heaven-sent - Pablo Gavi

39. Euros in danger?

Pablo's POV

It was the seventy-fifth minute, the score being 1-1. We desperately needed a goal in the next fifteen minutes, otherwise Real Madrid would take over as the first one in the table.

For the end of may, it was terrible weather in Barcelona. It had been raining the past two days, dark clouds hanging over the city. These clouds transferred a mixed feeling amongst the people, which also moved to our players on the pitch.

We didn't play well tonight, including me. I felt the frustration rise inside of me, my anger evident for every spectator. I tried to find reassurance from my girlfriend in the stands, but as I spottet her on that rainy Wednesday night, I just saw her worried expressions. Ella next to her wasn't as bubbly and happy like usually, instead she bit her fingernails while she watched Fermin lose ball after ball.

My patience was cut short when an opposing player unnecessarily tackled me, making me wince in pain.

„What's your fucking problem? Making dirty fouls throughout the whole game?" I shoved him as he just laughed, showing me as well.

Shortly after the referee showed both of us a yellow card which made me lose my mind.

I don't recall what happened, I only remember that it happened in the eighty-sixth minute.

I passed the football slightly too far ahead of me and saw the opponent run from the right to try to get the ball from me. Without thinking much, I threw myself on the floor, trying to save it with my head. The last thing I saw before loosing consciousness was the player's boot slam into my face.

Everything went blank.

The unbearable ringing in my ears brought me back to consciousness, a throbbing headache making me groan in pain as soon as I opened my eyes. I had no idea where I was or what happened but was soon enlightened by a doctor.

„Good to see you awake again Gavi, it's been some minutes! You probably don't remember much, but as you were trying to win the ball, your opponent accidentally knocked you out with a kick to your head. Also we had to stitch you up, you have a pretty bad wound on the side of your head."

„How long am I out for?" I didn't even care that it hurt, I just wanted to play on Sunday, our last game to win the league.

„You want to play the Euros next month right?" The doctor questioned me sternly. I immediately nodded my head, not even thinking about not participating in my second big tournament.

„Five days strict rest as you have a concussion, then you can start with light practice again. We already have informed the Spanish football federation of your injury to let them know because we are pretty sure you'll get called up by De la Fuente on Saturday."

My mood quickly changed with even more frustration consuming me. But he was right, I want to play a crucial role at the Euros.

„Okay, did we at least win tonight?"

„2:1, Araujo scored a header in the extra time."

I pumped my fist up in the air in happiness as the door of the room opened and Lucia stumbled inside, a worried expression covering her face.

Lucia's POV

„We need to win this game." I mumbled, chewing on the inside of my cheek, trying not to get too concerned about the score line.

They all played bad, if not even shit. Xavi was loosing his mind next to the side lines, screaming at our players in spanish.

Sometime during the seventieth minute, Pablo received his seventh yellow card of the season, making me shake my head even more. I get he's frustrated and thats okay, but he needs to control his emotions better and not take it out on the pitch. But I must say I saw improvement over the months, he has a better control of himself.