Until my Last Breath

38

Barcelona, Spain.

Gavi

The door slams open before I even have the chance to register the sound of heels clicking against the floor.

"Are you serious, Pablo?"

Amélie's voice cuts through the quiet of my apartment, sharp and accusing. I glance up from the couch, barely reacting. I had a feeling something like this was coming the moment I stepped off the pitch last match and checked my phone-multiple missed calls, a handful of unread messages. I ignored them all, too caught up in the moment of being back on the field.

She stands in the doorway, arms crossed, looking furious. Her perfect blonde hair is styled as if she just stepped off a magazine cover, but her expression ruins the illusion of elegance. She looks pissed.

"You didn't tell me you were back," she hisses, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her. "I had to find out through social media, Pablo. Social media. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is?"

I take a slow breath, pressing my tongue against the inside of my cheek before responding. "It was my return after suspension, Amélie. Everyone in Barcelona knew it was match day and its been a week get over it."

"That's not the point," she snaps, tossing her designer bag onto the counter as she storms further into the apartment. "You didn't tell me. You didn't think it was important enough?"

I exhale through my nose, already exhausted by the conversation. "I figured you'd already know. If you actually kept up with what I was doing, or at least checked the schedule i had to send your manager 50 times, you would have."

Her eyes narrow. "Are you saying this is my fault?"

I don't answer immediately, just stare at her, unimpressed. I don't have the patience to sugarcoat things for her right now. "Your manager should've told you if you weren't paying attention. I don't exactly make my schedule a secret."

She scoffs, throwing her hands in the air. "Unbelievable. Do you even realize how bad this looks? People were expecting me to be there, Pablo. I'm supposed to be-" She stops herself, inhaling sharply before shaking her head. "I should have been there."

I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees, my gaze steady. "Then maybe you should've been."

She blinks at me, caught off guard by my bluntness.

For a moment, she just stands there, opening and closing her mouth like she wants to say something but can't find the words. Eventually, she scoffs again, rolling her eyes and turning her back to me as she paces across the room.

"You don't even care, do you?" she mutters under her breath.

I run a hand down my face, willing myself to stay calm. "Amélie, I don't have the energy for this."

"You never do," she bites back.

I clench my jaw but don't say anything. There's no point in arguing with her when she's like this. No point in explaining that my focus was on football, on getting back on the field where I belong, not on whether or not she was in the stands.

Because the truth is, I didn't notice she wasn't there.

And the truth is, I don't really care.

But she on the other hand, keeps going.

"You don't take me seriously, Pablo," Amélie accuses, her voice rising in frustration.

I exhale sharply, pushing myself to my feet. "That's not fair, and you know it."