The Truth Behind The Womanizer

51

Pedri POV
The cold breeze of Hamburg hits me as I step onto the training ground with the Spanish national team. The familiar scent of fresh grass and the distant sounds of traffic surround me. Gavi, Ferran, Balde, and Lamine are here too, creating a sense of camaraderie amidst the chilly atmosphere.

The coach lays out the plan for the training session, outlining drills and strategies. I listen intently, the crisp air cutting through my training gear. It feels good to be back on the pitch, focusing on the game, even if just for a while. Football has always been my refuge, a place where I can let everything else fade away.

As the first drill begins, the ball at my feet, I try to lose myself in the rhythm of the practice game. The sharp passes, the quick turns – they're like a dance, a language I understand better than any other. Yet, today, something feels off. Every move, every touch, echoes the weight of what happened back in Barcelona. How I treated my girl before I left.

I glance over at Gavi, who's pushing himself in the drills. We share a nod, an unspoken acknowledgment of the bond that extends beyond the pitch.

During a passing drill, the ball zips through my legs, and I can't help but wonder how she is doing. We didn't talk a lot since I left.

Ferran, always the one to lighten the mood, cracks a joke, trying to bring back the usual banter. Balde joins in, attempting to recreate the camaraderie we've always shared. I manage a smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes. The laughter feels hollow, drowned out by the echoes of Sofia in my mind.

As the training progresses, I find myself running a bit harder, pushing a bit more. Maybe it's an attempt to escape the turmoil in my mind or to prove to myself that I can still give my best on the field despite the personal storm I'm weathering.

Lamine, our youngster, offers a reassuring pat on the back during a water break. His eyes speak volumes – understanding and empathy. It's as if he senses the internal struggle, the battle between the player and the person. In these moments, the bond between teammates transcends the boundaries of the game.

As the session nears its end, fatigue sets in, both physically and mentally. Gavi shoots me a concerned glance, and I respond with a determined nod – a silent promise that I'll find a way to concentrate again.

The final whistle blows, and I head back to the locker room, a mix of emotions swirling within me. I'm really tired and not focust. Two thing a footballer can't use.

After everyone has changed, we take the bus back to the hotel. It's late afternoon, and we have a group dinner in about an hour.

When I arrive in my room, I collapse onto the bed. I can squeeze in a short nap, and I believe that's the best course of action.

I undress and slip under the covers. Just as I'm about to close my eyes, my phone rings. Irritated, I open my eyes and grab my phone from the nightstand. It's an unknown number, and I hesitate to answer, but I decide to pick up.

"Pedri speaking," I respond. "¡Hola Pepi!" a voice comes from the other end of the line. This can only be one person: Lucía.

"Hey, Lucía. What's up?" I ask. "I saw that you were in Hamburg. I'm here too. Would you like to grab a drink tonight?" she asks. "I'm here for work," I say. "So am I, so that works out nicely," I hear her chuckle.

"Alright, but I can't stay out too late. Just send me the details of where to meet. It has to be within walking distance," I say. "Fine. I'll send you the details," she replies, and I hang up.

This is a bad idea, right?

~~

The night in Hamburg has an air of mystery as I head to a fancy bar around the corner from my hotel to meet Lucía. She is staying in a nearby hotel. The dimly lit bar exudes sophistication, and the soft murmur of patrons creates an ambient background.