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lovemenowmr · 7 years

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Chapter eighteen

"What are you doing for your birthday?" Marco asked me while we were sitting on my couch.

It was Tuesday night and my birthday was in five days, I was going to be 23 and I have to admit I was a little sad I wasn't able to spent the day with my family but, on the other hand, I got to spend it with Marco. I felt strange arround him since that night when I thought I hear him say those three words I was dying to hear him say. I had been thinking about it lately and the more I thought the more I wanted it to be true. However he had not said them anymore and neither had he shown the will to do so.

"I was hoping I could spend the day with you" I said sincerely

"Of course you can but are you not going to celebrate it?"

"Hadn't thought about it" I said shrugging my shoulders "I think were going out Friday"

"So do you not want me for parties?" he asked pretending to be offended "Do you just want me for sex?"

"Marco, you are playing an important match Thusday and you're playing again Sunday, I don't think you going out is a good idea" I said mockingly "Besides, I only want you for cuddles"

"Is that so?" he asked arching a brow and snuggling closer to me. I hummed as I rested my head on his shoulder and I fell asleep on his embrace, magically waking up in my bed the next morning.

It was two days till my birthday and our night out was almost finished. Even though I wanted to keep it low Elise thought I had to have a birthday dinner for sure and the following birthday bash, since it was "essential". I had decided to do so in the end because she had got Ethan on her side as well, but I had made them promise it wouldn't be to extravagant.

Because of that I had force Elise to come to see the match with me. Borussia was playing a UEFA Europa League game against Gabala and, as a birthday present I had asked Marco to buy me tickets because I didn't want him to spend a lot of money on my birthday present and I didn't trust him otherwise.

The match ended up well for the home team and Marco had scored the first goal and had rested the second half of the match. Elise had loved it even though she would tell me otherwise, and I was glad she did, cause she would be more willing to come with me in the next matches.

As I was waiting for Marco before the game -he still hadn’t gotten his driving license- I followed Elise to the train station and said goodbye and ventured towards the restricted area in search of Cathy as I knew the boys would be taking a while. She was easy to find and we both sat down at the bar engaging in cheerful conversation as we waited for Marco and Matts. He came before Marco, as he was always so slow getting ready.

“Hey Adi” he said after kissing Cathy “Marco’s at the nurse station you should go with him”

“What happened?” I asked.

“I think is an abductor problem but I’m not doctor” He said “Do you know the way?”

“Yes, I do” I said as I started walking towards the nursing room.I wanted him to be okay, I needed him to be okay. “Please, don’t let them be hurt” thought as I entered the nursing room, praying to no one in particular but hoping my wishes were true.

Marco was, indeed injured again. His mood hasn’t improved neither, the poor guy has just been out of an injury, I had been two days carrying out my “girlfriend duties” trying to make him feel better. It haven’t been an easy task since he was feeling really under the weather.

However, he wasn’t in bed when I woke up today. It was the seventh of November and it was my 23rd birthday, I was a little sad that I couldn't spend the day with my family but I could spend it with Marcot was impossible for them to fly to Dortmund or for me to fly home for just a weekend since it was just too expensive and there were no direct flights so it took ages to get where I was from.

I was intrigued as to where were Marco, so I stretched out of bed. As I reached the left side stairs, with led to the kitchen, I heard him talking with his mother on the phone and I smelled food being made. As I paid attention to the conversation I realized Marco was trying to cook a nice breakfast for me as a birthday treat so I decided to go back to bed and not ruin the surprise.

A few minutes before I heard him sing as he came up the stairs with my breakfast, as I heard the door being opened I closed my eyes and pretended I was asleep. He entered the room and placed the tray on the table beside his bed and I heard him kneel down to my level.

“Adi, wake up” he whispered while giving me a peck on my forehead. I fake woke up and saw his beautiful green eyes looking down to me while flashing a wide smile. “Happy birthday, liebe” he said “You have breakfast in bed”

“Thank you” I said sitting up and giving him a peck on his lips, he got up and brought the two trays to bed. Breakfast was, indeed, delicious - I had to thank Manuela – next time I saw her. When we finished up he told me to have a bath while he tidied up since he was already dressed.

As I entered the bathroom I couldn't believe what I saw. The bathroom was filled with little candles and the bath was already prepared, with foam and a bath boom on the little space in the wall over the bath. It was literally heaven, I don’t know quite exactly how he did it but the water was still very warm and nice and the bath boom was just fantastic.

I had been soaking up a little while in the tub when Marco entered the room and leaned on the door frame without me realizing.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself” he said scaring the life out of me and making me jump and spill some water over the floor.

“Marco, don’t do that you scared me” I said while he laugh,

“Sorry, you looked quite peaceful” he said “Mind if I join you?” he asked while taking his shirt off. I couldn't help bit stare at his body like a creepy stalker but he was seriously a master piece and I couldn't help myself. “If you took a picture it would last longer” he said while releasing my bottom lips from my teeth,

He then climbed into the tub and sat beside me, massaging my shoulders while I rested my head on his shoulder.

We eventually came out of the bath as the water was starting to feel cold and we wrapped ourselves with some towels after we headed to the dressing room. There, there was another surprise, I saw a blue gift box with a white ribbon.

“That’s yours” he said while motioning to the box.

“Marco” I scolded him “I told you not to buy me a gift”

“Oh, come on!” he said while I approached the box, which was placed at the bench that was in the middle of the room. “Can’t I spoil my girl on his birthday?”

I gave him a look and proceeded to open the gift. I had to admit I was exited for it even though I didn’t want him to buy him nothing. And even more when I opened it, inside of the box there was a beautiful dress and a pair of black heels. I stared at it open-mouthed and muttered a faint thank you,

“You’re welcome, liebe” he said behind me “Put it on if you like, I’m taking you out for lunch”

“Marco” I said warning him.

“Don’t even start” he said “I don’t care what you say I’m spoiling you and that’s final”

I refused to argue with him and put on the dress, quite impressed with Marco’s choice although I was pretty sure he had had help because he didn’t have this good fashion taste. I applied a little bit of make up and let my hair loose because we had spent a lot of time at the bath – and I had woken up very late – and now it was already lunch time.

“You look beautiful” he said while I got downstairs, his eyes never leaving me as I got down. He had also cleaned up nice and he had a car waiting for us at his front yard – it was quite impressive might I add. We climbed onto the car and the driver started the engine, heading off to an unknown place.

Just as I was about to ask him where we were going I heard my phone ring and I saw it was my brother trying to make an skype call. I answered and told Marco to shush.

“Xoan!” I said as I saw him on my screen, as well as Sandra and Xiana. Before I could say anything else the three of them started to sing “Happy Birthday” to me making me laugh and gush about how cute Xiana was.

#marco reus #marco reus imagine #football imagine #love me now marco reus #chapter eighteen

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my-footprints · 6 years

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Home sweet Home (Day 81-92)

Of course on Wednesday I slept in (be honest who wouldn't do that?!). Since I was late with Christmas presents I decided to go to Bielefeld and do some shopping.

In the evening I took the train to go to Bielefeld again to meet my colleagues on the Christmas market. I was the Christmas surprise since no one besides my boss and one other colleague knew I was coming. We had a couple of Hot wine and them some of us went to the 20 13 when the Christmas market closed. I tried Monkey Brain which is a very interesting shot not just in taste but rather in design I would say.

Day 82 was mostly the day for all the duties I still had to do so I saw the doctor had an appointment at the bank and then another one. The evening was relaxed and on Friday I went to Bielefeld again for the last Christmas presents before going to Sarah's place to go out with her and her brother and some friends at the Cafe Europa. We changed locations later though and went to the Pasha which had surprisingly good music that night.

Saturday was the day before Christmas a

Sunday (Day 85) was the day. Like always Christmas is more stressful than all the commercial makes everyone believe. So first I had to make everything in my flat perfect. My mum was busy in the kitchen, I was busy in the rest of the house, my brother was busy waiting for us not being busy anymore. My father arrived when I was wrapping the presents in the paper and started arranging them under the Christmas tree. Then it was time for church and afterwards my brother was also finally home. Dinner and then presents followed.

Next day (Day 86) was quite chill. Sarah came over so we exchanged our presents and later it was movie night, because day 87 was Christmas family day with my godmom and godchild in Paderborn. Day 88 was relaxed again and on Day 89 I went for dinner in Bielefeld with my family.

On Day 90 I saw my school friends again for a reunion at breakfast in the restaurant Bar Celona. It was nice seeing them again and learning what they have been doing the whole time since I last saw them. In the night there was a party in Borgholzhausen at Friedje's house. I went there with Sarah and some friends, also my brother and some friend came. And guess what, there I was - only 13 days @home in a small town smaller than I like to admit on a party literally in the middle if nowhere - talking in Spanish. The reason for that? There were actually a bunch of people from South America - the place where I longed to go to for so long now... The reason for their presence? Simply because Friedje's sister is working with many exchange students as their mentor and therefore invited them.

So time was up because Day 91 was already the last one. After sleeping in and recovering I had to start packing eventually but I also still needed to say goodbye to everyone. First for lunch we watched a movie at my brothers place and had Gyros Suppe. Afterwards I checked in my flight and then drove to Bielefeld to say goodbye to my dad. On the way back I dropped by at Sarah's and also said goodbye to her. Arriving back home I couldn't procrastinate the packing any longer, it was time to get prepared to leave again.

Since the flight on Day 92 was from Dortmund I had to get up in the morning finish up all the preparation and then headed to Bielefeld where Isabell and her father picked me up. Now if was only hours until being back in my third home abroad to celebrate New Year's Eve as an Erasmus student...

Turned out the party Italians that we met at Palermo's are not the perfect company for the switch of the year. Also the dinner wasn't as expected and there was mainly Gin to drink. Let's just call it an expensive experience which was interesting but not worth another shot.

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3one3 · 7 years

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The Sequel - 805

An Untimely Death

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Where’s Chris?” Marco asked his teammate early on Friday evening when he went by the house to see how the move-in was going, and to see his girlfriend who was working on it all day.

“Spain,” André replied flatly. They were in his dressing room, which was much less fussy than Christina’s. His was all deep brown wood and metal, and clean, organic lines. He was unpacking clothes and shoes from boxes.

“Why? I thought you guys made up yesterday.” The Dortmund co-captain referred to the report Zoe gave him on the epic shouting match that went down in the driveway on Thursday, the tear-fest that followed, and the reconciliation that ended it.

“Mata’s grandfather passed away.”

“Oh. That’s too bad.”

“Yeah, too bad that keeping him company is more important to her now than telling the guys where to put the furniture and hang the pictures, and more important than exercising her horses.” André closed a t-shirt drawer a little too aggressively, and it made some of the wardrobe doors open a little and bang shut, plus the acoustics of the room were kind of echo-y thanks to the lack of sound absorbing textiles. He’d only just begun unpacking.

“He went to her dad’s funeral with her,” the other player pointed out. “She probably feels she owes him. And she’s really good at funerals, man. I didn’t know that was a skill until I saw her in action with Jill’s family. She was devastated but took care of everyone else, including me.”

André knew those things. He liked that Christina wanted to be with her friend during a really difficult time, and that she jumped to go do what she could. She told him during the holidays about how close Juan and his grandfather were, and how influential he was in his life and his career. Obviously the Spaniard was devastated. He didn’t ask her to come to him. She just told him she’d be right there. What upset her husband was that it was less than 6 hours after they concluded Round 14 of The Never Ending Fight. They hardly spoke overnight, he went to training in the morning and she went to the barn, and then they had it out in the driveway when he went there after to see how it was going. The themes rehashed were old: she hated that he doubted her, he hated that she acted like she didn’t care about their life, she was afraid that they would fight forever, he was sure they wouldn’t. It ended when he ceded a bit of ground and asked her to just try it out and see if he was right, instead of insisting that he was. He convinced her that it was the only thing she could do if she wanted things to work out. Christina knew that was true. Her choice was to try- to give his way a chance- or to quit before finding out which one of them was right, and that would only offer one outcome- the one she didn’t want. She wanted everything to work out for them, and she couldn’t fathom trying to undo everything happening around them.

“I know, but now when she gets back she’s going to complain that everything is in the wrong place, here and in the stable. And she was supposed to take Stefanie to get a new car this evening. Stef doesn’t know anything about cars except that her old one was a piece of shit and that it will take a little time for the financing and everything when she finds a new one.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re really concerned about Stefanie’s car.”

“Shut up.”

“Can’t Mario help her find a car?”

“What does he know about used cars? He’s had nothing but brand new Mercedes since he was like 16.”

“True, but I’m not buying that you give a fuck about it.”

“Fine, I don’t,” André relented with an eye roll. “Just one time in her life I want Chris to put our family first. Is that so wrong?” He held up two pairs of shoes in his outstretched arms, fed up and sure he was preaching to a friendly audience. Marco said he wasn’t wrong, but he also said he wasn’t interested in the drama.

In Oviedo, Christina was talking to Juan about how important some things he said to her while they were in Mallorca were to her. He told her when riding and showing became more job than passion, and when she got discouraged, that she should remember how she got to that level. It was advice that he got from his grandfather, and the idea was to remember that they each got to the top of their sports because they loved to train and compete, and it brought them joy, and filled a need in their hearts. That, the footballer said, was the key to enjoying the difficult days and being mentally right to do one’s best. His counsel wasn’t very new. He and his ex-girlfriend had discussed it many times, in many forms, and in different contexts, particularly when they were an actual couple, and Christina was struggling to find purpose and feeling in her riding. Apropos of his grandfather, the two friends had literally just gone over that good advice he passed down, while in one of many contemplative conversations over afternoon wine at the beach house. The rider didn’t know what else to talk about to fill the silence outside on the covered patio at Juan’s parents’. They were sharing the wicker couch, and he was the one with his head in her lap for a change. She rubbed his shoulder and his head and tried to talk about good things while the rest of the family was inside, where it wasn’t so cold and damp.

“Are you warm enough?” she questioned, futilely in her opinion, as she pulled their shared knit blanket over more of the disconsolate footballer. Her instinct was to look after him and dote on him, and he didn’t respond all that much. Christina didn’t feel like she was helping, and it was hard to accept what she knew to be true- losing someone close is the worst, and nothing anyone says or does makes it feel less awful. The quickest way to him was to fly from Düsseldorf in the morning, and that still took 5 hours and a stop in Madrid, so she’d been at the house with him for just a little while. The first bit was meeting more of his family and giving her condolences, and letting Mrs. Mata force-feed her some late lunch. Then Juan just wanted to sit outside, away from all those people. He said no one would let him sit alone, so his best girlfriend’s presence was a welcome workaround. Alone with her was okay to his mom and okay by him. Christina wondered where his girlfriend girlfriend was. She didn’t even think to ask on Thursday night when he gave her the news and said he was flying home right away if Taylor was going with him. It didn’t occur to her that the author might be there until she was already on the plane, and she thought it insensitive to even ask, given the history.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Juan assured about the temperature. “How are you doing? You didn’t have a good day yesterday either.”

“I’d take my day over yours, babe. Don’t worry about it. I’m not.” Haven’t even thought of it until now, she realized. It wasn’t a big ask for her to ignore how upset she remained about the fighting with André, and the reluctance of the peace accord and plan for going forward. Juan’s loss was a decent if unfortunate distraction.

“I’m going to the tanatorio in a little while so my dad can come home. You don’t have to come if you don’t want, or you don’t have to stay.”

“The what?” Christina asked carefully.

“It’s like what you know as a funeral home. My grandmother is there. She stays with my grandfather until the service tomorrow- that’s why she’s not here. My dad is with her right now. Family and friends go there to pay respects today. He’s coming home to be with the people here for some time, so I go sit with my grandparents. You don’t have to come with me and sit for hours next to the casket.”

“Do you want me to, or would you rather be alone with them?” Yeah, no, I don’t really want to sit next to a dead guy and his grieving widow all evening, she grimaced inside. He took two flights over the Atlantic in one day to stand next to me by Dad’s casket though, so...

“Up to you, cariña,” the Spaniard sighed. “You can come with me and then leave when you want- take the car- or you can stay here. No one will be offended if you want to sit in my room on your computer or something, or you can do that thing you do and talk to everyone in the kitchen, distracting them from grief with your accidental charm.”

“I think you’re dramatically overestimating my accidental charm offensive,” Christina chuckled. She thought it was just like him to be quietly funny even when he was so down. His grandfather meant so much to him, and she knew that very well. Their relationship was likened in her head to hers with her old trainer, Eddie. No one cared more about steering her in the right direction, encouraging her, and promoting her riding from the beginning like he did. He always taught her more about life and competition than he did literal riding skills. His retirement wasn’t as devastating to her as a death, of course, and it played out over time instead of without warning. He was available to her if she needed him even after he moved someplace sunny, and she regretted not taking advantage of that. She also resented that he didn’t keep in touch with her. She thought she was special to him. She was, but just one of many in a long line. Still, she missed that relationship the way she missed her original relationship with her dad, and the way she assumed Juan would miss his grandpa, only for him it would probably be worse because the relationship was longer and stronger.

“Come with me, just for a little. I’ll set up the GPS in the car so you can find your way back here when you want.”

“Okay. Should I change? Are jeans all right? I brought a nicer outfit for tomorrow...” Like pants that don’t have rips in them, and real shoes.

“Jeans are fine.” Juan knew her pants had intentional holes. He was idly touching her left kneecap through one of the tears while they talked.

In Germany, the arrival of a large and noisy horse trailer got the attention of the two Borussia Dortmund forwards arguing over the principles of closet organization strategies. André at first assumed it was the moving truck in the driveway, leaving. Marco told him it wasn’t even half empty when he walked by it on the way in, and checked the window. The “his” closet had one feature over the carefully designed and silly-expensive “hers” closet- windows. It used to be the master bath, which had windows at the front of the house. André was confused by the horse trailer trundling by on the main drive to the barn. The rest of the horses weren’t supposed to be there until Saturday afternoon. He decided it was a good time to take a break from clothing and accessories and take a walk over to the barn to see who or what was on the truck. Marco went too because the alternative was Zoe trying to get him to help her hang things on walls.

Things were starting to come together in the facelifted stable. Dirk, Socks, Jelly Bean, and Julian were moved in. Deciding on stalls for each of them was a major drama for Christina and her team. They wanted Dirk somewhere in the middle, on the south side so that he’d have what they were calling “patio access”, meaning a second door at the back of his stall. The boxes on the north side of the aisle had windows instead of doors. Middle-area stalls were considered prime real estate because visitors would primarily be in that central zone with the other aisle, the tack room, the grooming stalls, the office, etc. That was like the town square of the stable. The first stall on the west side of the entrance would have been a great spot for the King of The Stable, except that there was a feed room separating it from that entranceway aisle. He was the most aggressive of all the horses at feeding time, and it would drive him crazy to live next door to the room where the food was readied. It also meant he’d have a solid wall on one side, which Christina didn’t like. He deserved more fresh air. Putting him in the first stall on the east side of the entrance meant he’d have too much fresh air, because the wall on that aisle was all bars instead of just half bars like the dividers between the stalls. Dirk could get too cold. Every time someone opened the doors he would get the draft. Then there were his neighbors to consider. He needed to be next to Calvin because he and Calvin were bros. Rio and Goose also needed to be centrally located because they were people horses and got anxious if they were bored, in a non-stimulating environment, perhaps down at the east end of the barn, furthest from the action. But Goose was also not a horse-horse. He wasn’t friendly with other equines. He lived next to Wizzy in London because Wizzy was another gelding, totally nonthreatening, and not interested in interacting with him. The humans decided Goose should live in one of the stalls with the solid wall, like next to the tack room or wash stall.

André never got the explanation for the final stall chart. When he and Marco strolled in from the west end of the aisle, the easiest and most direct access from the house, they found Socks in the first stall on the right, next to Dirk. Julian was in the third stall on the left, and Jelly Bean’s head was hanging over his door on the other side of the cross-aisle, in the second stall on the left. There were no humans around, but the radio was on.

“Anybody home?” the taller of the two Germans called not very loudly as they approached the “town square” zone. Tom whistled from inside the feed room on the right. There were giant plastic bins in there for grain, stacks of small buckets, three plastic muck tubs, and shelves full of supplement packs. There was also a massive whiteboard on the wall with rations for each horse, and a smaller one with a diagram of the available paddocks. The groom was working on filling that one out.

“This is more complicated than the seating chart at my wedding,” he lamented. “I hope when the horse from Stephex gets here it gets on well with Kimi and the little pony, because I have nowhere else to put him.”

“Is that what’s on the trailer?” André asked.

“No that’s Dezzy, coming over from Holger’s. I have to put her out with Jelly Bean in one of the paddocks behind the house, away from the boys with balls. When Chris’ mare gets here she has to go with them too, or I have to move Jelly Bean in with Kimi and the pony, but I can’t because the other new one will be there,” Tom groaned, extremely frustrated and fist clenched tight on his blue marker. “There is room in the stable for 5 more horses after the rest get here. There is no room in the paddocks for even one more.”

“How did that happen?” The player literally scratched his head. He was disappointed to hear about the problem. They worked on a building plan for months. They fenced another few acres of the property behind his backyard to make more paddocks. Everything was supposed to be perfect.

“She won’t let me put more than two in each field. There is room for three, or even four if they get along, but it’s hard on the grass in summer and on the ground in winter. We don’t have any room to rotate and rest some fields the way you have going in London. I might end up putting some horses out for half the day, and the others for the rest. That won’t work in summer since they all go out overnight. Not all the horses are always at home though. I guess we’ll see. I wanted to fence the grass jumping field and use it for turnout when she’s not riding on it.”

“Yeah, I remember,” he nodded. “What happened to that?”

“Now that we made the only other open field into paddocks- the ones behind the house, you know? She has nowhere to gallop for condition. That’s part of the fitness training. It’s huge for the horses. For her training system to work they need open land and changes in elevation. They only have the tiny hill between the barn down to the rings, and the grass jumping area is all that is left for open galloping. It’s not much bigger than the dirt ring. She can try to go between the fences but that’s harder. The horses will hesitate. It’s a different thing. They need to be out in the open, away from barriers. It’s for their brains. We don’t have any wooded trails here either, which the boys are used to.” Tom was patient with his explanation, and he wasn’t even complaining, or accusing his new employer of negligent planning. He was clearly just trying to be informative, or educational even. Still, André was taken aback.

“She didn’t tell me that there would be this problem,” he commented, more to himself than to Tom or Marco, who was scurrying away to give Stefanie and her newly fit mare plenty of room as they rounded the corner from the short aisle toward Dezzy’s new home, the stall next to her longtime stablemate Jelly Bean. They were about to have a great reunion.

“I think she was going to ride on your front yard until there was the idea to put the hedge up to separate the horse part from the house part.”

“She should have said something.” André was still absent in his limited and rueful remarks. He leaned against the doorframe with folded arms and stared at the rudimentary diagram of the paddocks drawn on the board. I wanted this to be perfect for her, so there would be no excuses- so she can’t point to some problem with the property and blame that for a bad result or something, and then say it would be different if she didn’t have to move here, he reminded himself.

It was news to him that there was a deficiency. It was news to him that aspects of their new home were going to fundamentally hinder Christina’s training, or be less ideal for her horses. It was absolutely no secret to anyone in her circle and in the horse show world that her unique training methods and horse management were a big, big part of her success. Not all of her colleagues did the bulk of the exercising and schooling for their horses between competitions. Not all of her colleagues mixed up training routines by riding “cross country”, out in the open, and working on dressage, and going trail riding, to help keep the horses sane and prevent boredom and complacency. Not all of her competitors could use the land to improve condition. She did long rides in the open to build stamina in her animals, and used hills for muscle and strength in the topline and hindquarters. Not all of the show horses on the circuit got so much turnout, which is good for the mind and even better for the body. Christina taught her partner about the benefits of turnout for the digestive system. She said that the horse’s body is designed to be constantly moving and constantly eating forage. She said being still and eating a lot of grain is terrible on the digestive system, which leads to ulcers and other problems, which leads to sourness under saddle and poor performance, and that show horses are already under lots of stress from travel, constantly being in new environments, and being pumped full of “artificial” nutrition in the form of supplements for their performance-specific ailments and considerations. Stress has a direct influence on digestion. She thought the least she could do for her horses was let them go out for every minute possible. And it wasn’t just about their performance and their fitness to her. André’s wife felt she owed that to her animals- that they deserved it, and were entitled.

“Why? So you could fix it? There is no fix for a property with boundaries,” Tom told him while filling in more names on his chart. The stable manager knew a lot more about the player’s wife than just her horse-related habits and preferences. He seemed unable to resist taking a veiled swipe based on his knowledge of her ongoing frustration with André’s “I can make it perfect if you just trust me” mantra. It made the BVB man defensive.

“Well I could have not paid €10,000 for that hedge.”

“I don’t think it would be that useful to use the yard anyway,” Tom shrugged. “Can’t gallop over the driveway. Chris would have to do small circles on either side, or break to the walk to cross over.”

“Could we make the yard into more paddocks if she needs in the future?”

“Yes, if you want to lose the lawn and have to take out all the plantings. And for the back and front of your house to smell like horse shit in the summer.”

“Fantastic.” Man. I wish she told me about these things. Okay, maybe it wasn’t evident until after we bought the property, but we could have figured something out to give her the things she needs. Instead she just swallows it. André was aware that his girl tried really rather hard not to make waves. For example, if her footing had been even remotely serviceable, she probably wouldn’t have said anything about it. She had to already be in a cranky, bad mood for her to make an issue out of the stall door mistake. He assumed whenever she realized they were going to be very tight on turnout space and that making more paddocks ate up her riding space, she concluded that it was neither fixable nor worth bringing up, so as not to make trouble or extra burden. It was things like that that he couldn’t factor into his analysis when he tried to figure out if or verify that he was being fair to his girl. He thought she was getting another dream facility that met or exceeded all of her needs. If it wasn’t as good as he thought, then it wasn’t properly accounted for. He needed the right “value” for it because he balanced the concessions asked of her against it. Having to move wasn’t so fair if she was forced to accept hindrances to her training and career.

The balance was something André took seriously, and which Tim and his financial planner helped him analyze comprehensively. They even looked at things like distance to the nearest airport that could accommodate shipping horses, because it mattered to Christina that her horses didn’t have to travel far on a trailer before getting loaded onto a plane, and that the quarantine facility available to receive them after trips abroad had a good reputation. They made sure there were international schools at every level within a reasonable commute in case she really did want Lukas to learn in English forever. They checked zoning laws to ensure that if they ever wanted to build an addition to the house, or put up another barn or any other structure necessary, they wouldn’t run into restrictions. They checked what impact the relocation would have on the cost of the insurance policies for the horses. They researched doctors for Christina and the baby, and André solicited recommendations from his teammates and their partners for everything from farmer’s markets and gourmet shops to hair salons and spas and personal shoppers. The whole concept of moving was transactional to him. He thought he could cancel out inconveniences or dependencies by delivering equivalent goods and services. That way he could feel like Christina wasn’t making undue sacrifice to move and he didn’t indiscriminately inflict damage on his family when he decided to transfer to Borussia Dortmund. His system was proving flawed.

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3one3 · 7 years

Text

The Sequel - 800

Let Bartlett Be Bartlett

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Are you done yet?”

“No I just got on this one. Doesn’t he look handsome today? His coat is long enough to be shiny again.”

“Yeah, he looks very nice. I like his pink bandages.”

“The washing machine has been broken for like three days. We had to break into the crazy polos. I think these are Stef’s. I had mustard yellow ones on Kimi this morning that I think I bought when I was 13 to use for my one and only combined training event. The most appealing thing about that for me was that I could use colorful equipment and be all matchy, so I got yellow polos and a yellow pad and a yellow and back helmet cover, like a jockey.”

“Why does he have the fur thing on his nose?”

“Nicky has sensitive skin and gets rubs very easily so we put a fuzzy barrier between him and leather wherever possible. With his jumping bridle the figure 8 noseband prevents him from opening and crossing his jaw, so there isn’t much movement going on and thus no rubbing. With the regular noseband he can move his jaw around a lot and thus get rubs, so we put the fuzzy on there for him.”

“Okay. How much longer are you going to be?”

“Twenty minutes and however long it takes me to get over the fact that this is the last time I get to ride here. You can go up to the house if you want, get out of the cold.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

“I’m okay.”

Juan offered Christina a smile- perhaps of encouragement, or in solidarity, or just to let her know he understood that her last day riding at her home in London was a significant thing for her- and then trudged up the walk to the barn, to leave her alone to take from that experience whatever she wanted. He was there that afternoon so that she wouldn’t be alone for the rest of the day. Lukas was already on his way to Germany to stay with his dad and nanny while she would be in Sweden, and she didn’t want to be by herself in the house all night thinking about how sad she was, and how scary it felt, to have to move on from that part of her life. But Juan probably would have been there anyway.

“Girl, we need to talk,” Natasha declared when her friend walked into the tack room to put her helmet away and chuck her paddock boots into her trunk so that they’d be among the first things to arrive at the new place. Her best girlfriend was there for her kids to have their last lesson with Stefanie.

“That sounds ominous,” Christina laughed, her eyes deliberately wide and shifty. It was really cold out, probably too much so to have ridden outside instead of in, but she’d worked up a sweat in the saddle with Nick, and was anxious to get a few layers off. She couldn’t see Natasha glaring at her while she unwound her moisture wicking wool scarf.

“Does Juan just live here now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s been here for the last week whenever he isn’t training or playing football,” the Belgian girl grunted. “He said he couldn’t go to dinner with us on Saturday after the match because he had plans with you, he was here with you when the kids came to ride on Sunday, he was here last night when I came to pick you up for girls’ night and he didn’t even leave then! Don’t think I didn’t see his car in the garage when you went in! What is going on with you two?” Her questioning was clearly indicative of some sense of wrongdoing. She wasn’t making jokes, or trying to collect gossip. Her tone was borderline accusatory, and Christina met the inquiry head on because she was afraid any show of uncertainty or plotting would betray her secret keeping.

“We’re trying to hang out a lot before I live in another country and can’t hang out anymore,” she shrugged, nonchalant. “Just like you and I going out for cocktails on a Monday night, and why me and him are going to our favorite tapas place in a little while. It’s my last chance to do all the stuff I’m used to doing.” Good pivot, the rider thought. Move it away from him and onto me. What is she so upset about anyway? Yesterday was the only day she even had available to do something with me and I’ve been asking her for a week because I knew I was running out of time.

“Hanging out or spending every minute together?”

“Hanging out. How are we spending every minute together if you literally saw him go up to the house instead of sitting here to watch me ride? Why do you even care?” Christina dropped the lid on her trunk and peeled off her two-layer North Face jacket so she could take off the sweater she had on underneath. Everything felt as damp and cold as her socked feet once she managed to get it over her head and was down to a waffle-knit long sleeve shirt. Her face felt increasingly hot though under the pressure of interrogation and the irritation evoked inside by the hypocrisy of her friend harassing her about spending time with another friend when she herself couldn’t make any room in her schedule to spend more with her. The girls had fun when they went out the night before, but it was undeniable that they’d grown apart recently. Christina thought one of the reasons was that she had to keep the nature of her relationship with Juan a secret from Natasha and that it was easier to avoid lying if she avoided talking to her much, but that the main reason for the distance was Natasha’s unavailability. Three kids made flexibility hard, and the expat was busy too and out of the country a lot. Still, she thought Natasha could have put more effort into making time for their friendship, especially in light of the ticking clock on them sharing a postal code.

“You know what happens to you and André when you get too close to Juan.”

“Oh please. Like you have any idea anymore about anything to do with me and anybody,” the sweaty equestrian snorted with a wry smile. “I was waiting for three months for you to give a crap about me and Schü and you could hardly be bothered. Now that we’re fine you’re going to try to make a problem so you can feel good about advising against it? Save it.”

“Why are you being so...brash?” Natasha appeared slightly hurt and seriously confused, but Christina wasn’t affected by the expression. Her aggravation over the full body of her best friend’s behavior since the summer was boiled up to the surface and no frown or wounded eyes would turn the heat off.

“Why are you being so pushy about something I told you is nothing?”

“Because I care about you and don’t want to see you sabotage yourself.”

“Yeah, because there’s no way I could possibly look after myself.”

“Chris-“

“Never mind. Forget it. I need to go collect the stuff from my office that isn’t going in boxes.”

With that less than ideal “goodbye” to the only person who really acted as her partner in crime throughout her entire stay in London, the rider headed for the door in her socks. She would have time in the morning before her flight to Gothenburg to have another walk around the stable and savor what could be her last time there. If she and André did decide to sell the property, there might not be any chance to even be there again, never mind ride there, or feel like it was hers. It was easier to put that off until morning, when it would just be Isandro there. The house movers were in charge of packing up and relocating her office and some parts of the tack room too, and she’d already put together a carton of files and binders to transfer separately, put all the random equipment and supplies back where they belonged in other parts of the barn, and set aside some stuff Isandro would need while the horses were still there. There was also a tote bag full of clothes and shoes that needed to go to the house. Christina took that and her box with her and declined to try to clear things up with Natasha.

Juan was unsurprisingly nestled cozily into her bed when she got home with the dogs. They really were scheduled to go out for Spanish food in the city, but not for a couple of hours. And Natasha really didn’t exaggerate about the amount of time he was spending there. In fact, she was probably underestimating it since she couldn’t know he was sleeping there most nights too. The player had basically been living in the Schürrle house since Saturday evening. He had a bag of clothes and personal items on the couch in the bedroom. He was helping to eat all the perishable food that would otherwise be thrown away by the movers. He was showering and shaving there. He was perfectly at home and it was neither surprising nor off putting that the lady of the house found him relaxing in bed and thinking about napping. The only negative thought she had while crossing between him and the TV to dump her barn clothes in the dressing room and change out of her riding outfit was that she was really going to miss sharing “home” with him. Juan was a wonderful housemate.

“Why so grumpy?” he asked after her, based no doubt on her stompy demeanor.

“Nat thought today of all days was a good time to start a fight,” she called back from the dressing room, where she immediately started pulling clothes off. I want to go get in the blanky with him for a little while before we get dinner. I’m so cold now that I’m not sweating, the seriously stressed out German international reflected. Sadness and melancholy about her move weren’t the only things getting to her even before the spat with Natasha. The pressure to get the necessary result in Sweden was mounting as that qualifying class drew nearer. It would be embarrassing for the reigning champion if she failed to qualify for the World Cup Final, particularly in an Olympic year. Packing up enough clothing and necessities for Lukas for his time with Dad until the moving truck would arrive with the rest of his belongings was stressful because Christina didn’t want him to end up missing something. Sometimes she forgot that Dortmund has stores and that André and Espen could just go buy him something if she forgot it. Sometimes she just worried that he was going to miss a specific toy and be sad without it. Then there was all the pre-packing and organizing she had to do around the rest of the house to make sure that when the movers came they were able to put things together in a sensible way and not end up with random books in the bedroom stuff or sneakers in the garage stuff. Juan helped with that. She had to pack for herself for the next week as well, including clothes for the horse show, clothes for Mallorca, and clothes for orchestrating the move-in in Germany, all of which had to go with her on the plane in the morning, or so she thought until Juan suggested she pack a separate bag for the beach that he could bring with him on Saturday. That idea was entertained for all of 5 minutes before she decided that it would just be even more complicated.

“A fight about what?”

“You. But really me. Because she thinks I can’t be trusted to make intelligent choices,” the rider huffed while replacing her sports bra with a black v-neck.

“What does that mean?” Juan asked from the other room. He’d muted the TV.

“It means she noticed I’m with you a lot lately and thinks I’m putting my marriage in jeopardy,” Christina replied on her way back in there. She walked purposefully to her bed, climbed in, and promptly curled up next to the player, claiming his left arm for herself in the process. “I’m only allowed to second guess myself. Other people aren’t supposed to do it,” she grumbled.

“I like your grandpa underpants.” The Spaniard smiled at her while she patted the comforter down on either side of her legs. It didn’t cover her butt.

“Plain white Calvin Klein bikini-cut underwear are not grandpa underpants.”

“To me all white underpants are grandpa underpants,” he sniggered, reaching over to lift the wide elastic from her hip and let it snap back into place. “I take it you don’t want to go eat yet.”

“Are you starving? I want to do nothing for a little bit.” Comfyyyyyy. How does he always make the perfect pillow stacks? They are just the right amount of sink-into-me and I-will-hold-you-up. For someone who can fall asleep anywhere, anytime, doing anything, he is so good at creating the best napping conditions.

“I’m not hungry at all yet. How was your ride, cariña? Nick is still doing okay?” Juan’s palm flattened across the white cotton and the white and black waistband at her hip, and then moved south over the side of her butt to settle at the top of her thigh while he revived the volume on the TV. The West Wing was on. His snuggle buddy perked right up when she realized.

“This is my favorite show! “You want to tempt the wrath of whatever from high atop the thing?” “No.” “Then go outside, turn around three times, and spit. What the hell is the matter with you?” Yissss.”

“How do you know which episode it is from hearing like a single line of dialogue? You missed the part you just said, by the way. The guy said it already.”

“Because I know every single line of dialogue. This episode is called Election Night, and the best part of it is that it’s the real beginning of Will Bailey being a permanent thing on the show. He got a dead guy elected in this episode.”

“Spoiler alert?” Juan asked plaintively, pretending to be way more interested in the show than his ex-girlfriend could expect. She turned her head to bite gently into his bicep.

“My ride was great,” she chirped defiantly after breaking off the tiny string of saliva trying to keep her lip attached to the footballer once she withdrew her mouth from his arm and went back to just cuddling with it. “Nicky Tater Tots probably could have gone to the show this week and been just fine, but I’m a big chicken and didn’t want to push it. Maybe I’ll take him to Omaha with me though. I know he does transatlantic flights well. I’m not sure if Socks has ever flown that far, and I’m not taking Monster Stomp that far away to jump indoors.”

“What about Rio Grande?”

“I only get to take two. The Final is weird when it’s in the US. They offer a warm up class that doesn’t count for anything and you can ride both horses in it, then they have the three classes that make up the Final, and a separate Grand Prix. That’s it. So it would be good for Nick because he only has to jump twice the whole week. That’s a nice easy way to bring him back.”

“So it’s definitely Dirk for the Final?”

All of Juan’s questions up to that point sounded like casual, conversational inquiries, or like small talk, essentially. His interest in her horse selections and the criteria she used for making them was likely minimal, and limited to wanting to give her an outlet to talk about things that mattered to her- things that happened in her life. Christina listened to anything he ever wanted to tell her about training whether she cared about it or not, because he obviously cared about it enough to bring it up, or have it on his mind. The question about Dirk rang more serious in her ears. It was almost a loaded question. They’d discussed it several times already. Dirk’s rider was conflicted. She believed he deserved a chance to add a World Cup title to his CV. She also believed sending him across the globe at the end of March and expecting him to perform well for her at the first Olympic trial in April might be foolish. He didn’t have to do the trial. Neither of them did, really, but she could go and use a different horse. The whole point of the trials is to give the team coaches a chance to start figuring out which horse and rider combinations they want to take to the Games. They don’t typically go in with the intention of choosing a rider and then letting that person select a horse. They pick pairs. Form would matter. One shining performance at a trial wouldn’t outweigh consistency of results obtained by each pair throughout the spring in other competitions like the Nations Cup qualifiers and even the Global Champions Tour. There were a couple of important German shows to worry about too. Christina wasn’t committed to a specific plan to balance getting Dirk the exposure he would need to guarantee himself a place in the team with preserving his energy levels and making sure he would be in peak condition to compete on it.

“I think so,” she mumbled into the Chelsea man’s t-shirt sleeve. It smelled nice. It smelled like a more concentrated version of the scent that had become faintly permanent in her bed.

“I’ve said before, I think you should take him because it means something to you to compete with him. If you don’t care as much with one of the other horses then there’s no point, and you don’t ride as well anyway. It’s more fun to take your favorite horse, sí?” He’d been lobbying for the black Holsteiner all along.

“Sí.”

“I didn’t see him in the barn this afternoon. Is he in Sweden?”

“Yes, but I’m jumping Riri in the qualifier. He’s so good in that arena.”

“Do I get to see you with Dirk then or no?”

“Yeah in the accumulator on Saturday night.”

“Good.” Juan patted her thigh with the minimal autonomy granted to him over his own arm, and yawned loudly and expressively.

“Were you trying to nap?”

“Mhm.”

“I could do with a nap.”

“Can you do with missing the rest of The West Wing?”

“Spoiler alert: Bartlett gets re-elected.”

“And here I thought the other seasons were about the dead guy elected in California.”

“Set an alarm for 6. If I nap for more than an hour I’ll be up really late and cranky tomorrow and tomorrow isn’t a good day for cranky.”

“Why don’t you set an alarm?”

“Because your phone is sitting on you right there and mine is two whole feet away on the table.”

The Spaniard set the alarm as requested, and Christina switched over onto her left side, moved down the pillow stack a little so she was flatter, and heaved a moderately sized sigh of comfort and contentedness, ready for a spot of rest. He preferred to do his napping on his back, and to stay more upright. An interrogation on that once revealed that his nap position preferences were all about not getting too comfortable. He claimed it was harder to wake up if he got all settled the way he would to sleep for the night. There was a butt in so-called grandpa underpants pushed up against his side, and he rested his hand on it once the owner was settled, the phone was relocated, and the TV volume turned down.

André was thinking about calling his wife, and unknowingly ruining her nap just minutes in. Espen told him she already let Christina know that she and Lukas arrived just fine in Dortmund and were in the apartment with toys and Thomas Müller the goldfish, who was bagged and shipped overnight in a Styrofoam box inside cardboard. He arrived just fine too. His bowl was set up in the baby’s room and he was having his first meal in three days. Christina’s fish shipping Internet research indicated that it was necessary to starve him for two days before his journey, and she couldn’t believe it was a good idea to add the stress of hunger to the stress of being in a bag, two boxes, a truck, an airplane, and another truck. He was okay though. André wanted to call and tell her, again, that everyone was fine. He was feeling anxious and a little nervous about the beginning of the big move process. The very first part of it went okay, that was reassuring, and he wanted to sort of brag about it to reassure his girl too.

He also had fun at training that day, and he wanted to share that as well. His mood was good even before he got home and got to see his little boy. Christina was virtually unreachable to him all day. In the morning she was busy trying to get the kid and the baby packed and delivered to the airport. At lunch she was riding. He texted a little after that too and she wrote back that she was on the phone for work and would talk to him later. It was no secret that it was a difficult time for her, and that she had a lot to do, either out of necessity or because she convinced herself there was more to take care of than there really was. Sometimes she got like that. Stress could lead to her making more work for herself, either to keep busy and distracted or to feel like she was doing something. André didn’t want to bother her, or be a nuisance. He didn’t want her to snap at him and say that she was busy enough without him calling her every 10 minutes. As a compromise between his attention seeking and fear of being annoying, he sent her a text. And was careful not to refer to her Tuesday as her “last” day.

“Hey pretty girl I hope your day is going good. Mine is great :))) I might take Mausi out for soup before Champions League. Call us!” she read about 15 seconds after his former Blues teammate silenced the most annoying alarm sound in the iPhone arsenal. They are so cute with their sou-

“I don’t want to get up now,” Juan complained while matching his front to her back. He hugged her waist, and nuzzled his way to her neck. His scratchy face tickled her skin for a second before he kissed her neck absently, like a habit. Habit wasn’t an entirely legitimate excuse, but it wasn’t farfetched either. The two friends weren’t having sex every night they stayed together, or hooking up in the morning, or ignoring their phones for 30 minutes in the afternoon to be naughty. They weren’t even overly affectionate the whole time, or making out whenever convenient. That was what the rider kept reminding herself in quiet moments in front of an actual mirror, when she was compelled to check with her conscience and make sure she wasn’t breaking any of the rules or guidelines she set out for her relationship with the Spanish midfielder. That assessment and the consequential conclusion that everything was just fine was sort of on a sloped plane though. Affectionate moments and gestures were on the rise. They were becoming possessive too. They were happening more and more without consideration. They were natural, and the increase went unnoticed.

“What time do we have to leave to be at the restaurant for kickoff?” Christina let go of her phone in favor of putting her arm over the one around her middle, and wedging her fingers into the hand on the end of it.

“I forgot you want to see the matches. We have to go to the London Bridge Brindisa then. I don’t think they have TV’s in South Kensington.” Juan yawned twice in the middle of his response.

“I’m not married to the Champions League. Neither game is must-see. Unless they are?”

“Not for me, cariña.”

“I don’t know if I even feel like tapas anymore...”

“I don’t mind not driving into the city and back.”

“I’m sure Spanish food exists in Dortmund, right?”

“It’s a 90-minute flight. Come home when you get the craving.”

“Come home, eh?” The tortilla enthusiast wiggled halfway onto her back so she could see her regular tapas date, and smiled up at his sleepy blue eyes. “When I have Spanish cravings?”

“Yes. I think you’re having stay-in-the-blanket cravings right now like me.”

Christina admitted to harboring that kind of craving, but pointed out that if they wanted to eat they would have to get up eventually and either go get something or settle for delivery food. She also reminded him about the whole staying up late and ending up cranky thing, and that she needed to take a shower. A deal was struck. Juan got to stay in the blanket and she got in the shower, and once her hair was clean and dry they would go to the pub in town to get quick dinner and maybe watch some of the football. He bragged that he was getting off cheap with the change of venue since he was supposed to pay.

The nutrition and fitness conscious equestrian had a good racket going. To prove her theory that Juan would actually be more healthy and feel even better physically if they lived together and she were cooking for him all the time, she’d been preparing or choosing nearly all his meals for 4 or 5 days and grilling him on the results. At first the deal was silly. The Chelsea man was obligated to pay for dinner if he scored a goal on Saturday “as a result” of her diet. He scored a goal and assisted Diego for another, and had to pay up. Then he had to admit on Sunday afternoon that his recovery session was easier and felt better than normal, and had to buy the groceries to go with the ingredients Christina wanted to use up from her refrigerator. On Monday he reported an exceptionally good feeling in training, but she went out with Natasha and he had food to eat at her house and thus he owed her another dinner payment that was supposed to be made at her favorite tapas spot. That would have been much more expensive than the local family pub. The rider wasn’t sure if he was being honest about the great results of having her healthy breakfasts and letting her pack snacks for him or if he was just playing along because it made her happy. It was enjoyable for her either way. Being away from André left a deficit in her opportunities to take good care of someone other than Lukas. She really missed the rewarding feeling of being thoughtful for someone else.

#football fanfiction

0 notes

3one3 · 7 years

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The Sequel - 799

Thursday Night Inaction

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

Why am I so tired, Christina thought groggily when she realized she’d slept through at least 30 minutes of Europa League action. It was not her intention to lie down immediately after eating dinner and pass out. In fact, she usually made sure to remain upright for a while after eating in order to give her stomach a proper chance at tackling the food. Am I turning into him? He falls asleep whether he’s tired or not. There was no need to question why Juan was snoring through the Thursday Cup. He didn’t care about sitting up after dinner. He got comfortable, and then Christina got comfortable next to and on top of him, and then Mourinho’s team put them both to sleep. It was halftime when the rider woke up.

I don’t want to move. I wanna go back to sleep. But if I sleep for like two hours right now, am I going to struggle to go to bed later? I can’t stay up all night and sleep in. Espen doesn’t get here until 9 so I have to do the baby, before he climbs out of his crib and tries to pee on his giraffe or something, she thought, trying to be still as she yawned and not wake her friend too. From her vantage point on the left of his chest, his evening nap looked peaceful and nice too. I wonder what he’s dreaming about. If I were him I think I would probably have dreams about scoring crazy goals all the time, or anxiety dreams, caught in some weird situations with me and Taylor. Or maybe he has some totally unrelated dreams, where he’s just a guitar playing hipster kid, unfamous, under the radar, enjoying public transportation and meeting genuine girls. How many different ways would he try to hurt me if I broadcast his nap on Instagram Live right now? Where’s his phone? It would be funnier to do it on his own account, for his fans. I don’t know how many of his fans still follow me. Probably just the girls. His four and a half million followers would find a live stream of his nap far more entertaining than my half a million. The Daily Mail would probably publish a story about it. Such scandal. Friend falls asleep at friend’s house, on the couch, fully clothed, with a dog on his lap. Actual headline: “Mou’s Man United puts Mata to sleep with lonely Christina Schürrle”.

Christina managed to get through the first few minutes of the second half and then dozed off again. Like her dogs, it was very difficult for her to resist a nap when in a comfortable position and in contact with a warm, steady-breathing body. She had a little dream about being in an airport and unable to find the right departure gate for her flight. It was kind of distressing, but not enough to wake her. Juan’s phone did that. It was about 10 o’clock and his dad had something to tell him. His ex-girlfriend really hated it when dads have something to communicate to their sons when she was trying to do things with said sons. André’s dad interrupted many a nap. André responded to her irritation by teasing her for secretly just being jealous of people who actually take calls from their dad, but that stopped when hers was no longer able to call. She texted the German while the Spaniard wandered around the house on the phone.

“Tell me something good to try to have dreams about tonight,” she requested of her partner, who she figured was getting ready for bed. He would have had late training since the team played Wednesday night, which would mean no afternoon nap, which would mean early to bed. Borussia Dortmund lost 1-0 to Benfica. They created about a million chances to score and nobody could get the ball in the net. Marco missed gimmes. Auba wasted good opportunities and blew a penalty. They had complete control over the game but couldn’t get a goal, and the one they conceded was mostly a goalkeeping error. André got to play a bit towards the end, but Marco and Auba came off and left him with the sort of second tier of attacking players to try to make something work. It didn’t. And the team’s next match, against Wolfsburg, would happen without the encouragement of the 20,000-strong Südtribune, closed by decree of the DFB as punishment for the actions of violent ultras against Bundesliga culture outcasts RB Leipzig. No one could argue that the situation at the club wasn’t growing tense.

“How about landscaping? Do you want to get some gardener people in to make everything beautiful? I know it’s winter but spring is coming!!! Dream about your stable and our nice home dressed up in plants and flowers :)))” the team’s #21 suggested with a small smile on his face. He was in the process of transferring from video games on the couch to a movie in bed, and he liked that Christina wanted to have a good dream, and even more so that she asked him for an idea. The one he gave her rose from his longstanding belief that nice landscaping is a sign of class and care. He liked when people took pride in the impression given by their home, inside and out. Having tidy plantings could really make a property look nice, and most importantly, make it look like a place people care about. André wanted his wife to develop an emotional attachment to their new home, because he thought that would mean she was happy there. One of the first things he did when he wanted to get her back from Juan was get the guys in charge of keeping the grounds presentable to go plant bushes and flowers at the barn so that it looked inviting and permanent to her when he brought her there to see it. Landscaping was like a sign of roots to him. It was like the opposite of an apartment full of Ikea furniture with nothing on the walls and no signs of “homeyness”.

“So your son can “water” these plants?”

“Once again, why is he MY son when he does something bad and YOUR son when he says a difficult new word?” André thought Lukas trying to pee on a potted plant was the funniest thing ever. He died laughing when he got the text about it, and the photo of the puddle on the dining room floor. He sent a screenshot of the message and picture to all his friends. Marco replied that Noah “rage peed” on things now and then to get back at people for punishing him or preventing him from doing something he wanted. Things included his two-year-old cousin. André decided not to warn his girl that they could be in for that sort of thing.

“Because it’s your genes that compel him to do bad things. I would never pee on a plant.”

“No, you just pee behind garbage dumpsters.”

“I had no choice! He literally doesn’t have to do anything to pee. He can just go. If I had a diaper on that night then I wouldn’t have peed behind a dumpster.”

“If you were the kind of person who goes out drinking in an adult diaper, I don’t think we’d know each other.”

“Are you going to leave me when I’m old and have to wear diapers? :(“

“I’m sure I’ll be in them before you, and probably with dementia, so I won’t know who you are anyway.”

“That’s depressing. I don’t want us to get old.”

“Where is the chocolate cake, my angel of delicious food?” Juan groan-sighed as he suddenly gripped Christina’s shoulders from behind the couch. “I need more cake.”

“Angel of delicious food?” she asked back skeptically.

“I don’t know. I was winging it.”

“You’re making angel puns now?”

“Just one. I need cake though.”

“Why?” The rider leaned her head back on the couch cushion to get a look at the weary sounding footballer. “Restaurant problems?”

“He wants to change the name. Materials have already been ordered. Permits are already in writing. It’s all been tested, and there is a whole marketing plan. I want to suffocate him with a flour sack.” He covered her mouth with his hand to demonstrate his frustration, but the rider’s cheeks lifted and scrunched into her eyes to prove she was smiling under there anyway. It was novel for something to go wrong for him, or for him to appear stressed about something that wasn’t to do with her or his girlfriend. Also, she rather liked it when he covered her mouth. “I need more cake and coconut whipped cream.”

“Both are in the fridge,” she told him when he slid his palm down to the front of her throat to knead her neck. “I have vanilla frozen yogurt too if you want to heat up your piece of cake and make an epic stress dessert out of it and have scary dreams from all the sugar right before bed. Speaking of bed- are you staying?”

“I brought my pajamas.” The Chelsea man gestured down at his adidas shorts as if having changed into them was a guarantee that he was sleeping over. Christina didn’t really need to ask, regardless of his outfit. She couldn’t remember the last time he came over and didn’t stay. “Do you want cake?” Juan questioned, evidently satisfied that the question of where he was sleeping had been settled.

“No thank you.”

He pinched her nose before turning to head to the kitchen, and left her to return to her texting. André said they were a long way from getting old. He said she didn’t look a day over the day he met her, which evoked laughter.

“I wish I could say the same about you, babe. But you’ve aged like 10 years in about 5.”

“You’re so mean to me. I gave you chocolate pretzels.”

“I gave you a child.”

“Yeah but he pees on plants.”

“I was talking to Nat earlier about how I need to pack some things before the movers come, like my jewelry and our vital paperwork, and sex toys. I have 3 questions. What should I actually do with that stuff since I’m not coming back here between Sweden and Germany? I don’t want to fly with hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of jewelry and our un-lose-able documents and keep them in a hotel safe. And how are we moving the cars?”

“Do you want to fly home on Weds and drive one of them here? You could lock everything in the boot before you go to the horse show.”

Not really, Christina thought. I don’t want to road trip between Spain and moving, and I don’t want to drive across a bunch of countries with a car full of valuables. Just imagine if Stef and I got in an accident, or someone tried to carjack us when we stop for food. A scruffy man with cake sat next to her Indian style and smelled like burning chocolate.

“Sure you don’t want any?” he asked.

“No. How long did you microwave it? Five minutes?”

“Thirty seconds. It’s perfect. What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out how to get my jewelry and important files to Dortmund. I don’t want to leave that to the movers or fly with all of it since I’m going all over the place,” she explained before giving André an answer about driving.

“You could leave it with me and take some whenever you go back and forth. How many files are you talking about?” Juan wolfed down a big chunk of cake with melting frozen yogurt and stiff whipped cream made from the solids that separate in cans of coconut milk.

“Not many. It’s like birth certificates, Lukas stuff, horse registrations. It’s more the jewelry I’m worried about. Like your diamond, and a drawer full of Cartier.”

“Why don’t you just use an insured shipping service to send it in the mail? People ship very valuable things like that all the time,” he shrugged before taking another big bite. Just looking at that is making my teeth hurt, the rider thought, her fingers tapping on the edges of her phone, knowing André was waiting for a reply. Not that I wouldn’t eat it. It also looks delicious. “Are you sure you don’t want a bite?”

“Yes. And it’s not the money I’m worried about. I don’t want to lose the things. I have so many pieces that mean the world to me- stuff my dad gave me before I hated him, stuff I wore like everyday when I was younger, special Schü gifts, your diamond.”

“Why do you keep calling it my diamond? It’s yours. It’s not like I gave it to you on loan.”

“I dunno.” Christina shrugged and told André she’d figure something out.

“I don’t want to drive. At least not that day. Can’t we ship the cars? Or I’ll come back and get them later. I’m sure there will be some reason that I have to come back here that week.”

“I guess. I’m going to sleep. Love youuuuuuuuuuuuu.”

“Love you. Nighties.”

“André?”

“Sí.”

“How is he?”

“Do you actually care?”

“Not especially. This is so good. I feel sick already, eating it, but it’s delicious.” The Spanish player made a face of mixed agony and joy, like he was professing his love to his cake while also breaking up with it over a long standing family feud or something. Christina laughed because it reminded her of herself when she was drunk, particularly when she was very drunk and granted the great pleasure of binge eating pizza. She believed that was the most intense love/hate relationship in her life- delicious, yummy, hot, gooey pizza that helped her not feel sick from drinking too much, but pizza she knew she was going to throw up later, or that would cement itself to her thighs.

“Chocolate fixes almost everything on the stress spectrum. And that cake at least isn’t full of white flour and butter. It’s like almost not totally terrible for you. Or it was until you covered it in frozen yogurt and whipped cream made from fat,” she smiled at the player savoring his dessert.

“If you had let me give you that diamond as I originally intended to, in an engagement ring, I would be so fat right now. If we lived together all this time?”

“I doubt that. You’d eat out less if I were cooking for you at home every day, and that’s automatically better for you even if I do make things like cake and fried chicken and giant dishes of macaroni and cheese sometimes. And- newsflash- that would have been a disaster anyway.” Christina frowned and patted her blanket down in her lap to invite Spencer to sit with her. Both pups were on their feet and on alert for cake crumbs. The tricolor one indeed moved over onto her, but he wasn’t ready to get comfortable and be petted. Juan was studying her while she was trying to get the dog’s attention.

“What would be a disaster?”

“I was going to live with you half the week and down here half the week because we couldn’t find a place for the horses, remember? I’m pretty sure I know now that that arrangement doesn’t work. Husband in one place and horses in another is too hard.” Her sudden onslaught of sadness and resignation was met with total nonchalance.

“Yeah but I would never let it get like that, like how it’s been for you. I told you that.”

“Why do you guys like to say shit like that? Like you can magically just fix problems? Then you don’t actually do it, and you don’t keep the promise, and then it’s worse. Then it’s not just the original problem, but also the letdown.” They’re all the same, the rider decided. At least all the guys I fall for, anyway. They want to fix everything, and take care of everything for me, and instead they make me go through hell while they realize it isn’t actually going to happen the way they wanted and promised.

“I say it because I mean it,” her ex shrugged, fork poised to capture some soupy vanilla and coconut mix. “If it didn’t work for us, I would have bought a facility near Manchester. You didn’t want to do that because of the cost, not because no acceptable place existed. And if you didn’t like it there, I would change clubs.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Yes I would. I would have changed that summer if it didn’t work for us.”

“No you wouldn’t. That would be silly.”

“I left there in the next window after that anyway, entirely because of you. It wasn’t right there without you, and I wanted to be closer to you to repair our relationship. I want to play football and have a good life off the pitch. It doesn’t matter that much where the two things happen.”

“Yeah but you’re saying that like your priorities are different and more noble than Schü’s,” the brunette with the bun argued. “He had to leave to be able to play.”

“Says who? You don’t think he could have done the job Marcos is doing? Marcos is no defender and he has half the ability going forward as André, and less pace. He was playing last year, and with a new manager coming in you don’t know what the situation is in June. He didn’t have to leave. He didn’t have to make the decision and then figure out how to handle it after, either.” Juan’s mouth was full of yummy cake but his voice was full of distaste. He’d harbored real disdain over what “André did” to Christina’s family, and never really let on about it until that night. His eyebrows got angry, which was something she seldom saw happen in any kind of serious way. Her response was mixed, because she didn’t like hearing her partner attacked but did like that someone wanted to speak up for better treatment for her. “If he was thinking of going, he could have figured out first where you would live and how long it would take to be ready. If he knew it would take half a year, then he could have waited and made the move in January. It’s trickier with the clubs, yes, but when you don’t even know what you’re trying to leave yet, what harm is there? And if the new club doesn’t want you badly enough to wait, are you really that important to them? Is it really going to be the situation you want? Family comes first for me. You come first. Never would I put you or any girl I love this way through what he has- not just this time, but last time too.”

“He let me decide, though.” Her defense for André was meek, and based mostly in her sense of loyalty rather than injustice. “He didn’t make a unilateral decision and force me to go along with it. I told him it was okay.”

“He only asked because he knew you wouldn’t say no. Just as I would never force that situation on you, you would never make him miss out on something he wants. You couldn’t even say no to him when he broke your heart into a hundred pieces and made you question if there was any point to living anymore. You only had that situation in the first place because you wouldn’t risk upsetting him during a football tournament to be honest and tell him you were in trouble and needed some help, some understanding. He asked you because he knew you would put his needs and his career first, like you always have. Don’t fool yourself into thinking anything else. It has nothing to do with your career and your life being more flexible than his, or his chances being more temporary, or any other way you justify your thinking. You just can’t say no to him.”

“Why are you so angry about this all of a sudden?” Christina asked, exasperated by the fervent ranting happening beside her on the couch. Cake crumbs were spilling out of the player’s mouth into his bowl because he was talking so fast and wouldn’t stop trying to eat at the same time.

“All of a sudden? Are you kidding?” he laughed.

“No.”

“I’m angry about this all the time! I’m angry that you woke up on Christmas Eve and called to tell me you love me and couldn’t wait to get home from the horse show so that you could be with me on Christmas and be one day closer to living together and having everything we want, and by the end of that night you were ignoring everything you felt in the morning simply because he asked you to. He asked you to ignore your feelings and go back to him based on his own feeling that you were supposed to be together, and you couldn’t say no! You just gave in. Don’t even try to tell me that it was the right decision either. You know better than anyone that your relationship with him has never gone back to the same. You get to the verge of leaving him every 6 months! You have the permanent doubt. You made this situation for yourself because you couldn’t deny him something he wanted. I’m never not angry about this. For you, and for myself. I’m never not angry that he can treat you like absolute shit and get away with it while I do everything you’re supposed to do when you truly love someone, and what I get for it is to be your backup boyfriend when you can’t be with him.”

Christina didn’t like being talked at. Juan was talking at her. He was complaining, and argumentative without arguing. He was frustrated, angry, aggrieved, disappointed, and condescending in a way his friend was quite familiar with. Every now and then he managed to make her feel very small and stupid, and she really hated that. It upset her instead of making her angry though. When people she cared about made her feel dumb, it was upsetting. When anyone else took a shot at her, it was an invitation for her to destroy them, and she usually accepted. The Spaniard also dropped truth on her all the time, and she couldn’t say what he ranted about was entirely wrong. In fact, nearly all of it was correct.

“You’re right,” she said after a brief pause to organize her thoughts and pet her dog. “But not about why I went back to him. It wasn’t because I just didn’t want to say no. I wanted him to be in love with me. I wanted to know that he was always in love with me and that I wasn’t stupid for thinking all that time that he was and always would be. I went back to him because he convinced me that he never stopped, or- I guess- I guess I should say he convinced me that he could convince me. I didn’t fully believe him that night, but I wanted to. I had no idea what to do, or how I felt, or what would happen. He convinced me that he was going to show me that he loves me forever no matter what. We get in fights now because he keeps giving me reasons to think he doesn’t.”

“And me? Do you ever think I don’t?” a smug looking midfielder questioned.

“No.”

“Why do so many intelligent girls choose a man they don’t believe really loves them over one they know does?”

“Just because he sometimes does things that make me think he doesn’t love me the way I want doesn’t mean he doesn’t actually love me. It just means I take things the wrong way.”

“What difference does it make if he really loves you if he makes you feel like he doesn’t? What do you want in life? To feel loved, or to be told you are?”

“Juanin, I am a grown up with a family. I have a son. I have a husband that I love dearly. We’ve been through a ton of terrible shit together and he’s still my partner in life. I’m not just going to leave him because sometimes he makes me feel bad, or feel like he doesn’t love me as much as I love him. I’m not 16. It’s not a fairytale. We don’t just throw away relationships, and families, because-“

“Okay, stop, stop, I get it,” Juan sighed. He put his fork down, leaving about two bites worth of cake left in the dish with it. He rolled his eyes too. “I’m just saying, don’t give him more credit than he deserves. It messes with your head. You think you owe him when you don’t. You don’t hold him accountable when you’re entitled. That makes you...It diminishes you, in a way, cariña,” he advised with earnestness and humility. “It makes you weaker, and when you feel weak in one area then it spreads to the others like cancer.”

“I know. I know what you’re saying. You’re not wrong. And I’m...like working on all of that. And I never forget that it’s different with you.” The rider rubbed his left arm, slowly and with real purpose. His forearm was warm, and her fingertips carefully rooted under the dark hairs to lift them almost one at time. She thought she knew what was really going on, and that it didn’t actually have that much to do with the injustice of her relationships with the two players. “I know you love me, and you always make me feel very loved, and I love you too, so I know how hard it is for you when you think someone doesn’t understand how much you care, or how much you’re trying to do the right things. Or when they don’t appreciate it. I appreciate very much that you always make sure you treat me like nothing in the world is more important to you, and I’m sure your dad appreciates the work you’re doing for the restaurant. I’m sure he’s not trying to change stuff because he doesn’t realize what you’re trying to do for him and that you’ve already made plans. He probably just didn’t think about it from that side. Everybody gets kind of single-minded in their pursuit of personal projects like that. It’s easy to ignore one’s better judgement when wrapped up in a dream. Don’t let it upset you.”

“You’re a sweet girl, cariña,” the blue Blue sighed with a halfhearted smile. He reached over the bowl in his left hand to pat her knee with the right.

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