C O D E W O R D | neymar jr

XXXI

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"What's the news, Doc?" I asked, and he sighed before looking at the both of us, a displeased expression on his face.

"We need to perform surgery." My heart sank; surgery meant no football. He had already suffered many injuries, and this was simply another way to hold him back from his true potential. "He'll be out for the next three to four months."

"The rest of the season?" I interrupted, and he gave a gloomy nod. My hand rubbed against Neymar's back. "Is there nothing else we can do?"

"The severity of the injury means that the only option for him to continue playing is surgery." The doctor said, "Afterwards, we'll have to discuss physical therapy and training, but this is the best option."

Worry was etched on my face, and my heartbeat echoed around the room. The doctor explained the process, the healing afterwards, and other facts my brain should probably register. Yet I couldn't get my mind off Neymar, who had put his entire life into football and had only been injured numerous times.

Frustration was written on his face, along with some disappointment. He would miss wins and losses, his skill would deteriorate, he'd be paid less, and he wouldn't continue his dreams. My mind rushed through the things he'd missed and even began to drift towards us.

What did this mean for us?

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6 days until the surgery

"Are you sure you want to go?" I asked, sitting in the driver's seat, for a change in our usual arrangement. He hated making me drive; he preferred taking control of the wheel. Usually confident, with a large smile that I was beginning to forget, today he was hesitant.

"What do you mean?" He asked, unsure of what I was getting at, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I know the celebration is important." I pursed my lips, feeling the tension building up. "But what if he doesn't score?" I interrogated him, preferring to have him at home rather than in a place where he would see everything he was going to miss.

"The coach told us all to go..." He sat slumped in the car seat, a defeated and bitter tone rolling on his tongue. He stared down at his phone as he spoke, not even looking at me. "They'll make him score..." I stayed silent, pursing my lips as he continued to speak. "He's of the utmost importance."

I reached over and placed my hand along his shoulder, and finally, he looked at me, yet his eyes were filled with sadness and frustration. My heart ached at the sight.

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The stadium cheered as we sat in our box, grinning at the cameras, but our faces dropped once they moved off of us. He squeezed my thigh, noticing my leg bouncing violently. My chest tightened as my brain continued to bring forth new and cruel thoughts.

"You okay?" He questioned, instantly pulling me out of my trance as he leant towards me slightly. I gave a not-so-reassuring nod as we continued to watch the game. "The surgery's been scheduled..."

I felt shivers run through my body, causing me to twitch slightly. It's just an ankle surgery, I don't know why I'm being so dramatic, "What date?" I asked, attempting to stay stable as though my heart wasn't beating out of my chest.

"March 10th,"

"What about your sister's birthday?" I jumped out of my seat at the date; it was one of the most important days of his year, and he would have to be stuck in bed. "Are you sure they can't reschedule?"

"I just want to get it over with..." He let out an exasperated sigh as he spoke, the crowd going wild around us as someone had scored. However, I couldn't focus on who, or who didn't score. "I mean, I'll have to do the surgery anyway, then it'll be training and physiotherapy."

"You don't have to do all of that," I mentioned, and his face turned sour as he knew what I was insinuating. "I'm just saying, you're thinking about how to get back to what hurt you in the first place."

"Where is this coming from?" He argued, obviously repulsed by the idea of quitting football; I only shrugged at his reaction. "What, now that you've got what you wanted, you can come and change my career?"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"You wouldn't have said this last May when you used me for some photos or in December when you got all that publicity for being in the stands in my shirt!" He stated, "You can't say things like that, Anna."

I felt a camera move towards us as his voice raised, "Ney stop." I whispered, only infuriating him further.

"What? Scared you'll have to do another interview? Maybe this time you can actually be honest!" You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears as he got angrier by the second, and his rational thinking was being dumped out as well. "How about you be honest about the fact that you keep letting Kylian back into your life?" Maybe you don't want him to leave, maybe you secretly want him more than me!"

And just like clockwork, he scored his 201st goal, and the banners fell, and the crowd cheered, and his face surrounded me. "Where is this coming from? I don't have any feelings for Kylian; I don't ever want him in my life again."

"Then why did you let him drive you home?"

Silence.

"What did he say in the car, Anna? What did he say to make you stay in there long enough for him to kiss you?" I couldn't respond; rather, I just stared, dumbfounded. Why did I stay in the car? "Would you have stopped if Belle wasn't there?"

"I don't know..." My answer was honest: disgusting and brutal. but honest. I couldn't lie to him as he unleashed all his insecurities and everything he had been hiding about Kylian, as I assumed he was okay with the entire situation.

Yet when I stared into those eyes—the eyes that showed me everything—I saw nothing.

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A/N: BRUNAS PREGNANT! crazy.