rosie | griezmann

23

(unedited)

Antoine had been so exhausted lately with all of his games, trainings, and other media events that whenever he and Rosie met, they hardly did anything. And by hardly, I mean hardly—their idea of a date had turned into napping with one another, and usually Angel would be with Antoine's mother or Maud.

On this particular day, Rosie had woken up ten or so minutes before Antoine. It was due to the incessant buzzing of his phone on the nightstand on his side of the bed, and though she knew better than to do anything about it, the noise was getting annoying.

So she grabbed the phone and stared at the caller ID, instantly frowning a little. It was Erika. And it wasn't the first time she'd called, either—because next to her name, the number 13 was held in parenthesis, meaning she'd called Antoine a total of thirteen times.

"Oh my goodness," Rosie muttered, silently. She peered over at Antoine. He was still sound asleep, his face in the pillow. How can he even breathe, Rosie wondered, before shaking her head and swiping open his iPhone as Erika sent him a text message.

"Did you say something?" Antoine spoke into the pillow, his voice muffled.

Rosie panicked. "Uh, no. Go back to sleep."

"Okay."

As she scrolled through the text messages, she frowned slightly, realizing what was going on—Erika wanted full custody of Angel, and from the looks of it, she was going to get her wish. As Antoine actually began to move, Rosie quickly put the phone back and fell onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling as he scooted closer to her and kissed the side of her neck. "What woke you up?"

"I was hungry," She lied. "Did I wake you?"

"Yes, but it's okay. I have to go to evening training soon, anyways."

"But didn't you have training today already?"

"Yeah, but this is different. This is strategic stuff. We just sit in a room for hours and listen to Deschamps talk." Antoine groaned a little. "Anyways, I should get changed now."

"Antoine," Rosie watched as he rose.

"Hm?"

"Is there anything you're keeping from me?"

Antoine stood up. "No. Why would you think that?"

"Because I read this article, and—"

"—Rosie, you know you can't believe anything they say about me on the internet." Antoine frowned, almost out of disappointment. "Once they said Angel was an illegitimate child that I had with Mariah Carey. Mariah Carey, Rosie. She's twice my age."

"Okay, but that's completely out of context. This—what I read—said that you and Erika were still battling for custody over Angel, and that because of the fact that you had to see a therapist, she could win it, simply by saying that you're emotionally unfit to be a father." Rosie pushed her hair out of her eyes.

Antoine sat back down. He was silent for a few moments before speaking, softly. "I didn't want to worry you, Rosie. I'm sorry."

"When were you going to tell me? Once there was nothing I could do about it?"

"What can you do about it?"

Rosie almost scoffed. "I was your therapist, Antoine. I'll tell the judge that you're perfectly stable and emotionally healthy enough to care for Angel."

"But that's not true."

"So you're going to just let her go?" Rosie stood up and frowned. "You have to be kidding me, Antoine. That's your child."

Antoine opened his mouth. "I never said I would do that, Rosie."

"Well, it certainly seems like it." Rosie responded, upset. She hoped that Antoine was right—because if he wasn't willing to fight as much as he could to keep custody of his daughter, it would definitely show her what kind of father he was. And, seeing as she was pregnant with his next child, the last thing he wanted was to have this happen.

Antoine only threw on a jacket and tossed a few things in a backpack before he grabbed his phone and spoke. "I have to get going, Rosie. I'll see you later."

He didn't really wait for her to respond, but instead just left her hotel suite, leaving her to let out a breath of frustration. Rosie figured that maybe the stress of being the player everyone seemed to be counting on for the tournament, among other things, was psyching him out; and because of this, he wasn't putting much focus on other things.

Again, she wondered, what do I do with that? Scold him for it, or help him through it? Of course, she settled on the latter, but realized that she'd done the first.

In times like these, Rosie desperately wished that she had friends to console or a trusted family member she could call. Sure, she was a therapist and helped others, but what happened when she needed help?

When Antoine returned to her hotel suite, Rosie was reading a book. He entered the bedroom quietly, so as not to disturb her, and Rosie glanced over at him as he set his bag down. "I want to apologize," she stated, "For being so hard on you."

Antoine bit his lip and sat the edge of her side of the bed. "You don't have to apologize, it's not like you did anything wrong."

"Do you really feel as though you aren't any better, Antoine?" She asked, closing the book and pulling off her reading glasses.

Antoine sighed and looked at his hands. "I felt fine at first, but then the tournament began, and I've been feeling so pressured. I feel like I'm always letting the team down in one way or another. Everyone's making all these jokes about how I'm the most important. The media says it too, but they're much more serious about it. I guess that's been consuming me so much that I didn't think to stop and take time to focus on everything else. I'm not going to let Erika take my daughter away from me, but she's making me go through this at one of my weakest moments, and she knows it."

Rosie turned to face Antoine and messed with his hands, looking down at his tattooed fingers before she looked up at him. "I think in this situation you might take your own advice. You always tell me not to read any media about you or me, because it doesn't matter what they have to say, and it only creates all these false beliefs, anyways. What matters is what you believe and how you feel about everything. I don't think you should let the Internet or any other people get in the way of that."

Antoine sighed. "Okay. You're right. I should—"

Antoine was interrupted by his phone buzzing, again. Grabbing it, he let out a sigh. "Speak of the devil."

"It's Erika?"

"Yes. I should probably answer it," Antoine noted, before answering the phone. "Hello?"

Rosie watched as Antoine began to speak in French, though by the sounds of it, something was wrong. It didn't even sound like Erika on the other line—but rather a man, or a woman with an incredibly deep voice—of which Erika was neither. Antoine hung up and stood up as well, panicked. Rosie blinked. "Well, what's going on?"

"Erika was here in France. She got into a car accident. That was the hospital."

Rosie's mouth fell open. "You're leaving? Now?"

"Yes, I have to."

Rosie didn't want to seem insensitive, but still, she spoke. "Why?"

Antoine opened the door and grabbed his car keys, and before exiting it, spoke. "Because Angel was in the car with her."