Chapter 22

Disclaimer: Inspired by real life events but taking a lot of liberties with it.

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Lukasz POV

Bless Dr. Braun and his magic hands.

I still lay, pinned down in the bed, immobilized by the pain in my hip. But even though the pain still radiates from it in a pulsating pattern, it’s a relief compared to before.

I couldn’t even risk opening my mouth, talking or eating, afraid I might just start screaming and trashing in front of Cecilia and everyone else at dinner. I’m not even sure how I made it up to the room.

Braun did everything he could, massages, stretches, numbing cream, but as he explained, the meds can only do so much. If I continue playing like this it will get harder and longer to recover.

Right now, I need to stay in this bed though, and then get my ass to Dortmund first thing tomorrow morning for some serious rehab or he will bring up my case to Klopp again. My plans with Cecilia will have to get sidelined.

Braun zips his bag and with a final nod leaves the room. My head remains turned, even though I can barely move my body, staring at that door, waiting for Braun to fulfill the last thing I asked of him tonight.

She steps tentatively in the room, her fingers twisting and turning as she clasps her hands in front of herself. Her lip trapped under gnawing teeth as her eyes find mine.

God, I hate making her worry.

My lips stretch for her. Even in my current state, the mere sight of her makes me smile.

“Better?” she asks, matching my grin.

I nod, keeping my smile in place for her, trying to convey that I’m alright. With a hand, I tap the mattress next to me. I need her closer, but I can’t even move to reach for her.

She complies immediately, sitting next to me, her legs folded behind her as she holds herself up on her elbow.

“What a day, huh?” she says, reaching for my head, her fingers running soothing patterns in my hair. My hand stretches for her knee, desperate for contact. As I find it, my eyes close, relaxing further into the pillow.

I never thought there could be something better than the strength I always found in her eyes... that is, of course, until she touched me. Momentarily fueled by her touch, I try to sit up, to get a better look at her, and not feel like a log in this bed.

I hold my breath, push with my elbows on the mattress, trying to bring myself up, but my legs are not helping and they feel as if they are made out of lead.

With a hand on my shoulder she pushes me down, and I collapse back on the mattress, roughly and out of breath.

“What are you doing?” she complains softly.

I take a deep breath, pushing my frustration to the back of my mind. So I won’t be able to sit, I still would want to make the most out of my time with her.

“Well, I was trying to sit…” I say, turning my head to her and flashing her a smile. “And failing to do so.”

She smiles and I chuckle, laughing through my nose, but as I do, I remember I can’t exactly move without being blinded by pain.

“Shhh…” Her hand is back in my hair. I wasn’t aware I was making any noises that required shushing. “Are you uncomfortable? Is there anything I can do to help?”

I shake my head subtly, breathing deeply and careful not to make any more noises that would make her nervous. As long as I don’t move too much, I’ll manage.

“Maybe another pillow?” she suggests.

“No, no, I’m fine.” I turn my head to see her. She holds the side of her face in her hand, elbow up on the mattress while lying next to me. Her eyes crinkle in the faint light, and I can see the splattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks.

She is so beautiful.

As if the last few minutes didn’t happen, I try to turn on my side, to reach for her, to kiss her, but again, I fail.

“Please, stop.” Her hand runs down my arm as I take deep breaths and try to recover. “Stop pushing yourself so hard. Just relax, please.”

“I’m sorry I ruined our weekend,” I say through my teeth.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, tonight is ruined,” I explain, my eyes searching for hers. “And I have to go back to Dortmund tomorrow… I can’t stay — Braun won’t let me.”

She blinks a couple times, in realization, but I can’t find any disappointment in her eyes.

“It’s okay,” she says right away.

“It’s not.”

“Listen to me…” Her eyebrows scrunch in a little frown. “Today was great. I missed you and I wanted to see you. I loved watching you play.”

I know she means it, but still… I made her fly here to watch a game and then nurse a vegetable.

She sees through me, of course, so before I can add another bitter remark, she continues, “You looked great out there, Lukasz. I just wished you wouldn’t have overexerted yourself like that.”

“I wanted to show off for you,” I half-joke. It may have been stupid, but it’s the truth.

She tries in vain not to smile. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to do that…” she pauses, her eyes boring into mine. “… after the surgery.”

I get lost in her eyes and the implication they add to her words. She’ll be here after the surgery. Here… with me.

I reach for her cheek, edging my body closer, suppressing a wince when my hip protests painfully. I run my finger over the softness of her skin, my thumb grazing the corner of her lips, while matching her smile… or trying to, at least.

Unfortunately I can’t hold the position for long, and I sink back flat on my back with a harsh breath.

Scooting closer to me, her hand reaches for my hair again.

“Two more weeks, Lukasz,” she whispers in my ear, sending shivers down my body. “One more game, and then the final.” Her fingers work magic behind my ear as I relax and focus on her words. The final. “You can do this.” And I’m done.

I love her.

I want to tell her so.

I love her faith in me. I love her words. I love her eyes and her hands. Her hands with slender fingers that aren’t scary looking like those of most women with the long nails and the crazy reds. Her nails are short and almost never in color, but her hands are so feminine and soft and…

God, I am smitten — in the most embarrassingly cheesy way! Since when do I like, or even notice, hands so much?

I don’t tell her though — that I love her — not yet.

While she continues her hypnotizing patterns in my hair, I remain focused on my breathing. My brain travels miles away to Wembley, after Wembley, the surgery, the recovery, and the best part — imagining Cecilia by my side through it all.

At some point she falls asleep, her hand falling from my head and making it under her pillow.

I look at her, not in a creepy way, but just contemplating her features as she breathes in and out peacefully. Okay, maybe it’s a little creepy, but it’s not like I can do anything else.

As much as I hate how things turned out today, the fact that she’s here, next to me — sleeping like an angel with folded hands under her face and her knees bent in front of her — it makes everything better. That is until I notice the tiny bumps popping over her shoulders and arms and the hair standing up from the base.

She’s cold.

Dammit.

A seemingly effortless task of reaching for the throw at the foot of the bed right now feels like a humanly impossible feat.

After failing a few times to reach it with my feet, I proceed to not so gracefully sit and reach for it with my hand. I succeed after a few trials that leave me afraid I might wake her up with my panting.

Fortunately, she doesn’t wake, and  when my breathing  returns to normal, I resume my not overly creepy — since now she’s covered — staring of her.

Around five in the morning, I hear the click of the door. I know who it is before I see him — there’s really only one other person with the key of this room anyway.

Mats walks in tentatively, quietly and slowly, but as his eyes meet mine, he perks up and starts rushing his movements.

“It will only be a minute,” he whispers without looking at me. “I just need to grab my stuff.”

He speeds to his side of the bedroom and grabs his bag, clumsily throwing his stuff in it. His face is in a frown as he zips it, and turns his back to us as he proceeds to walk around the bed and out.

“Mats…” I push myself on my elbows and manage to sit up halfway. The hours I’ve been lying here have definitely helped, and I am able to hold myself up for a bit. “I’m sorry.” My voice is clipped with the intensifying pain in my hip. “This wasn’t part of the plan. There wasn’t really a plan.”

We all underestimated the consequences of Cecilia being here… with me. That much is clear.

He sighs at the door, finally turning to look at me. “I know…” He drops his bag to run a hand over his hair. He looks exhausted. I bet, just as myself, he has not slept this night. “I over reacted. I’ll get over it.” He stares at his feet, his hand still in his hair.

I appreciate his effort, but he is clearly lying.

Before I can address him, I drop carefully back on the mattress — I need to save most of my energy to be able to leave this room and fly to Dortmund in a few hours. I breathe deeply but quietly, trying my best not to wake Cecilia. “Mats, stop…” I whisper through my teeth. “I know it hurts, and I am sorry.”

He shakes his head and I know, he won’t acknowledge this.

He takes a step closer to the bed, his eyes darting from mine to the hand that is tightly gripping my side. “Speaking of…” He waves a hand to my hip. “Is it better?”

“Not really.” It’s manageable at best.

“Are you staying here until tomorrow?” His eyes betray him and he peeks at Cecilia, a painful look flashes through them, before he composes himself and looks back at me.

“I can’t. I can barely move.”

“Playing like that was really stupid if you ask me…” he half jokes, a semi-fake grin appearing on his face. “But I get it.” His eyes fly to Cecilia again and my chest tightens with the fleeting thought of losing her.

“Mats-”

“Is she okay?” He cuts me off.

“She’s trying to be,” I say, resisting the urge to turn to look at her myself.

“Okay.” Mats nods, walking back and reaching for his bag. “See you on the bus.” And with that, he’s gone.

I sigh, relaxing into the pillow. Of course I didn’t expect us to sail through this. I knew it would be tough. I knew it would hurt. I just never expected Mats’ pain to be so… real — so close. He is trying his best to ease up on it… and so is Cecilia. If I would have been in better shape last night, I would have too.

We just need some time, I decide. All three of us — just time.

At six, I can finally take the Toradol. Braun worries about my kidneys and excessive use of painkillers, so I stick to his plan. Luckily, laying down for as long as I did must have helped with the inflammation, because around seven, when Cecilia stirs, I’m already up, have showered and stretched.

I am sore everywhere, but at least the pain in my hip doesn’t make me want to chop my own body in two. I am at least confident I can make it out of here and to Dortmund without worrying anyone.

“Hey…” She smiles sleepily from the bed, her arms stretching in front of her. I don’t have to reciprocate her smile. I’ve been grinning like a fool before she even opened her eyes. “You’re better.”

“I am,” I state with a nod. I won’t have her worrying about me today. Not today, or next week for that matter.

“That’s great!” She runs her hands over her dress with a small grimace.

I know it must have been uncomfortable to sleep like that. I can’t wait for the day she can have her stuff here with me.

Time — we need time, I remind myself with a sigh.

She turns to look at the clock. “Oh my god, it’s almost time to go!” She shoots up from the bed, rushing to the bathroom. “Why didn’t you wake me?!”

“We have time,” I say calmly. The double meaning of my words is not lost to me.

I lean against the dresser while she’s in there, my hands gripping the top and helping me up. Once I hear movement close to the door, I stand back up.

Her hair is in a ponytail when she comes out, her face freshly washed. She is stunning.

She walks closer to me, slowly, smiling. My hands tingle.

Wrapping her arms around my waist, she smiles up at me. “I’m glad you feel better.”

In the morning light, and without any makeup, I can see just how crowded with freckles her face really is. There are thousands of them!

With the tip of my finger, I tap her nose, where an especially adorable cluster of freckles resides. “Thank you.”

My fingers surround her chin and I pull her to my lips. I kiss her softly but fervently, taking in as much as I can, knowing I’ll have to say goodbye to her soon. When she pulls back, I don’t manage to keep the sullen sigh from my lips.

She frowns up at me. “Did you sleep?”

I frown back. She knows I didn’t, why would she ask?

Don’t lie to her!

Don’t make her worry though.

Ugh.

“I got some rest,” I say. It’s not a lie — my body is better, but I’m still exhausted. What else was I supposed to do? I try smiling at her. “I’m fine,” I say but she rolls her eyes at me.

“I have to go get ready at Kayla’s room,” she says, getting back to business. “I’ll ride with the girls, and I can change my ticket at the airport.”

“I’ve taken care of that already.”

“Lukasz…”

“It’s the least I can do.”

She sighs, looking up at me. “Thank you.” The words wrap fervently around her lips as she utters them.

A silent tension falls around us — this is where we say goodbye, really goodbye, to keep up with appearances in front of everyone else later on.

“We will have next weekend,” I promise, as much for her as for me. My hand cups her face and my fingers go over her cheek. I smile, despite the fact I am dreading the next few hours.

“Would you be able to fly after the game next Saturday?”

“Cecilia, I’ll crawl into the plane if necessary.”

Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Her face contorts, in pain… or anger, I am not sure, but she steps away from me, and I mentally kick myself.

“No,” is what she says, taking a deep breath as if to calm herself. “You will not,” she orders, stressing every word, every syllable, with a force that makes me shaky inside.

She is pissed.

“That was a stupid thing to say. I am sorry.” I reach for her hand and pull her back closer to me. “I will take it easy during the game, and I will be fine.”

She shakes her head at me and pulls her hand back in resistance.

I don’t let go though. “I mean it. I will play the easiest sixty minutes of my life. Then I will shower and get on that plane and be there for you.”

“That is not what I’m worried about,” she says stubbornly, not looking at me.

I know what she wants, but I can’t promise her I’ll be pain free — I haven’t been in so long.

I run a finger along her jaw, pushing under it so she faces me. When her eyes meet mine they are hard at first, but as I caress her hair and my eyes beg her for understanding, they melt to a deep shade of green that makes my knees weaken.

I would crawl into that plane for her. I would. But I won’t have to; because I will take it easy on that game and be at the very best I can be for her that night.

“I will take care of myself, I promise. I will be there and I will be fine.”

“I’m starting to hate that word, you know?” She scowls at me disapprovingly.

I smile, trying to ease up the tension, wrapping my arms around her and bringing her close to me. “I know, and I’m sorry, but I have to work with what I have.”

“I don’t want you to fly if you’re in too much pain.” Her bottom lip is pushed out minimally in the most adorable pout I have ever seen. If she only knew the power she has over me… there’s nothing I wouldn’t give her — nothing she could ask of me I wouldn’t do.

“I won’t be,” I promise. “I’ll do everything necessary so that I won’t.”

She tiptoes and kisses me one more time before I let her go.

I rest back against the dresser and look at the room. My things are packed and I am ready to go, but we don’t leave in another thirty minutes. The longer I sit on that bus the more uncomfortable it will get, and I always end up having to wait for everyone else anyways, so I doubt it will be just thirty minutes.

I decide it then — mission “Taking it easy” starts right now. I limp my way to the bed and lay back down for a while.

I don’t know how it happened, but suddenly I’m being woken up by the vibration coming from my pants’ pocket.

I must have dozed off.

I rub my eyes tiredly with one hand while I extricate the phone with the other.

"Your hair looks fine, just come down," her text reads.

I smile at the screen as I type. "I can't decide whether to part it on the right or the left. I need one more minute."

When I make it to the lobby, it seems as if everyone is there already.

“Ha! See? I wasn’t the last one down here this time!” Marco points at me while defending himself to our travel coordinator. I smile apologetically at him, scratching the back of my neck.

Slacking off already feels weird.

Cecilia’s eyes pierce mine from the other end of the lobby, where she stands, next to the girls with their bags at their feet.

We fail to keep the smiles from our faces, but luckily they start calling people into the team’s bus and the family and friends’ van, so I nod at her and get on my way.

Mats is already sleeping when I sit next to him on the bus, and snores all the way to the airport. I envy the ease with which most of my teammates sleep. As soon as their heads touch those pillows, they’re out. Whereas me, I’m most times too tired to sleep, as puzzling as that is.

Mats doesn’t say anything as we get our bags, but he walks next to me on our way in. My eyes keep constant track of Cecilia, and once we are in the terminal and our bags have been checked, I see her fidgeting, squeezing her fingers with one hand then the other. I turn my head to Mats, whose eyes are fixated on her too.

When I turn around, Cecilia is already on her way to us, and I freeze.

Maybe I should step away, let her say goodbye to him first… As I inch my body forward though, Mats finally says something.

“Where do you think you are going?” he scoffs.

I stand there, petrified, my eyes shifting from him, standing tall next to me, to her, biting her lip, making her way over to us.

“Hey,” Cecilia says to both of us, standing right in front — and in the middle — of us. “So, my flight leaves from gate 5 instead.” She switches her weight, from one foot to the other, and I wish I wasn’t so tired so I could handle this better.

I am failing to handle this at all!

Mats turns to me, shaking his head, before taking one step closer to her. “It was nice to see you, Cee Cee,” he says, embracing her in a hug.

She smiles up at him before she turns to me. Without saying anything, her arms reach for me.

“I’ll see you Saturday,” she whispers in my ear. My arms don’t even respond in time to hug her back before she releases me.

Her eyes are on me one last time — strong, commanding, asking me to be okay.

I want to tell her I am, or that I will be, but I just need a minute.

I think she knows because she leaves with a sweet smile on her face, and I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“So, that went well…” Mats laughs dryly next to me. When I turn to him all humor, and probably color, drained from my face, he adds, “Dude, you need some sleep… pronto.”

I do get sleep eventually — 14 hours straight of it to be precise — but only after the tedious flight, the painful rehab session with Braun, the drive home and the arduous fight to keep my eyes open waiting for Cecilia’s call when she arrived to Munich.

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The week drags. I’m left out of practice Monday and Tuesday, strictly rehab as Braun — and Cecilia — ordered. Practice isn’t fun anyways when you’re slacking off, I discover. What’s the point of running laps when you can’t push yourself? What fun are sit-ups if you can’t challenge your teammates for ten more?

I keep my promise though; I take it easy the entire time. The whole day. The whole week.

The game on Saturday sadly ends up being a disaster.

I’ve never had to work so hard at not working hard. Going against my instinct is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do on the pitch. Not going for the ball when I know I could sprint for it and get it. Not going for the tackle when I know I could easily get the ball from him.

I keep having to repeat to myself, “we’re taking it easy, we’re taking it easy…” to try to calm myself to no avail. I’m still annoyed and grouchy when Klopp subs me off at the 60^th minute to the second, as we’re winning 1-0, and I am forced to witness the nightmare of a game that was about to unfold in front of me.

On the 77^th minute a mistimed tackle on Mats’ part leaves him not only injured, and forcing our last substitution, but also gives away a penalty kick that leaves us tied 1-1.

As shitty luck would have it, our keeper, makes a stupid foul two minutes later that has him sent off, and out of subs, Kevin needs to go on goal… Kevin — who came in for me to cover the right back position.

We lose 1-2, and the cherry that tops the unfortunate cake is an added time goal by Schmelzer that gets disallowed by some loose application of the outside rule.

The game, the defeat, my teammates’ stupidity, and the bad refereeing is not what has me on edge — pissed, fuming, like I hardly ever been before — but the fact that even after taking it easy the whole fucking week and only playing the hardest, easiest 60 minutes of this god-forsaken game, my hip is hurting, really painfully hurting.

For the first time since I can remember, I ask to be taken care of first. They have already scanned Mats’ ankle, and everyone else is too pissed off to really be getting any treatment, so it really isn’t too much to ask.

Braun says I could get a shot and we could try some massages that would hopefully help. He also says my hip is already wrecked, and that my version of taking it easy is not going to make that much of a difference. “Not when you’re still running and training,” he said.

Well, thanks a fucking lot, Braun!

I don’t tell him that, of course. As he recounts the few options of treatment I could get right now, in my head, I see Cecilia, waiting for me at her place, ready to go to this party she’s been looking forward to for weeks.

Do I show up at her place, on time, but unable to walk straight?

Or do I risk being late on the slim chance we can keep my hip injury from ruining tonight as well?

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