Jamie had been off his game lately. His usual spark—the cocky confidence, the sharp footwork, the pure love for the sport—seemed dulled. As coaches, you, Ted, Beard, and Roy, had all noticed it. Richmond needed Jamie at his best, especially with the season nearing its final stretch. So, after training one afternoon, you all agreed that someone needed to talk to him.

That someone was you.

Being close in age, you had the best chance of getting through to him. Jamie wasn’t the type to open up easily, but maybe, just maybe, he’d talk to you.

So you caught him as he was heading out, stopping him just outside the locker room.

"Oi, Tartt," you called, keeping your voice light but firm. "Hang back a sec."

Jamie paused, rolling his shoulders before turning to face you. His arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the wall, his usual cocky stance, but there was something off about it. Forced, maybe.

"Aight, what’s up, coach?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, feigning nonchalance.

You studied him for a moment. There were no cameras, no teammates, no distractions. Just the two of you.

"You tell me," you said, arms folded. "Been off your game lately. You wanna talk about it?"

Jamie scoffed lightly, shaking his head, but you caught the flicker of something in his eyes. "Ain’t nothin’ to talk about."

You sighed, leaning against the opposite wall. "Mate, we both know that’s bullshit."

For a second, Jamie didn’t say anything. His gaze flicked away, down toward the floor, his jaw tightening slightly. Whatever was bothering him, it wasn’t nothing.

"Jamie," you tried again, softer this time. "Talk to me."