Chapter 3 Promises and Penance
ZIZO
Don Patrick’s words played in my head as I barged into my apartment. Frustrated, I tossed my training bag across the room and collapsed into one of the couches, muttering curses under my breath.
With my head in my hands, I didn't realise I wasn’t alone.
“Ai, Ai, Ai, irmao. What has my man of the match done to you? I do not have as many as you, and you want to destroy the little I have? What would I use to impress the ladies?” Kaka, clad in only his towel, said, rushing to right his fallen award that my bag had pushed down.
“Why are you naked?” I asked, furrowing my brows.
He eyed me. “I was in the shower before you came to destroy our living room. Now, what has got your panties in a twist?”
I sighed and tried to deflect.
“Where is Anderson?” I asked, looking around for our third roommate.
Kaka wasn’t buying it.
“He is out with Maya. You know this. He mentioned it this morning. Now, back to you. How did your meeting with Don Patrick go?” He deadpanned.
My eyebrows flew to my hairline. I thought the meeting was secret; how did he know about it?
“Don’t look at me like that. You missed training today. Luizio, you never miss training. Plus the boss was missing too, and with the news, only a fool wouldn’t be able to put two and two together,” He stated.
He’s right. I never missed training. Training was my therapy.
“I guess the rest of the guys are wondering too. Are you their mouthpiece?” I asked, trying to sound light-hearted.
Again, Kaka was not buying it. In fact, now he had his arms crossed across his still-wet chest and was giving me a hard look.
“Of course the guys are curious. But this is not about the guys, and I’m nobody’s mouthpiece. I am worried about my best friend. So answer me, Irmao,” He replied firmly.
Running my hand down my face, I realised I was out of excuses.
“Don threatened to terminate my contract.”
“WHAT?!!!!”
Kaka’s shout was so loud, it made me jerk. His eyes were as wide as saucers.
“He did what? Surely, you are joking. Is he crazy? You are the best player on our team. Without you, we are cooked. Cooked!” He exclaimed frantically.
Suddenly, my concern moved to the tiny knot at his waist that was holding on for dear life with his frantic movements.
“Ai. I will tell you all about it, but please for God’s sake, put on some clothes,” I demanded.
He looked down at his loosened towel and huffed, not out of shame but because his tirade was interrupted, and disappeared up the stairs.
The speed he used to get upstairs made me chuckle despite myself. That’s what Kaka could do.
Kaka and Anderson have been my roommates since academy in Sao Paulo. I was so happy when Sir Patrick told me he was signing them as well. We were presented in Manchester together. And at the time, it was only natural to share an apartment.
We were new to the city, with more money than we had ever seen, but also with new responsibility.
Now, four years later, people still wonder why, despite our huge contracts, we still decided to move to a bigger shared apartment rather than go our separate ways. The media even started questioning our relationship.
Well, we don’t care about all that stuff. We were irmaos. Brothers. Since we were kids, we had leaned on each other, and now it’s the same. They wouldn’t get what these boys do for me.
Always make me laugh. Even in hard times, like now.
Kaka interrupted my little reverie by flying downstairs and landing with a plop beside me on the couch. His shirt was half on, but at least he was wearing shorts.
“Now, tell me again what happened. I think my ears were deceiving me,” He prompted, pulling on his shirt properly.
“That’s what he said. If I couldn’t ‘behave,’ he would rip up my contract,” I explained.
Kaka looked genuinely upset.
“But isn’t that a bit harsh? I saw the video with the boy, but you apologised, and the boy accepted. Plus the league gave you a one-match suspension which you served, and we drew for the first time in that game. If they rip your contract, how would we compete?” He questioned.
I shrugged, suddenly tired of it all.
“I don’t know. Sir Patrick tried to talk to him, but he said that Sir had ‘enabled me,’ and I think I am ‘untouchable’. So now, his hands are ‘tied’” I air-quoted.
Kaka furrowed his brows. “Enabled you? Enabled you to do what? Go to nightclubs? Ignore toxic journalists? What does he expect you to do? You are 23. We are young. If the best player who turns up every matchweek can’t do these things, who can?”
I shrugged again.
“I don’t know, irmao. He said I have to attend the London gala as part of my ‘penance’” I stated.
“The London gala. The one filled with creepy older women and journalists?” He shivered at the memory of last year when he got felt up by a club owner's wife.
“Yes. He said if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have a job on Monday.”
“Monday. As in UCL Monday?”
“Yep," I nodded.
Kaka looked confused.
“So that means you are going right?” He questioned.
“I don’t know. I would rather not be felt up by random old women,” I deadpanned.
If only I knew old women would be the last of my problems.
Kaka’s confusion only grew. “But you have to go. Or do you think he’s bluffing?”
I shrugged, getting up from the couch.
“I don’t know. But even if he isn’t, I might or might not go. He doesn’t control me. If he wants to rip my contract so bad, he should go ahead. There are better teams,” I said, stretching my arms.
Kaka stood up after me.
“You don’t mean that. You are just hurt.”
No. I didn’t. I was just hurt. Hurt at being treated like this by the club I had given everything to. I was the reason they won the Champions League. I won them the league. I rejected the best club of all time, Madrid, for them. And this is how they treat me? They can go to hell.
I turned to the stairs and began climbing them, ready to lie down and forget this shitshow. I saw Kaka still standing at the foot of the stairs, staring at me.
Sighing, I walked into my dark room and shut the door. My phone buzzed in my pocket.
CHIARA
“You have five minutes to rest. Don’t do anything funny,” Marcel instructed before shutting my dressing room door.
My muscles ached from the two-hour practice, but I wasn’t concerned about that.
I grabbed my phone and opened my messages, scrolling straight to my target.
Raina. Seven unopened messages.
Raina: Are you still coming to my recital?
Raina: You said you would be there.
Raina: Mama said you are busy and I should stop texting you.
Raina: It starts in 30 mins. Where are you?
Raina: You promised.
Raina: Of course you missed it. What was I expecting? You are an awful sister.
Raina: I know you are going to miss my graduation.
The last message was an hour ago.
My heart hurt in my chest. You are an awful sister.
I scrambled to type. To type what? An apology? An explanation that I was wrapped up in practice and physically couldn’t come? That I still wouldn’t come to her graduation?
My hatred for Marcel and my parents for putting me through this flared again. Then, the anger that comes with being hopeless.
My five minutes were almost up. So I replied to her.
Chiara: I’m sorry, pet.
She read it but didn’t reply.
Sighing, I moved to close my messages when another one popped up.
PETITION FOR ACCOUNTING AND SEVERANCE OF JOINT ACCOUNT
“Chiara! Time’s up!” Marcel called from outside.
Startled, I quickly closed the app and turned off my phone.
