Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Well, hello there! I hope everyone had a nice holiday break and a happy start of the new year. A few of you were wondering what would happen to WorldCupWard and his Tee-Tee, so I have written an epilogue. As usual, it got out of hand… so I have split it in two. Here's the first part. I will post the second part on Thursday.
Of course, none of this would have been possible without my beautiful pre-readers Packy and Jaxy, or my kick-ass beta Mel.
Dedicated to LadyN (Happy birthday, bb!)
Epilogue. Part 1.
"One hundred million Euros!"
"What?"
"That's how much they're offering!"
I look up at him, but it doesn't seem like he's joking. "That's impossible."
"See for yourself..." he says, pushing the folder my way. "Four year contract."
I stare at the unopened folder in my hands and take a deep breath.
Unbelievable...
One hundred mil...
It's truly ridiculous how much money these clubs make. How could they offer that much money for me?
"How long do I get to think about it?" I run a finger over the edges of the folder and look at my watch — three hours until my flight.
"Seventy-two hours... but Edward, this is a no-brainer. It's Real Madrid, for fuck's sake."
No-brainer... right...
I peek up at him with a smirk. He doesn't know how much I've been thinking about this. He doesn't know how much things have changed. He doesn't know me at all.
I grab the folder in my hands and rise from the chair. "You have a good day, Aro."
"What should I tell them?" he asks nervously from behind me.
"I'm taking my seventy-two hours. So I don't know, tell them just that." I shrug at him as I walk to the door, folder in hand.
I hide under my hood as I rush to the car, trying to not get soaked. It's slightly above freezing and raining in Manchester, as usual.
I sit in the back of the car and wipe the water off the folder on my lap. I glance at Bernard, his eyes on me through the rearview mirror.
"I know you're dying to ask," I guess, and he laughs.
"How much?"
"One hundred mil."
His eyebrows shoot up into his forehead as he lets out a whistle. "Bloody hell!"
I laugh at Bernard and shake my head, staring at the drops of rain falling on the window. He starts the car and I peek at my watch again.
"Are you ready?"
Unlike Aro, Bernard knows me very well. He understands how difficult these past few months have been for me. So it's with a knowing smile on my face that I look up at him again through the mirror to answer his question.
"Undeniably yes."
~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
The flight is, as usual, excruciating. Twelve hours inside a plane is very easily uncomfortable for most people, but for me, it's downright torture. There's nothing to do but sit. And even in my first class seat, there's no leg room — none at all.
Trying to sleep is pretty much useless, plus it won't help my jet lag once I get to the States. So I read Real Madrid's offer three times, play FIFA13 on my PSP, and watch highlights of old games on my iPad. Six hours pass, and I am ready to crawl out of my skin.
I envy Bernard and his ability to sleep on command. He says it's part of the job — that when you're on call 24/7, you learn to sleep while you can, when you can. I wish I could sleep when I want to, but I can barely manage to sleep when I'm tired. Bella, on the other hand, is able to make me snooze when she pleases, just by threading her fingers through my hair. I smile in anticipation and take off my beanie, scratching the back of my neck. When Bernard starts snoring, my smile disappears, and I turn to scowl at him before I put my headphones back in place.
With Real Madrid's offer still on my lap, I stare at the back of the seat in front of me, crack my neck a couple times, and let out a deep breath. I am completely exhausted and very much looking forward to the mid-season break, even if it's just for two weeks.
In all honesty, it has been a crazy, draining few months. I lean back in my seat and think of how much has changed in such a short time.
After we won the World Cup with the US National Team, all eyes were on me once I was back in England. The club's expectations of my performance skyrocketed, and I was under an overwhelming amount of pressure. I was suddenly being blamed for our first loss after I failed to convert what would have been the equalizer penalty kick. We lost the next few games as well. We were having the worst start of season in Manchester United history, and I was being unfairly blamed for everything.
I tried my best to deal with it in my newly reformed, calmed-down manner. But as the days passed, the anger kept building and building, and after our sixth loss in a row, I finally snapped. The media, of course, took advantage of it. They were camera ready and in my way as I tried to get back into the locker rooms. I was angry. I was frustrated. I was exhausted. I may have kicked a door or two. I had no control over what came out of my mouth that day, but of course, I was quoted explicitly criticizing my team in every paper the next day.
Everything went downhill from there. Rumors started that I wasn't happy with my team — that I wanted to leave. And it was all beside the point. Yes, I was unhappy. And yes, my team wasn't working together well. But that wasn't what was truly important — there was something wrong with me. I had lost it... it... my self-confidence... my mojo. I hadn't converted a single free kick since the season started.
That Monday, late after practice, it was just me and that goal, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me, or my legs, or my aim, or my focus.
Over the crossbar. I tried again.
Wide. Again.
Hit the post. Again.
Again.
Again.
I had lost count of how many free kicks I had taken when I dropped on the turf with every single muscle on my body aching. I looked at my watch — only eleven p.m. — I couldn't even call Bella because she'd still be working. With my arms wrapped around my knees, and my forehead resting over them, I waited for my breathing to get back to normal.
"You're overthinking it." The voice came from the sideline of the pitch. It was a joking tone I recognized, but one that made no sense to be there at the field. Once I lifted my head, I could see him, juggling a ball with his head, a few feet away from me.
"Seth?"
He bent over and controlled the ball on his back, smiling smugly at me.
"What are you doing here?"
He finally let the ball fall and walked closer before dropping next to me.
"I was in the neighborhood," he said with a shrug. "I watched your game yesterday. What's up with you?" His tone turned uncharacteristically serious all of the sudden.
As soon as he brought my game up, I got defensive. "Nothing is up with me."
"You're letting them get to you."
"It's really nothing..."I reached for the ball and turned it in my hands, inspecting it and effectively avoiding Seth's scrutinizing gaze.
"Someone told me once that I'm the only one who controls what gets into my head." He remembered clearly the advice I gave to him before.
"Wise words."
"Seriously though—"
"Seth..." I interrupted him, knowing very well he would keep going. He wouldn't be Seth if he wasn't a pain in the ass.
"You looked nervous on the pitch yesterday... Uncertain — lacking confidence. What's going on?"
Even though his observation of yesterday's events was right on, it only made me snap back angrily. "Nothing!"
"Are you really thinking of leaving?" he still asked, but in a much lower tone.
I groaned and took a deep breath. "Seth, what are you doing in England?"
When his eyes met mine, he realized that topic of conversation was over. He shook his head, and a small smirk appeared on his face. "Well, I may be in talks with Arsenal FC."
"Are you serious?"
"They made me an offer today." His grin stretched from ear to ear.
"Holy shit! That's great!"
"I guess..."He shrugged and looked down. It was very much like him to try to pretend this wasn't a huge deal.
"Don't play this down, kid. This is a great opportunity."
"I know..." He sighed. "But..."
"But what?"
When he looked up, he stretched his hands in front of me, balancing them up and down as he spoke. "You know… Big fish, little pond. Small fish, big pond."
"What are you talking about, Seth?" I scoffed. "You won't be a small fish, not even here."
I found the idea of Seth not being good enough for the English Premier League ridiculous, but I could see it in him — he didn't think he was.
"Listen, kid." I started again, trying to talk some sense into him. "There's nothing compared to playing in Europe. Trust me. The passion they have for this sport is unparalleled with anywhere else in the world... except maybe South America, but here they have the resources to make it work. I know you might think the US has been slowly improving. And it's true. I mean, at an international level, yes. But that's not true for the national league, at least not yet. You're too good for LA Galaxy. Don't waste this opportunity."
As I recall the words I said to Seth, my fingers flip the pages on Real Madrid's offer again. I meant every word I said back then, and I still feel that way. It's just... maybe that just doesn't apply to me anymore. I feel... empty in Europe. I'm not enjoying it anymore.
Football is my life — has been since forever — but I don't need a one hundred million Euros contract to play. I could do it just fine, and enjoy it as well, in the States, with Bella.
Seth and I ended up going out for drinks that night. We discussed his offer from Arsenal, and his mind was pretty much made before he left Manchester the next morning.
The calm that Seth brought with him only lasted a couple days though, because for Tuesday's game I was not on the starting lineup. I might have thrown a temper tantrum or two. I could feel myself slowly falling apart, with nothing to grab on to.
"He fucking benched me!" I growled into the phone as I flopped on the bed.
"Edward..." Her tone was calmed as usual.
I, however, was raging. "He fucking benched me, and we still lost!"
"I think some rest might do you good. You can't play every ga—"
Rest… there was that dreadful word again. I groaned, running a hand down my face. "I don't need any fucking rest, okay? I just need to get my mojo back."
"Precisely, I think you sh—"
I couldn't let her finish because nothing she could say would make me feel better. There was only one thing she could do. "Can you come this weekend?"
She didn't answer but instead sighed into the speaker.
"It's been three weeks, Tee-Tee, please."
She didn't say no right away, so I reached for my laptop. I hadn't been able to take any breaks whatsoever. Being in full season plus international commitments, I would get maybe a day, day and a half off, not nearly enough time to fly to L.A. I had been stuck in England since our trip to Costa Rica. Three weeks without Bella already felt like too much.
I purchased her ticket online before she could object.
I busted my ass over training that week. There was no way Coach would bench me on Saturday. Not when Bella was coming to my game. He didn't, and we won our first game of the season. Just like that I had found my mojo.
The weekend ended way too soon though. Letting Bella go on Monday morning had been one of the hardest things I had ever done. I tried to keep it together in front of her. But I could feel it as soon as she walked through those doors — she had taken a piece of me with her, and I was already dreading the time I needed to wait until she could come back next.
I run a hand down my face with a sigh. I knew it since back then. She's the one. I can't function without her anymore. I don't want to even try. Which is why the offer that sits on my lap, and the opportunity to play in the biggest football club that ever existed, means nothing if I can't have Bella by my side.
Everything with us has moved so fast, I haven't even had time to tell her I love her yet. I've tried to refrain myself, tone myself down, not to scare her away or overwhelm her. But my mind — and my heart — are set. She's who I want. I know she cares about me too, but she's being careful, not wanting to get hurt.
With a sigh, I put the folder back in my bag and get my iPad out. A smile spreads on my face as her picture appears — deep asleep on my bed, her hair over her shoulder and the pillow, her legs sticking out of my club's jersey. She had said she sleeps in my jersey the night before a game, as some sort of tradition. I didn't tell her I don't believe in any of that superstitious crap, because honestly, there is nothing sexier than Bella in just her panties and my jersey.
It made sleeping next to her a little harder than usual the night before a game, in the sense that I needed to keep my hands to myself, but we worked out a deal where she would also sleep in it the night after, when the no-sex rule was a moot point.
I remember exactly the morning I took this pic...
It was the second time she came to visit me, for our Champions League game against none other than Barcelona FC. We beat them at home, and I had one of the best games of my career. But that was the night Bella noticed my limping. It wasn't much. I'd had an achy spot above my ankle that wouldn't go away, and it would get worse after every game. We didn't even make it to bed for my post-game coital celebration. As soon as I picked her up, she noticed me limping and insisted we go to the doctor.
"Well, your ankle is fine," Doc declared, looking at my X-ray.
"See? I told you!" I bitchfaced Bella. What an unnecessary waste of our limited sex time!
"Your fibula, however..." Doc continued, pointing to the image. "Small stress fracture, right here."
I squinted my eyes to see the barely there fuzzy smear on my bone. "That's nothing."
"That's what's hurting."
"It doesn't hurt that bad. It will go away." I waved him off.
"Hurts enough to make you limp." The voice came from next to me, and I turned to glare at Bella who just glared right back at me. She seemed genuinely pissed. Her arms crossed over her chest in a menacing stance. It made me want to smile.
"Good news is," Doc continued, drawing my attention back to him, "all you need is rest."
"All right..." I said, getting down from the table. "I'll take it easy the next couple of days."
I grabbed my jacket from the chair and nodded to Bella, gesturing for the door.
"No, Edward," Doc said sternly, typing into his computer. "I'm ordering you off the field for two weeks — full rest."
"W-what?!"My voice broke in utter disbelief.
"We X-ray again in two weeks." He resumed typing into his computer. "If there's no pain, you can start training again."
"You can't be serious. It doesn't even hurt that bad!" I watched as he typed, waiting for him to say it was all just a fucked-up joke.
"It's only going to get worse..." He raised his eyebrows at me, the fucking asshole.
"Oh, I didn't know they taught how to see the future in Sports Medicine school."
"Edward..." Her voice came from next to me with a reproaching tone, but I ignored it.
"I want a second opinion."
"Feel free to get one," Doc snapped challengingly. "This, however..." he waved to the screen of his computer "…is the report that's going in the team's file."
I huffed through my nose, completely out of words. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to knock his computer over. My hands were in fists at my sides as I breathed hard, trying to come up with something. Doc and I stared at each other until I felt Bella's fingers trying to loosen my hand.
I slowly unclenched my fist, and she intertwined her fingers with mine. With her thumb, she traced circles on my palm, and I sighed in defeat.
"Doc, please. Two weeks is too long. I'll miss the derby game!" I closed my eyes and rubbed my fingers on my forehead as the thoughts of what this meant assaulted me.
"If you continue to play like this, you'll risk missing a lot more." Doc's condescending tone came from his desk, and I opened my eyes in time to watch his matching expression as he got up and moved closer to me.
I took off my cap and scratched my head, ran a hand down my face, looked down, then at Bella and then back at Doc.
"What can I do?" I was so lost.
"Rest. That's it. You'll see the physical therapist first thing tomorrow morning. She might let you bike or swim..." Whatever else he ordered didn't matter to me anymore.
Once out of the doc's office, Bella let go of my hand and stepped in front of me with one finger up on my chest accusingly. "How long has it been hurting?"
"I don't know. Not too long." I was hoping I could play it down, and we could move past it quickly. The weekend didn't have enough hours for everything I wanted to do to her.
"You've been playing, training, in pain without telling anyone?" Of course, she wouldn't let it go that easily, like the terror-inducing, five-feet fire cracker that she was.
A small laugh escaped my lips. "It doesn't hurt that bad."
"How long? Tell me." One of her eyebrows raised — she wasn't in the mood for any jokes.
"Bella..." I sighed in defeat.
"Edward, tell me."
"Just... a few weeks." I shrugged, knowing how much she hated it. I could see it on her face — she was slowly losing her patience with me.
"Weeks?!"
"It got a little better. Then a little worse," I tried to explain. "I thought it would just go away."
She took a deep breath, her hands on her hips. "You're taking that two-week break, Edward. Even if I have to stay here and make sure of it myself."
I smiled at her, running a hand on her cheek. I decided to save my anger and frustration for not being able to play for later — for when she left me — but at that moment, all I wanted to do was be with her. "I'd break my ankle if that makes you stay."
She melted a little but shook her head, looking down. "Edward, be serious. I'm so angry at you."
"Don't be mad at me, Tee-Tee. I'm injured. I need some lovin'."
As soon as we arrived at my apartment, she ordered me to the couch. I complied but brought her with me, setting her on my lap, her legs straddling my thighs.
"You really haven't had any rest since the World Cup. Maybe this is your body telling you to slow down — to take a break."
She was right. Right after the World Cup, we had gone back to L.A., and I was swamped with press and sponsor commitments. Then we had gone to Costa Rica for a week, but I can't say we did much resting there either. I crammed our trip with infinite activities, and in the downtime, I dedicated myself to getting to know Bella's body, mind, and soul.
"Let's focus on the positive..." She peeled the beanie from my head and ran her fingers through my hair, bringing me back to our moment on the couch. "You can catch up on your reading," she said with a playful smile, and I snorted. She had tried to get me to read this book in Costa Rica... I only got through two pages. I could not comprehend how she would like to sit on the sand and read, when there were a million different things we could do.
"They may let you swim and bike..." Her fingers ran over my neck and down my arms to my hands which rested on her hips. "You like that."
"Football is what I do, Bella. That's what I like..."
"That's not focusing on the positive." Her hands trailed down my torso to the fly of my jeans. She rocked her hips once before she scooted back on my thighs so her hands could start undoing my pants.
Her eyes shone mischievously, and she kept them fixed on mine as her fingers released me from my underwear. I hissed and dropped my head back on the couch when she stroked me for the first time. She pulled at my chin with her other hand. She wanted me to see. God, she wanted me to see.
With one hand still clasped around me and her eyes fixed on mine, she lowered herself to the floor, where she knelt right between my legs. Her tongue peeked between her lips, and she wet the bottom one before her teeth trapped one corner. My eyes wanted to roll back in my head, but I forced myself to keep them open as she stroked me again, slowly, so slowly, while keeping a firm grip on me.
She held my gaze as her face inched closer. I couldn't contain the groan that escaped from my lips when her tongue slipped out one more time and she licked the tip.
I open my eyes, startled, and groan when I look around the plane. Bernard is still snoring beside me. My iPad has fallen on my foot which is probably what brought me back from my daydream. I futilely try to find a comfortable position on my chair, but I'm really fucking hard, and it's really fucking uncomfortable. So with a groan, I get up and head to the minuscule airplane restroom.
My hand feels wrong on my cock — my fingers look nothing like Bella's delicate ones that barely meet when they circle around me — but I don't care. I try to picture her face when I look down, but it doesn't work. I hold myself up with a hand on the mirror as I stroke myself angrily until I come.
In theory, it should have made me feel better, but it didn't. I'm still grumpy as shit when I return to my seat, but at least I'm not painfully hard anymore. I need Bella. I need her hands on me, her lips on me. I need to be in her. I need her everywhere.
I fucking hate this so much.
Earphones on, I look out the window and try to relax. It doesn't take long until my eyes start fluttering closed.
The sun was peeking through the window when I opened my eyes. Instinctively, my arm tightened around Bella's waist and pulled her even closer to me, burying my nose in the back of her neck and taking a deep breath.
I stretched my left leg and rolled my ankle, testing if it was still hurting, and winced when it did. Resting is the worst kind of treatment for injuries... it takes so fucking long!
It was only seven in the morning, and thanks to my stress fracture, I had no training to go to. Nothing to do until ten in the morning. I ran my nose over Bella's shoulder, peppering kisses down her arm.
I went quickly to the bathroom, and on my way back, I couldn't resist taking a pic of her with my phone. She was a sight to behold.
She hummed a little when I turned her around and set her flat on the bed. I knew she was tired, still jet lagged, and I was probably tired too... we had only gone to bed a couple hours before... but I couldn't go back to sleep. Not as hard as I was, and definitely not with her by my side wearing only her panties and my jersey.
I started at her neck and worked my way down, running my nose on her skin and dropping kisses all over her. She stirred when I lifted the jersey off her, stopping at her bellybutton, and ran my finger over the pinkish birthmark next to it. I've memorized them all — every birthmark, every mole, every freckle on her skin.
When I reached the hem of her underwear, she let out a small sigh but didn't open her eyes. Once I got rid of her panties, I kneeled between her legs and grabbed her right foot. Bringing it closer to my face, I planted kisses from her ankle and up her leg, while my other hand rubbed her thigh.
"Edward..." she finally said as I kissed her inner thighs. "Wha—"
The word got caught in her throat as I ran my tongue between her folds and kissed her clit — tasting her, savoring her, while my hands roamed her hips...
My mouth feels cotton-dry when I open my eyes.
Fuck!
I swallow hard, running a hand down my face, shifting in my seat. I glare at my watch, calculating the hours left on this torturous flight. After a quick stop to the restroom again, I decide I won't risk closing my eyes the rest of the way.
Bella wasn't able to stay with me for longer than a few days, but she forced me to comply with the full rest that Doc ordered. I ended up missing the derby game, but I recovered well enough to be back in the starting lineup after a week and a half.
She only came to visit me once more, about a month ago, again for only a couple of days and to attend one of my games. Of course time wasn't really enough, and I loathed the moment she left. So to say I was looking forward to this break was clearly an understatement.
T-minus three hours until I see my Tee-Tee again.
A/N:
Because nothing says I-love-you-and-happy-birthday better than a c0ckblocking chappy!
;) See you Thursday!
Ronnie.
