It's A Game, But Who's Keeping Score?

I sprinted up the driveway and bursted through the front door, collapsing on one of the couches soon after. My chest heaving up and down, trying to supply my lungs with the oxygen it screamed for. The run from Fernando’s usually took me half an hour.

I had done it in 10 minutes.

My muscles screamed in protest as I managed to drag myself to the kitchen for a bottle of water. Once again, I collapsed into one of the chairs and laid my head on the table. I nearly fell asleep, but then voices woke me up.

“I just don’t know what happened to her, she’s changed,” one voice said, sounding a lot like Pepe.

“And she punched Fernando!” another said, more like Xabi.

“Don’t hold that against her, Fernando clearly brought that upon himself.”

“She still didn’t have to punch him.”

I waited until the voices were closer before voicing my opinion. “Fernando deserved that punch,” I said, my voice cracking.

Xabi gave me a hard stare, while Pepe gave me a look that reminded me of a father scolding a child. Xabi whispered something to Pepe, probably asking him to leave, but he looked reluctant to leave which scared me.

Xabi took the seat directly across from me an almost glared at me, “Fernando’s not out to get you anymore, so after your suspension please try to make amends with him.”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes at the idea of a truce, “Fernando will always try to ruin things for me.”

Xabi’s gaze seemed to turn even colder, “Your ongoing fight with Fernando is upsetting both he and Olalla. Stress isn’t a good thing for an expecting mother.”

“So you’re on her side now!” I said, attempting to cool my temper. “After all she did to me in Vienna, you’re taking her side?”

“I was always on her side, she’s like a sister to me. I’ve known her as long as I’ve known Fernando. And besides, she’s Nagore’s best friend,” Xabi snapped.

I blinked in response, things just weren’t making sense. Why had Xabi suddenly turned so cold and mean? I opened my mouth to defend myself, but I knew it wasn’t worth it. I simply got up and turned to leave.

“Oh and one more thing, if you’re here next season you need to find a new house,” Xabi called after me.

My jaw dropped and I turned around, “You’re kicking me out?”

“It’s nothing personal,” he said calmly.

“Nothing personal my ass,” I muttered to myself before heading upstairs and walking into Pepe’s room and crashing onto his bed.

He sat at his computer, chatting away with his family over the webcam. I laid there for nearly 10 minutes, not once did Pepe look behind. Finally Grecie saw me in the background and started giggling and shouting my name.

“I’ll talk to you later hun,” Pepe said before turning to me. “What’s up Bec?”

“Xabi’s kicking me out,” I said bluntly.

“I know, he told me the exact same thing after practice today,” he said, sitting down next to me. “I’m going to try and get a bigger house so Yolanda and the girls can stay here permanently.”

I smiled weakly, “Yolanda would love that.”

“Yolanda would love it even more if you came and lived with us too.”

“I don’t want to impose and who knows if I’ll even be here next season,” I sighed.

Pepe wrapped me in a big hug, “Rafa wants you here and he sees how much passion you put into the game. He wants you here and that means a lot.”

“What’s happened to Xabi?” I finally asked.

“Nagore has been bugging him about playing football so far away from Spain. She wants him closer, hell she wants him basically in Madrid.”

“But I still don’t understand why he has to be so mean to us.”

“I have a funny feeling that he’s going to put in a request for a transfer,” Pepe said sadly.

“No!” I said, completely shocked. “You think he’d go that far?”

“Sadly, I think he will. Now I’m off to bed, Rafa says to be at Anfield for 6. You can catch a ride with me.”

“Okay,” I said softly, before heading to my own room for a much needed sleep.

I felt awkward walking into Anfield wearing my track suit with no intention of playing. The stadium had an electrifying feeling to it that was contagious. And the Kop just added to it. I walked the halls while the team got their gear on and I soon found myself in front of Chelsea’s dressing room. Michael Ballack was warming up in front, so I quickly hid behind a door hoping he wouldn’t see me.

I took out my phone and quickly texted Lukas,

Does Ballack still like me?

Of course he does, he wishes that we got together. Haha.

I rolled my eyes at Lukas and thanked him. I made my way back to the dressing room, just in time for the team meeting. I sat at the back and fidgeted with my hands.

A hand reached over and stopped me, “You still fidget during team meetings?”

I looked at Fernando and reminded myself that I need to be civil, “Yes, always before a game.”

“But you’re not even playing,” Fernando said all too calmly, with a smirk tugging at his lips.

I ground my teeth together and whispered harshly, “And I wonder who caused that?”

Fernando was about to answer, but the team started exiting the room, heading out to the tunnel. I waited to stand at the end, which only made sense since I wasn’t playing. I heard someone cough beside me and I turned to see Michael standing next to me.

“Not playing?” he asked in German.

“Rafa gave me the game off to rest my knees," I replied in German, keeping our conversation private.

“That's not what Lukas told me.” he said with a grin.

“Remind me to smack him the next time I see him.” I said jokingly.

“Just like you-”

“Don't say it,” I growled, looking ahead to see Fernando talking with Xabi.

“It's too bad I won't be playing against you, I missed you the last time,” Michael said, referring to the Euro Cup Final.

“Yeah, about that,” I said, nervously scratching my head. “How 'bout we don't ever speak of that again.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed, before rejoining his line and walking out with his team.

I dreaded this game for several reasons:

1) the other team’s reactions when I wasn’t played
2) the media’s reaction
3) the personal battle I would be fighting during the game.

As much as I wanted to say that the game was close, I couldn’t. We lost by a long shot, 4-1. Not a very good start to the Champion’s League Quarter Finals, we had to beat Chelsea by at least 4 goals the next game to move on. Something we could hopefully do.

We walked into the dressing room, preparing for a lashing from Rafa. Instead, he simply said to return the next day for practice where we would go over things.

I made my way out to the parking lot, weaving my way in between cars, trying to find Pepe’s. Then, a hand grabbed my elbow. I turned to see Fernando.

“Can we go for a ride?” he asked sheepishly.

“W-what about Olalla?”

“What about Olalla?” Fernando said with a wicked grin.

And I couldn’t say no to that smile.