Status: COMPLETED!

Keep Cool, Stay Tough

A Judgment Call

The second leg had picked up exactly where the first leg had left off. Nobody was able to get in front of goal long enough to score, and I was a little surprised by Fernando’s absence on the pitch since he had done pretty well with sparking attack when he had been introduced late in the second half of the first leg.

And then there was that one moment of football magic. Way late in the second half where everyone had already mentally committed to sticking around for another thirty plus minutes Real Madrid scored a mind-blowing, blink and it’s gone in kind of goal.

And that was it.

They had done it. Well to be utterly and perfectly precise, Cristiano had done it. He had laid down the goal in front of Chicharito on a silver platter. All he had to do was tap it in and that was it, Real Madrid was officially a semi-finalist in the Champions League; along with Barcelona.

I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t excited, this was huge. I was honestly just so happy for Cristiano. For the rest of the team too of course, I was happy for them too, they’re all great.

But Cristiano was just a tiny bit greater for me.

As we had agreed earlier, we were going to stick it out with the group, and make it a proper party night. On the downside that meant I most likely had to keep a good distance from Cristiano for most of the night so that things wouldn’t appear too suspicious. It was completely worth it because I kept catching his eye even though we were separated by hordes of people, and we would smile at each other, and it just meant that things were good. Everything was good. Nothing felt complicated.

Sergio, Mina, and Karim even got Martha on a tabletop at one point singing ‘shake it off’ into an empty wine bottle. Me and half the team got that committed to our phone’s memory before she had finished. Cristiano had brought Gemma, or Gemma had shown up and sent a text to be invited in, I’m not quite sure, but I saw them together towards the wee hours of the evening, and she was exactly how I had pictured: beautiful, blonde, British.

There was a brief moment of contact between Cristiano and me when we were on the dance floor, him with Gemma and me with the actual goal-scorer Javier, and our arms kept grazing against each other’s until he was standing directly behind me.

Then out of the blue I felt his hand wrap around mine. He squeezed my hand, and before I could squeeze back or even turn around, he was gone, spinning Gemma around and away in elegant circles. He winked at me when he saw me watching, and I smiled, nodding back.

Of course during all the festivities Iker was a playing the ‘I take my job seriously as captain’ role, and I found him sitting on a barstool watching the drunk frivolity, but I grabbed him by the hands and dragged him onto the dance floor. I even got a few smiles out of him when I started singing along to ‘Bailando,’ a laugh bubbled out too it looked like when I was flanked by Zoe, Mina, and Chloe. Although I think his laughing had more to do with Sergio’s shocked face when he spun around and saw us all crowding around Iker.

“I need to talk to you!” Iker grabbed my hands and pulled me towards him in perfect tune to the beat blasting out from everywhere.

“It can’t wait!?” I shouted back.

He only shook his head.

I signaled for him to lead the way and I followed him outside.

“You have to promise you won’t get mad,” Iker started.

“No.”

“Come on, promise,” Iker persisted.

I shook my head, “I’d rather be dancing and having a good time, and you starting off with promise you won’t get mad, doesn’t keep me interested right now.”

He sighed, “It’s about Cesc and a bit about Cristiano.”

“What?” I demanded, already a spark was lit in me, and I didn’t know if it was headed for a
truckload of dynamite yet or not.

“Cristiano came up to me and told me to talk to Cesc earlier tonight, to have Cesc call you or come see you and have a frank discussion about…I don’t know what,” Iker relented with a swift gulp of air,

“I just thought you’d like to know.”

“I do,” I breathed, making an effort to not give away anything to Iker, “See? Not mad.”

He didn’t buy it, nor did he press it.

“Just don’t ruin your evening, and if you want me to talk to Cesc, I will. I just didn’t know if I should be involved or not, you know?”

“Don’t talk to Cesc, I’m going to talk to Cesc, forget Cristiano, just forget him,” I insisted, “I’m sorry,
Iker.”

“For what?” He asked, confused.

“For Cristiano thinking it was okay to involve you in something that he probably shouldn’t be involved in either,” I explained.

“I know nothing,” Iker promised.

Honestly I tried, I really tried to leave it, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t enjoy myself, and I was feeling spiteful and that spite demanded he get his evening ruined as well. Too bad for Gemma. I wound up sending him a text, and when he didn’t respond. I danced around him, made eye contact, and pointed to my phone to get him to check his. I had asked him to meet me outside in ten minutes. He responded ok, and we stood at the exact same spot I had been standing with Iker earlier.

“Iker came up to me tonight.”

“I thought he might,” Cristiano responded coolly.

“Unlike you, he has his boundaries, he knows not to get involved in something like this,” I retorted, getting even more annoyed by his stupid, impassive face.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go,” He repeated yet again.

“I heard you, Cris, we talked about this, about all of this, but you still decide to sidestep me and get involved in something that doesn’t even concern you, something that you don’t understand, obviously. I trusted you enough to just listen to me; I don’t need you to come to my rescue.”

“I made a judgment call,” His tone forcibly flat, his face blank, pushing all emotions down under the surface so that I couldn’t gauge his thoughts.

“Get better judgment, Cris,” I snapped.

“Where are you going?” He demanded.

“I have to get out of here,” I called over my shoulder.

He didn’t call after me. Not that I expected him to. He had a Gemma to get back to after all. Instead I went off to find Martha and Mina. Both had gone missing. I found Zoe and she said they were upstairs where it was quieter.

The music from downstairs muffled my ascent upstairs, but as soon as I got up there, the music disappeared and was replaced by Mina and Martha’s intense whispered conversation.

“I can’t do it anymore, I’m going to tell her,” Mina sounded like she was on the verge of tears.
“I made a promise to her father, Mina, we can’t, he has to do it, or at least Joie has to, we made a promise,” Martha repeated herself.

“He’s got admitted into a hospital, we’re running out of time, mum, she needs to know before it’s too late,” Mina pleaded.

What? Everything fell away as those words just sat on a carousel in my head and kept going round and round in front of me.

“What did you just say?”

“Senna, what are you doing up here?” Martha asked, forcing on a complete bullshit smile.

“What did you just say?” I demanded, my temper rising along with my voice.

“Your dad,” Mina started.

“Mina no,” Martha cut her off.

“Mina, tell me, please,” My voice shook as my attention focused on her.

Mina ignored her mother and continued, “He’s gotten admitted into the hospital in Barcelona, he collapsed, and he’s in emergency surgery.”

“Why am I finding out about this by skulking in the shadows?” I returned, forcing down bile and tears.

No one answered, but Mina had begun to cry. I took the silence as my platform to press onwards. Fuck keeping cool.

“Fine, he didn’t tell me,” I stepped forward, “fine, he had his reasons, but what about you two, huh? What were yours? How dare you keep something like this from me? How dare you look me in the eye and act like nothing’s wrong!”

Martha was struggling for words, “We couldn’t spring this on you, I knew your father had a point, you had lost yourself last year, and look how wonderfully you’ve been doing since you came here, and I just thought...”

I rolled my eyes disbelieving of what I was hearing, “You made a judgment call,” I finished for her, repulsed by the words rolling off my tongue.

“I got to get out of here,” I repeated for the second time tonight.

I turned around and found Cristiano was standing there with Gemma at his side. His expression serious and dare I say I saw concern in his eyes, but his stance was unsure. I shoved past him as he asked me where I was going. I ignored him and picked up the pace, kicking off my heels, not even bothering to pick them up.

He caught up to me, of course he did, he was a fit footballer after all.

“Where are you going?”

“Cris so help me if you do not get in your car and get me out of here in the next ten seconds, I will have absolutely no problem scratching those keys out of your pocket,” I threatened.

I wasn’t crying. This was unusual given the circumstances. I was waiting for the anger to lose its battle with the grief that was steadily building up momentum like the bile threatening to escape out of my throat, but as Cristiano continued to gawk at me, unsure of what his own actions could mean, I felt my anger grip at my sadness and I swallowed down the bile hating the taste in my mouth.

I took a step towards him, and he immediately snapped out of his intense reverie. The keys glittered briefly under the streetlight as he lifted them up for me to see.

“We’re leaving,” His voice was low, but carried promise.

I walked to the passenger seat, the shouts of all of my friends and family perfectly audible as it continued to melt into the background becoming less and less discernible.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’d be surprised if it did.”

“They fucked up more than you fucked up.”

“I noticed.”

“Good.”

We drove off in silence. I had no idea where I wanted to go. Cristiano chose roads that he knew would be deserted and completely deprived of police officers so he could go well over the speed limit. Of course considering the fact that it was nearing four in the morning his options were certainly not limited.

“I want to drive.”

“You have been drinking,” He reminded.

“I know.”

And then the anger finally lost its battle.

“I know I’ve been drinking. I know I’m a fuck up, I know, believe me, I know,” I shuddered, but held back a sob just barely.

I shook my head, taking in ragged inconsistent breaths.

My voice dropped, it didn’t even matter if he could hear past the roar of the engine, “I’m so naïve. I’m so stupid and naïve, I believed him when he said he was sending me away for my own good. I didn’t see the signs, and now that I finally have everything read loud and clear, I’m driving around Madrid with you instead of rushing back home.”

“What were you even going to do if you were to go back home the moment you found out about your dad?”

“I was going to scream and break things, I was going to slap my sister for lying to me,” The words tumbled out as my anger tried to clutch my grief by the throat.

“That wasn’t going to do anything, but prove them right.”

“I don’t care.”

He was right. Cristiano was right.

“My dad died, and I still played. I ended up crying, sobbing in front of so many people, and nobody really understood why I needed the coach’s assistant to baby me,” His voice was just barely a murmur.

I glanced at him and he was frowning at the memory playing in his head. I shook my head; he didn’t deserve to have this evening ruined. He just played one of the most important matches of the season for his team and I was dragging him down to strange places he really didn’t need to be going.

Before I could manifest my thoughts into words, he pulled the car to the side of the road, and shut it off in one fluid movement. He wouldn’t look at me. He wouldn’t even speak. I didn’t trust my voice not to break. We sat in silence, the occasional sniffle escaping out of me.

“This isn’t you. You’ve been in Madrid for awhile now, and you’ve never acted like this, not even once. Is this how you were when you lived with your dad and sister?”

Cristiano Ronaldo was trying to give me a lecture. I frowned at the revelation. My eyebrows pulled together, forcing up my anger and downing my grief like they were on a mad see-saw.

“You’re not helping,” I kept my voice down.

“That’s not what this is,” He assured, almost scoffing at my response, “I’m being honest with you. Sometimes honesty doesn’t help you the way you want it to, but you know what, you need my honesty right now. You need someone to remind you that you can be better than what you are right now. What is this? You are running off in the middle of a party because you got sucker punched by some bad news. Do you know how ridiculous you seem right know to them? I’m a complete stranger for you in their eyes. You just ran off with a complete stranger in front of Martha and Mina.”

“I don’t care what they think,” I sneered, the anger just kept building and building, demanding to boil over and wreak more havoc in my life.

“And you know what; you have no right to talk down to me, Cristiano. I don’t want to hear it. I can be fine on my own. I have money saved, I can disappear, tonight I can just pack a bag, and you know what, I don’t need anyone acting like I owe them any explanations.”

He scoffed, “And what pop off to London to have tea with Fabregas? Or off to Munich to have a beer with that Alcantara kid? And then what? What’s your end game because you’re really starting to run out of moves, Senna?”

Tears flooded my eyes, bringing up Cesc was a low blow, “Why would you think Cesc could ever be an option for me? After everything I’ve said?”

“He still loves you. Don’t you dare take up that naïve persona that you seem to hate so much. One phone call, one sweet word from you, and he would move worlds to right whatever wrongs he’s done to you,” Cristiano refuted, his hands gripping onto the wheel so tightly they were turning his knuckles white with tension.

Abruptly, I pictured myself reaching out my hand and placing it over his, smoothing the tension and trying to infuse some strange understanding into the confines of the car.

Of course I didn’t dare to.

I sniffled instead, angrily rubbing tears off my cheek. Cristiano was choosing to pretend he didn’t see the waterworks, as I was trying so desperately to keep it hidden. I knew I was failing miserably, but I was glad he wasn’t cooing over me, trying to drop the conversation or accompany a hug with the bullshit lie that things were magically going to work themselves out. Obviously he had something to say on the matter of Cesc, and I needed to hear it.

“Iker was talking to Fernando the other day. We had gone out for dinner, and Sergio had needed Torres to drop something off for him. I think Torres must have mentioned something about you and me talking at the Caulderon the other week to Cesc. So after he left, Iker brought up Cesc to me, a lot.”

“I knew Fernando would tell Cesc about that, he practically said as much himself,” I inserted in between hiccups.

Cristiano pressed on, “Long story short, Cesc is an option for you, more than you can imagine, and I have no idea why I’m telling you this. I’m not encouraging it by any means. I just think a person should know what their options are; even the shitty ones. It’ll make you think twice about dropping the good ones.”

He seemed to be justifying the confession more to himself than to me.

“Iker doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I don’t have feelings for Cesc, and that’s not going to change. That’s not the point of me want to go to London, I told you.”

“You don’t date footballers,” He repeated my mantra back to me.

“I don’t date Cesc,” I simplified.

“That’s new,” He noted.

I gave a dark laugh, “You have no idea.”

I waited for him to ask more questions, to demand more out of me, to continue on with the most bizarre lecture I’ve ever sat through in my life, but he stayed quiet, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he wasn’t alone.

“What are you thinking about?” I finally asked.

“Honestly?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Who we’re going to be drawn against for the semifinals on Friday.”

“Hopefully not Barcelona,” I returned, almost reflexively.

“Yeah, hopefully,” He agreed past the roar of the engine.

“I need to do something, I need to tear my hair out, scream, destroy something, oh my GOD how could I, why would they think…”

I trailed off, caught by surprise by this free omission of anger. I thought I was working on putting all of this away. I wanted it out of the car, and as far away from our conversation as possible. Where had that come from? Oh, that’s right, I was thinking about the draw this Friday, and who Barcelona could potentially do well against, and of course Barcelona branched into family territory.

“Are you going to go back?”

Cristiano took no notice of my obvious despair at pressing back into this conversation. His grip on the wheel had returned to normal. His brows remained passive, his tone even.

“I am, but not until I’m ready. I need to be able to keep calm when I’m there. I have a point to prove. I need them to realize how wrong they were for treating me like a child, and I won’t go back until I know I can keep a level head.”

“Good on you. What do you want to do in the meantime?”

“For right now…?”

He nodded.

“Let’s see how fast you can make this thing go.”

***

The sun was rising over Madrid’s sleepy, skyline. People were getting ready for their day ahead, and I still had yet to let go of my night. And like the selfish person that I was, I had latched onto Cristiano, refusing to let him leave. Although, surprisingly, he was much too polite to suggest we call it a night.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” I started.

He tried to shrug off my apology while also stifling a yawn.

I shook my head, raising my hand to stop him, “No, this is a huge thing you did for me. I didn’t trust myself to be alone, or to be in the company of family, and you stuck it out with me, so thank you, and sorry for ruining what should have been an amazing night of celebration for you.”

The reminder still left a bad taste in my mouth. I felt awful and I would figure out a way to make it up to him. There had to be something you could do for a multimillionaire footballer living out his dream, right?

“I’m here, Senna,” He shrugged again, he seemed as if he was double checking his thoughts before saying them out loud, “And that’s not going to change. I think about this thing we’ve created between us, and I can’t imagine not having it anymore, so I’m here.”

I nodded, “I’m here too.”

“About Cesc…” He trailed.

I know he wasn’t sorry, and I know if he were to go back in time he would try to do things exactly the same and that’s fine. Honestly, his heart was in the right place, and he did more than enough to make up for it.

“It’s fine, Cris, I’m over it,” I promised, “My dad put things into perspective for me without even meaning to, I guess I hate the idea of people making decisions about my life without even consulting me.”

“Looks like there’s a storm on the way,” Cristiano answered as I followed his line of vision.

The sun continued to rise as more clouds began to roll across the sky, blanketing the gold and blue sunrise in grey.