A Bet That Changed Us ︱Pablo Gavi

71: Montjuïc Park Hangout

After the match against Real Betis, I could feel the lingering tension in my muscles. The game had been intense, and now it was time for recovery. The training facility was buzzing with quiet energy as everyone focused on their routines. I walked into the room, greeted by the familiar sight of the team scattered across the space, each person tending to their own post-match aches and pains.

I scanned the room, my eyes landing on Pablo in the far corner. He was using a foam roller, working out the stiffness in his legs. I made my way over to him, feeling a mixture of concern and something warmer, something that had been growing ever since we started trying to rebuild our connection.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" I asked, crouching down beside him. I placed a hand on his lower back to help guide his stretches. His muscles were tight, and I could feel the strain he'd put himself through during the match.

Pablo looked up at me, a small smile playing on his lips. "A bit sore, but nothing I can't handle."

I nodded, watching him closely as he continued to stretch. There was something comforting about being in this space with him, about the way we could communicate without words. The tension that had once hung between us was slowly dissolving, replaced by a tentative understanding.

"Let's make sure you get a good stretch in," I said softly, pushing gently on his back to deepen the stretch. "You don't want to be hobbling around tomorrow."

He chuckled, the sound warming my heart. "I don't think that would be a good look for me."

I smiled, staying with him until he finished his routine. The others were starting to wrap up their own stretches, and I knew what was coming next—the dreaded ice baths.

As we moved towards the tubs filled with ice-cold water, I could sense the apprehension in the room. Ice baths were essential for recovery, but no one ever looked forward to them. I took a deep breath and started guiding the players, ensuring they were hydrated and mentally prepared for the plunge.

When it was Pablo's turn, he hesitated, his gaze fixed on the icy water. I couldn't help but smile at his reluctance; it was a sight I'd seen countless times with other players. But this time, it felt different because it was him.

"You ready?" I asked, teasingly. He glanced at me, his expression a mix of determination and dread.

"If you say it's not that bad, I'll believe you," he replied, trying to muster some bravery.

"Trust me, you'll survive," I assured him, standing beside the tub as he finally lowered himself into the icy water. The sharp intake of breath he took made me wince in sympathy. I knew how brutal the initial shock could be, but it was necessary for recovery.

Pablo's face contorted in discomfort as he settled in, and I stayed close, offering words of encouragement. The others were already in their own tubs, some laughing, some grimacing, but all enduring it together. There was a sense of camaraderie in the room, a shared understanding of what it took to play at this level.

I found myself drifting between the tubs, checking on everyone, but my gaze kept returning to Pablo. He was holding up well, though I could see the tension in his jaw as he tried to adjust to the cold. I couldn't help but admire his resilience. Despite everything that had happened between us, moments like this reminded me of why I cared about him in the first place.

The minutes dragged on, each one feeling longer than the last. The players joked and bantered, trying to distract themselves from the cold. I joined in, laughing at some of the more absurd comments, but my attention always found its way back to Pablo. There was something grounding about his presence, something that made me feel like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.