Chapter 5

“Mats, you haven’t slept at all...” I eye the alarm clock on the nightstand; it’s six in the morning.

“I’m okay.” His voice is croaky and he sounds heavily congested as he breathes through his mouth while  gathering his things.

I’m still sitting on his bed, in his shirt, watching him sniffle his way around the room.

“Can you even breathe?” I can’t hide the worry that colors my tone. I know the derby is tonight, but I seriously doubt he should play as sick as he is.

“Cee Cee, please…” He turns to me for a second. I know that look. This is the end of the discussion. “Get off my case. I just need some good meds. I’ll be okay.” He sniffles as he kisses my forehead.

I’m tempted to say something else, but I know he won’t listen. He won’t miss this game.

With a sigh, I collapse back on the bed, a terrible feeling creeping through me.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

I sit on the stands with the rest of the girls. I see Mats warming up with the team, so I assume, despite everything, they’re going to let him play.

The rain that is pouring down today will certainly not help.

As soon as the game starts, I can see he’s not okay. And as it usually happens when he’s not, because he’s so fundamentally important for the defense, the whole thing is falling apart. Lukasz and the other defenders are trying to cover for him, but it feels like it’s only a matter of time before Schalke scores.

And they do, right after Mats is completely outrun by the opponent striker.

He is yelling, pissed at himself probably. Lukasz tries to talk to him, it seems, only to get yelled at.

Mats goes into overdrive. Severely sick and having had no sleep the night before, I start to wonder if he’ll actually make it to the end of the game.

Five minutes later, he collides with one of the Schalke players, both going for the ball with a sliding tackle, and as soon as he is up, I know.

He’s hurt.

And he’s pretending not to be.

I can tell from the tight set of his shoulders and how he clenches his arms as he tries not to limp.

He looks down, every other minute, at his right ankle.

How can Klopp be so blind? I want to scream at him for not subbing him off. I want to scream at Mats for waving off the medic staff… twice!

A few minutes later, and due to another mistake by Mats, Schalke scores again.

Time drags, still over thirty minutes to go. I cringe every time Mats runs, but he never stops going though. He’s trying to do it all; push the game forward, attack, get his team to score. But it’s not working. He slips twice. It’s really painful to watch.

At the half-time whistle, we’re losing 2-0.

I breathe out in relief as I see the medics finally approach Mats. At least they’ve noticed it too.

I know it’s a long shot, but I still head down to the locker rooms to see if they’d let me in.

They don’t.

Not while Klopp is in there with them

I wait outside until they start coming out quickly, seemingly pumped for the second half of the game.

Lukasz comes out last, a little after the others. He has his jersey in his hands, while one of the medics is still tightening tape around his right hip bone. He’s looking down as the medic sticks the tape to his skin, a slight wince on his face.

When he looks up, our eyes connect briefly. I know he has to hurry out.

“Are you all right?” I instinctively want to take a step closer to him, but the presence of the medic keeps me rooted into place.

He nods at me, after he puts his shirt back on. I saw him wince back there but I didn’t expect him to admit to anything. Now that Mats is hurt, there’s no way, he won’t not play.

“Is he coming back out?”

Lukasz gives me a sheepish look, shaking his head.

I stare at my feet with a sigh. I’m half relieved Mats is not coming back out to play, half terrified of what this means.

My eyes get back to Lukasz as I catch his soft exhale. He eyes the medic who nods at him, and Lukasz swings the door to the locker rooms, holding it open for me. “He’s in the infirmary,” he adds, I can’t read the expression on his face.

Both the medic and Lukasz leave.

I hurry inside to find Mats still on the examining table. His right ankle firmly wrapped with ice packs. He’s looking down, still breathing hard, his hair dripping.

My heart breaks, he is completely shattered. “Oh, Mats...” I say softly, coming to stand in front of him.

I expect him to start screaming at me in a second, but he doesn’t. Instead, his head drops on my shoulder as he sniffles, struggling to breathe through his nose. The fact that he is seeking comfort in me — instead of pushing me away like he usually would — tells me just how shattered he really is.

My hand reaches for his hair, trying to comfort him.

“He fears ligament tear,” he starts into my shoulder. “Will MRI after the game.” His voice almost gone.

“Let’s wait for the results, okay? It will be okay.”

He lifts his head but still looks down. “I made the whole thing worse by playing like that. I should have let him take me out... I... god...” He groans as his fingers rub his forehead. “I just wanted to help...”

I reach for him again, holding him to me. “It’s okay, Mats. It’ll be okay.”

The medic comes back in and Mats straightens his pose, sitting up. “I’ll be on the bench for the 2nd half.” Mats clears his throat, looking at me. “Meet you after?”

That’s officially my cue to go, so I nod at him with a sigh and leave.

Klopp brings on Sahin so that Manni can drop back and cover for Mats. Manni is no centerback though, so the whole defense will be working extra hard to keep close. And they do. Throughout the entire second half, they’re a wall back there. Lukasz and Marcel are giving it everything, pacing up and down those flanks, allowing continuity to the attack without neglecting the defense.

It seems to be working, and Robert scores. However there’s not enough time left to salvage the game, and a few wasted chances later, the game ends 2-1.

                             ~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Mats does not say a word on our ride back home. I’m surprised he’s not passed out by the time we make it to the apartment.

He refuses my help as we get out of the car, and stubbornly limps his way to the door. The MRI revealed his ligaments are not torn, but strained. Still, he’ll be out for three to four weeks, and miss at least one CL game.

The next few weeks, I stay in Dortmund and try to help. I know he hates being injured. He hates being trapped on the outside, not able to do anything to help. During the CL draw, he almost lost it. I thought drawing Malaga would be better than one of the huge teams he has been dying to play against his whole life, but as it turned out, any team, missing any game at all, kills him. The tight 0-0 draw in Malaga was almost unbearable for him to watch.

There’s not much for me to do here though. He’s barely home as it is, spends all day at rehab and the gym, trying to speed up his recovery as much as possible. I spend most of the day with Wrinkles, our puppy, and I think.

And think.

I end up calling IBT, asking for more time. They say they can’t guarantee not hiring someone else. I still can’t accept the position. I can’t do that to Mats while he's injured and already going through so much. I end up yet again, pushing my dreams aside for him, hoping the opportunity would still be there when he’s better.

My mind is made up for me though, when his interview runs on TV before the Augsburg game. I’m at the apartment by myself, with the puppy. Mats is at the game, with his brother. He insisted I join them, but I know how much he treasures the time with his brother, so I stayed home instead.

During the interview he talks about his injury and they ask him about his brother, and their close relationship. However, it’s only towards the end, when they ask him about us and if there’ll be wedding bells soon given how long we’ve been together.

“Football is my life, my main priority,” he says. “That’s the only thing I’m focused on right now.” You can see it in his eyes, how dead serious he is. “Yeah, she’s great. She doesn’t get in the way of football, which is what I need.”

I don’t get in the way.

What does he even mean by that?

The words play over and over in my head throughout the game, to the point that, at the end, I don’t even know what the score is.

All of my focus goes through the window, and I can’t think about anything else. For a moment, the job in Munich doesn’t even matter. For four years, I’ve been in the shadow of his career. All this time, I’ve given up everything just to be on the sidelines, not interfering with the most important thing in his life?

Luck seems to be on my side, for once. When I call the IBT secretary on an impulse to ask if the position is still available, it turns out it is, and I accept it at once.

I manage to compose myself enough to start dinner. When Jonas drops Mats at home, he’s in a semi-good mood. I’m guessing they probably won, but he’s still annoyed that he couldn’t play.

“I already ate, baby.” He kisses the side of my face on his way to the TV. He flops on the couch and turns on the highlights of the game.

While anxiety and hurt is eating away on the inside of me, Mats bounces in a seemingly chipper mood. He has spent most of the day away from me, and he barely even acknowledges me when he comes in, instead opting to focus on highlights of a game he just witnessed… live.

“Mats?” My voice is strained with the force of keeping myself together.

“Yeah...”

“I’m taking the job in Munich.” I have no time or patience to sugar coat things.

“Okay.” He laughs at the screen. “Did you see Lewy’s goal? What a beauty!”

He’s smiling when he turns his face to me. My hand grips around the knife handle. My other hand trembles, while holding the chicken cutlet.

His face changes, a little frown appears on his forehead. Finally, he has noticed me.

“Did you even hear what I said?” I ask, trying to somehow contain the anger from my voice.

“Sorry, baby, I didn’t...” He turns the volume down as he gets up from the couch. “Are you okay?”

I sigh, placing the knife down and moving to the sink to wash my hands. “Mats, I’m leaving.” 

He blinks a couple times as the words sink in. He opens his mouth, once, twice, until finally some words come out. “I don’t understand. What do you mean leaving?”

I can’t contain the exasperated sigh that leaves my lips, nor do I try to. “I’m moving… to Munich.”

“What?!” A panicked look settles across his face as he runs his hands through his hair. He looks away for a moment, before settling his gaze right back on me. As if he’s afraid that if he lets me out of his sight, I’ll be gone forever.

“I’ve accepted IBG’s offer.”

“But… but, Cee Cee, don’t do this. I... I can’t do this without you. I need you...”

“You don’t, actually.” I try for stern, but my voice ends up breaking toward the end as the truth of my statement hits me.

“What about the puppy?”

“Really, Mats? You think Wrinkles is what will keep me here? You think it’s what should keep me here?” I can’t believe he won’t even attempt to defend that he does in fact need me. Instead he only confirms what I’ve already known all along: He bought Wrinkles as a way to bind me to him — to get me to stay here with him.

“I... I...” He pulls on his hair, looking down.

“You really have no clue, do you?”

When his eyes meet mine, my heart breaks. He really does not have a clue of what’s coming. This will hurt, but I have to do it.

I take a deep breath before everything comes pouring out. “I feel trapped, Mats. And it’s not just about the job in Munich, but feeling like I should stay here, for you... it’s too much. It’s not fair. And I love you, Mats, I do. I always will. And I want what’s best for you... But I need... I need to be my priority for a while.”

“What is it you want though? You want us to get married? I’ll get you a ring, Cee Cee, I promise.”

The one thing that Mats fears — whether in football or life in general — is loss. No wonder he is being so irrational.

I look at him and I lose it at the determination shining in his eyes. He’d do it, just like Wrinkles, he’d get me a ring if it means that I’ll stay here with him.

The tears start flowing then, because it’s so typical of him, to drop something like that, when due to his parent’s divorce, marriage has never been on his plans.

“Of course not... Not like this.” I try wiping my tears in vain as he comes closer. Of course I’ve thought about marrying Mats in the four years we’ve been together. But I couldn’t be further from the feeling at this moment.

His hand reaches for my cheek, his eyebrows scrunched in the middle. “Are you not happy?”

I close my eyes as my tears spill and slowly shake my head.

“I want you to be happy.” He holds me close to him, my face buried in his chest as his arms surround my neck and he kisses the top of my head. “I want to make you happy, but this is who I am, Cee Cee. Football is my life. I... I don’t know how to be more for you.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” I wipe my face, moving away from him. If I allow myself to touch him, hold him, feel him in my arms... I’ll succumb.

“Is this it then?”

“I’m so sorry,” I cry.

He starts his pacing, running his hand through his hair. “When would you leave?”

“I start Monday.”

He stops dead in his track, slowly turning to look at me, shock written all over his face. “This Monday? IN TWO DAYS?”

I nod at him, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“When did you call them?”

“Today.”

He stares at me for a few seconds that feel like hours. He’s pissed. But lurking under all that anger is pain and regret. His eyes look at me and I can see four years flashing behind them. I wonder what he sees.

Does he get it now?

Will he ever understand why I need this?

I never get my answer though. My heart sinks to my stomach as he turns around and in the next second he’s out the door.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

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