Can I Go Where You Go? - Pablo Gavi

Chapter 1: Hallelujah My Ass

I don't even like coffee but I'm running off of about four cups of it as I open every drawer in the cupboards of our hotel bathroom looking for my mascara. I'm half ready to go to our celebratory team dinner. It's supposed to be a reward for making it through to the round of 16, but it feels more like an inconvenience then a reward. We were expected to make it at least this far and my body is exhausted from the three World Cup games I've started in the past two weeks.

We won our game this afternoon against the Netherlands by one slim goal. It was a beautiful goal I'll admit, but I felt a tinge of guilt at having been the one to score it in the 85th minute. In the moment I was beyond happy for us, jumping into Gavi's arms while we were surrounded by all our teammates. But when the storm calmed and I was Frenkie's face mine dropped too. Frenkie has become an older brother of sorts to me, and potentially being the direct cause that got him knocked out of the World Cup upset me. It's just a tournament, I told myself as gave him a hug after the game. He won't hold it against you. And he didn't, he smiled said good job and I could tell he really meant it.

Lucky, thanks to the results of the other match in our pool, my goal didn't knock him out quite yet and we all get to continue playing. Gavi tells me I have too much empathy towards my opponents; the Netherlands are a stronger team then Poland and will be harder to get out down the road. I counter his point by claiming I want to beat the best. That remains true, but is weighed down by the absolute exhaustion that plagues my body. Three games in two weeks is difficult regardless of the level, but playing 90 minutes of two World Cup games as well as half the game against Tunisia---we smoked them 5-0 by half so our starting midfield got to rest---has taken its toll. Tonight all I want to do is curl up in bed with Gavi, pretend to watch a movie and crash really early. But no, I have to go to a lengthy team dinner. I sigh. It won't be that bad. I like most of the people on the Spain squad, but it's not the same as Barca. 

"Pablo!" I call into the main room of our hotel suite. Seeing as this year the stadiums are spread across North America we aren't staying in one hotel the whole trip, but moving around quite a bit. We're in this one in the States for two more days before we head down to Mexico.

When Gavi doesn't answer my call I head into our main room to look for him, my make up half done and hair in a messy bun. He's sitting on the couch in front of the tv with his headphones on playing FIFA.

I tap him on the shoulder and wait for him to pause the game and take his headphones off before saying, "Really?"

"Que?" he asks, glancing back at the tv.

"Are you ready to go?" I ask, knowing he's not. He's in sweat pants, his hair still damp from the shower we took twenty minutes ago.

He looks me up and down, trying to guess where we're going from my outfit. Considering I haven't gotten that far yet and am still in a sports bra and shorts it doesn't give him any clues. "Where are we going?" he asks sheepishly, turning off the tv.

I raise my eyebrows. "Our team dinner."

"Oh."

"Oh is right, now come on we're already late." I start back over to the bathroom as Gavi jumps over the back of the couch and runs up behind me, enveloping me in his arms. I stop walking and let him hug me, letting the stress evaporate from my body.

"Relajar, (Relax)" he whispers in my ear, laying his head on my shoulder. "You scored the goal that puts us through to the round of 16 in the World Cup only hours ago, you deserve to relax and enjoy it. Nobody is going to care if you're late."

He loosens his grip so I can turn towards him and hug him back. "Gracias mi amor, realmente necesitaba escuchar eso, (Thanks my love, I really needed to hear that)" I murmur. "Plus we're always on the verge of being late, thanks to you," I tease as I pull out of the hug and head towards the bathroom to finish getting ready.