weird for you,” Jim, one of the therapists, says from in front of me.
“A bit,” I tell him, hoping no one else presses me.
But they don’t. They’re all concentrating on the game, on the strategy.
That is until we get off the bus, past the photographers, and a Man United defender, Mark York, pulls me aside.
“Hey,” he says to me. “You got real close to Real, didn’t you?”
“I guess,” I say slowly, not sure what he’s getting at.
“How is Albarado’s knee?”
Oh the irony.
I narrow my eyes. “What about his knee?”
He gives me a pointed look. “Just want to know if it’s completely fixed or not. You were his therapist, weren’t you?”
“I was but that doesn’t mean I’m going to talk to you about his ailment.”
“Why not?” he asks gruffly. “Fair is fair. You go there and come back, you have to pay the price.”
Pay the price?
“I’m not telling you shit,” I say, glaring at him. “Go out there and win the game the old-fashioned way.”
He studies me for a moment. “You’ve got your priorities mixed up, Blackwood. I don’t even think you know where your loyalty lies.”
Then he stalks off toward the locker room.
In a fair world, I would have told him about Alejo because I told Alejo about his ankle. But I would never do that to Alejo, never ever throw him under the bus.
And now that I’m here, back in this stadium, I know where my loyalties lie.
They lie with Real Madrid.
With the opposing team and not the one that hired me.
How the fuck did you get yourself into this mess? I ask myself.
Love. Love got me in this mess.
Maybe love can get me out of it.
I wait outside the locker room until the warm-up begins and then Stewart looks at me as he’s leaving to the pitch, trailing after the team.
“How are you holding up?” he asks me. “You ready?”
I give him a quick smile. “The better question is, are you ready?”
“I think we are. Come on.”
I hesitate. I don’t think it matters much if I walk outside onto the pitch alongside Stewart, but I’d have to be pretty oblivious to think it wouldn’t cause a stir. If I’m ever seen around Stewart during our home games, the press always goes crazy, talking about a reconciliation, or that Patty and Stew’s marriage is on the rocks, or that I can’t handle the job and I’ve turned into a crazy loon. Take your pick. Even when I ignore the headlines, they still find their way to me.
But the last thing I want is for anyone at Real Madrid, especially Alejo, thinking that Stew and I are back together. Even if Alejo couldn’t give a shit about me anymore, I don’t want that impression to be out there in the world.
So I hang back a little, with Stewart looking over his shoulder at me, curious.
Then he nods.
I think he might just get it.
He walks onto the pitch after the players to watch them warm-up.
I walk out a few seconds later.
I don’t know where to look first, it’s just so much,
But my eyes are brought to the famous “white wall” at the south stand of the stadium, where the die-hard fans have taken over. All you see is a sea of white with one hundred foot long banners. In fact, on this game, even though it’s just the warm-up, it feels like everyone in Madrid is here and the wall of white stretches all around the stadium. It’s like being in a snow globe.
And the singing. It’s not just “Hala Madrid” being chanted over and over, but this song that I’ve heard a few times before.
“Real Madrid te quiero
Siempre te animaré
El alma yo me dejo
Cuando te vengo a ver
No importa lo que pase
Contigo yo estaré
En los buenos momentos
En los malos también
Tenía 4 a?os
Mi padre me llevó
A ver al Bernabéu
A ver al campeón
El día que yo muera
Quiero ver mi cajón
Pinta’o de blanco entero
Como mi corazón.”
Or in other words:
"Real Madrid, I love you,
I'll always support you.
The soul is leaving me,
When I come to see you.
No matter, how much time passes by,
I'll be here,
In the good moments, or even in the bad!
I was 4 years old...
My father took me along...
To look at the Bernabeu, to see the Champions!
For the day of my death, I want my grave to be coloured in white, just like my own heart!"
It’s definitely overly dramatic, but hearing it now especially, I’m getting fucking chills throughout my body, with nearly one hundred thousand people signing it, filling the stadium with