typically are; exuberant, rambunctious, and completely lost in their own heads to the point where they think that they're the absolute shit. They don't even stop for a moment to think maybe they're just plain shit. She doesn't know how someone as soft as Ted, or intolerant as Beard, could ever calmly run this team without wanting to shave their heads and live in the woods.

She follows Ted and Beard as they give her a tour of the stadium. The key word being try, because once they make it to the press room, they sit amongst the array of chairs and begin to update each other on how their lives are going.

Ted and Beard grill her on college. She tells them about her and her friends' adventures throughout the years—like when Cora Jensen got fined and almost faced jailtime after she got caught stealing heaps of lipsticks from a CVS in Times Square (which Quinn thinks is completely stupid . . . you shouldn't steal mass amounts at once. Small increments are more acceptable).

"I do not condone stealing," Ted puts out into the universe. "But I do sincerely hope your friend is okay, and that all the lipsticks were the right shade."

"She didn't get to take them home, Teddy," says Quinn solemnly, delivering the news like it's the most devastating thing he could possibly hear.

Ted slaps his knee. "Darn. I guess we'll never find out."

Quinn even dishes on her past relationships, like the relationship she had that didn't even last a month because she caught the guy with his hands under some girl's skirt at a club bathroom. It was Quinn's easiest breakup to get over.

Beard shakes his head. "I can find out where he lives in twenty minutes, just give me a name."

"This was in freshman year, and don't worry. He's alright suffered enough."

"I don't like cheaters Quinnie," frowns Ted. "I don't like them one bit."

Quinn gulps, her mind going back New York and all its baggage. "I don't like them either." She decides to switch gears, "You guys haven't told me what it's like to coach here."

Ted and Beard look up at each other over the seat.

"Well, it certainly isn't a walk in the park, Quinnie," admits Ted. "But the boys here . . . they're good. You gotta meet Sam, y'all would get on perfectly. You'd get on with all of them, I bet."

Beard coughs, signaling Ted to change his previous statement.

"Most of them," Ted fixes. "But trust me, I'm getting through to them."

"You can get through to anyone, Ted," says Quinn fondly. "This team is lucky to have you. I just hope they deserve you."

"They're all deserving of good," grins Ted. "I believe it."

The conversation continues for a little longer, the three swapping any leftover stories that they may have left out until Ted checks the time and decides it's time to head out. Quinn silently commends herself for not saying anything that could be incriminating to what's going on back home.

"I wanna see if I can make tonight's chess match," says Beard, and Quinn scoffs.

"Henry's about to get home from school back on the motherland. 'Wanna see if I can get a call in."

They walk back to the office to get Ted's backpack and Beard's keys, and the place is nearly deserted apart from the cleaning crew.

"Wait," begins Ted once they've made it outside, "how are you getting home, Quinnie?"

She opens her mouth to tell her that she's just gonna take public transit, but she quickly closes it before the words leave her mouth. She doesn't want them to worry about her. Plus, Christa has her location. "Harvey's picking me up—Christa's fiancé. I'm gonna be okay."

Ted and Beard look at each other skeptically.

"I'm serious." She feigns checking her phone. "He just said he's a few minutes away, I'm gonna be fine guys. Don't even wait with me."

Beard shakes his head. "Are you sure?"

"Very. I'll just wait in this parking lot and I won't move. Now go!"

She watches the two men get smaller as they head farther away, waiting until they're out of sight until she orders an Uber. She sits on the pavement and waits.

Her chest feels lighter after catching up with Beard and Ted. After all these years, they still manage to make her feel better about her life, even if they aren't completely aware of what goes on in it. She silently thanks Christa for encouraging her to come, though she'll never thank her sister to her face. She hates when Christa proves her right.

Her thoughts are interrupted when she hears an "Oi!" from where the back entrance of the building is up.

Immediately, her guard is up. She wonders how many bad decisions she's gonna make today when thinking it's safe to be alone.

The guy who called out to her practically struts to where she's sitting, and Quinn quickly deduces by just the assertiveness of the walk that he must be a football player. "What the hell are you doing?" His accent is thick, and reminds her vaguely of Harvey's own dialect.

"Uh . . . waiting for my Uber?" she says more like a question, unsure of what the man even wants from her. She discreetly moves her hand to the entrance of her purse, where her pepper spray sits in warning. She's gonna have to tell Ted and Beard about this.

"The fucking sun is down and you're waiting for an Uber on some shady corner?"

Quinn, unsure of what to say, shrugs.

The guy rolls his eyes. "If that isn't some of the stupidest shite. What, you came here waiting on a photo or somethin'?"

Quinn brows furrow. "A photo with who?"

The man looks at her like she's got two heads. "From who else? Me."

Quinn scoffs. Normally, she'd laugh in a situation where someone says "me" and it sounds like "meh," but she's too pissed to let herself joke in this moment. She has a feeling she won't need the pepper spray, but she might just use it for the sake of pissing off whoever this guy thinks he is. "I have zero clue who you are, you prick. And since we can establish that, I'd be very happy if you leave me alone now."

The guy thinks it's his turn to scoff, but Quinn just thinks he's being a drama queen. He shakes his head and takes out his phone.

"What are you doing?"

For the second time, the guy looks at her like she's crazy. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm going on me phone."

"I would appreciate if you did that away from me."

The guy doesn't respond, he continues to scroll and let out an occasional laugh at whatever he thinks is so funny on his screen.

Quinn tries to look away, but she can't help but glance. He isn't ugly looking, but the way his hair is gelled definitely knocks him down a few points. The matching tracksuit isn't something she would personally choose either.

Still she can't seem to look away because 1) the man is objectively pretty, 2) she thinks he's part of the team and that piques her interest more, and 3) he's completely ticking her off.

It isn't until a black car pulls up does he look up from his phone. He tucks it into his pocket as he watches Quinn open the door to the backseat. She pauses to look back at him.

"Do you have some sort of kink to girls getting in their Ubers?"

The guy scoffs but doesn't respond. He throws the driver a glare and waits until she's in the car and driving away. It's only then does he walk away, seemingly to go to his own car.

Quinn frowns, thinking about the interaction the entire journey back to Christa and Harvey's flat.

★

It's nearly 2A.M. when Quinn wakes up to the sound of shuffling in the kitchen.

She's always been a light sleeper; the smallest of changes in her sleep setting could render both of her eyes to open. She waits a few minutes for the shuffling to stop so she could close her eyes again and rest peacefully. But the sound relents.

After arriving home, she didn't even bother to wait until Christa or Harvey came back. Instead, she chose to get ready for bed and sleep. It took her awhile to really drift off; her mind still on the interaction she had with the guy with oddly gelled hair and nice jawline.

Now, though, the thoughts of him are pushed to the back of her mind. Now, she's too focused on finding and putting an end to whatever sound is coming from the kitchen.

She pushes her comforter aside, digs her feet into her slippers, and readies herself to meet with whoever is deciding to have a midnight snack. It could either be Christa or Harvey, and she silently hopes it's the former.

Of course, there's also a small percentage that the person in the kitchen could be an intruder. If it is, Quinn will happily tell them to Fuck off because she's trying to get some sleep, and inform them to maybe do the smart thing and come back when nobody's home.

She doesn't get the chance to tell off the intruder, however, because the person leaning over the kitchen counter is Harvey. He chews quietly on a bowl of raspberries while sticking a straw in a glass of—

"Is that lemonade?"

Harvey jumps at the sudden voice, clearly unaware that someone had caught him on his escapade to the kitchen for the oddest midnight snack Quinn has ever feasted her eyes on.

(The raspberries are normal, she doesn't care about that. But lemonade? At this hour? This man is weird.)

He sighs in relief when he sees that it's Quinn and not a ghost coming to haunt him.

"It's my favorite drink," mumbles Harvey, defensively. "Would you like some?"

"I'll pass thanks." She does, however, take a raspberry from the bowl. She nods towards the man across the counter. "What are you doing up?"

"A family friend called," Harvey sips his lemonade, "her kid's sick and she asked for help. The poor lad couldn't stop crying, 'heard it through the phone."

Quinn's brows furrow in concern. "Oh. I'm sorry. Is everything okay now?"

Harvey nods. "Yeah, but she's coming in tomorrow before my office opens. Just to have a checkup."

Quinn hums, following along with his recount of events.

"Can't fall asleep after that. How 'bout you? What's got you up?"

"You," Quinn rolls her eyes. "I'm a light sleeper, you shit."

Harvey raises his hands in defense. "Sorry, sorry. I'll try to be quieter next time."

Quinn nods appreciatively, and moves to get another berry. The two sit in a comfortable silence, bonding over the one thing they seem to have in common at the moment: finishing the bowl.

Quinn lets herself relax in the moment, enjoying how comfortable she is in her pajamas under the refrigerator light (which remains open to provide them with a non-harsh source of light).

"So," begins Harvey, and Quinn groans.

"Seriously?" Quinn rolls her eyes, though her tone is light. "We have a nice, silent thing going on and you have to break it? What is it?"

Harvey laughs, a hand on his chest in offense. "God forbid I try to have a nice conversation with my baby sister-in-law."

"We're not related yet."

"My baby sister-in-law," says Harvey with a sure tone. "I don't need some court-mandated formality to call you that."

Quinn feels a warmth spread through her body, and she almost smiles. She doesn't argue with the man in front of her this time. "What were you going to say before?"

"What I was going to say before you rudely cut me off, is that Christa told me you went out today."

She nods. She wouldn't be surprised if he says Christa had told him with tears in her eyes, as if Quinn was some mental patient and they've reached a breakthrough in getting her integrated back into society. That's pretty much how she had acted before she left.

"I went to visit my godfather, Beard. He—"

Harvey's eyebrows shoot up. "'That his real name?"

"Of course it isn't," counters Quinn. "Anyway, he coaches some soccer team—"

"Football."

"Harvey, shut up. He coaches some soccer team, with his friend—my other godfather by association, basically."

"Ted Lasso," hums Harvey in recognition, and Quinn isn't sure how she feels when he utters the name like he's some sort of notorious public figure, and not some happy-go-lucky guy from the middle-of-nowhere Kansas. "A lot of people talk about him. I have my opinions."

"Don't share them or I'll shove your face into the raspberry bowl."

"Understood."

"Are you not a fan of Richmond, then?"

Harvey shakes his head. "Sorry, babe. I grew up in Manchester. I know where my loyalties are."

"Understood," Quinn mirrors the word from earlier. "I don't know a single thing about the sport or who's the best at it, so I'm just gonna default support whoever Ted and Beard coach."

"Nice reasoning . . . maybe we can watch a match on the telly one day? I'll teach you all I know."

Harvey's consistent need to bond with Quinn is something she secretly finds endearing, but she'll never admit it. Their playful banter will forever keep her from admitting that she enjoys his presence.

"We'll see," she says, and eats the final raspberry. It's been sitting in the bowl for a little while now, and she thinks maybe Harvey left it there for her to have. "I'm gonna head back to bed. Please finish that cup and never let me catch you drinking lemonade at midnight, please. I don't know why, but it fucking freaks me out.

Harvey laughs and chugs the remainder of the drink, face not even pinching from the sourness. "Sleep well. And Quinn?"

She turns to look at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

"I'm really happy you went to see your family today."

Quinn smiles, happy that Harvey knows to refer to Ted and Beard as family, because they are to her. Maybe she's even a little happy that Harvey appears to be happy for her. But again, Quinn would die before admitting that to him.

She wishes him goodnight and heads back to bed.