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3one3 · 7 years

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The Sequel - 899

Team Matters

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Daddy’s home.”

“Daddy!”

“Go get him!”

Lukas got up and ran after the dogs that abandoned him to go see who opened the door from the garage. They’d been playing a combination of fetch, tug of war, and wrestling for a while, all happy to be indoors with a fire on a frigid, damp Sunday afternoon. A minute later, a well-dressed man walked in with the trio of playmates looking decidedly happier than when he left.

“How did the meeting go?” his wife asked with optimism and hope.

“We got booed. The management got applause. Bosz isn’t sacked.”

“God damn it!”

“Why are you in your pajamas already, Mausi?” André asked the little boy in his arm, wrinkling his club suit.

“He napped during the race,” Mom supplied. She peeled away her blanket and sat up from her couch nest to get a hello-kiss.

“Who won?”

“Not Seb.”

“Sorry. Are you about to work out? I’ll watch him if you give me a minute to go cha-“

“No. I already did. I was just too lazy to change. I sat down to watch a few minutes of the pre-race coverage with the intention of changing after I cooled off but then I decided to just be sweaty and gross and stay on the couch.”

“What did you do while Mommy did her exercise?” André asked Lukas, who was trying to extract his silver tie from the matching sweater.

“Dancing and goals. Can you do cars with me?”

“Yes. I would love to play cars with you.” He kissed the little boy’s red cheek, and thought about what a relief it was to come home after the tense event and be with his family. Dortmund got slaughtered in the Champions League midweek, there was talk of the manager parting ways with the club, the crisis felt more heated than ever before, and the pressure on the team to win the most important game of their season was enormous. Mega-rival Schalke showed up at Signal Iduna Park four days later. If the Bees played the way they had been against their derby opponents, they could reach a breaking point, so everyone was prepared to give their best. André hoped the poor performance of the players picked to start against Tottenham might give him a chance to start instead, but it wasn’t to be. He was on the bench, and never got in the game. He really thought he would have an opportunity in the second half after Dortmund went up an astonishing 4-0 in the first 25 minutes. They banged in goal after goal- one each for Auba, Mario, and Raf Guerreiro, plus an own goal. Schalke made a double substitution on 33’ and changed the game. The home side saw that the second half wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, or a chance to put some guys in off the bench to get their goals and run up the score. Schalke had backbone and resolve.

They scored twice right on the hour-mark. It was demoralizing for the shaking Black and Yellows. Bosz brought on Marc Bartra to fit into the 3-5-2 as the right wingback, where Christian Pulisic had been playing. That required taking off Yarmolenko, who had been one of the only players through which the team was able to get out when penned in. Then Auba got sent off for a second, incredibly dumb yellow. Mario, the brightest player in the match, was taken off after a bad knock and replaced by Gonzalo Castro- the first move from the manager that actually kind of made sense. He brought some small measure of safety in that he could actually keep the ball, and he offered fresh legs. But Guerreiro came off moments later and that was the end of the whole keeping the ball thing. Because having the most nervous and unreliable defender in Marc on the pitch wasn’t enough, Bosz wanted to get Zagadou on, the second most nervous and unreliable defender. Not three minutes after his arrival, Schalke got their third. They also ended up down to 10 as well because Castro raked his studs down the back of a leg and the player couldn’t continue. Treatment for his injury went on forever, so there were 7 minutes added. Schalke centerback Naldo scored the equalizer on 90+3, and Borussia Dortmund was essentially a laughing stock. The entirety of the Bosz era was squeezed into the 97-minute performance, with all its attacking highs and defensive nightmares. The fans had every right to boo on Sunday. Christina was so apoplectic about the performance that Lukas got upset listening to her rant at home after, when his Dad got there. She had to explain that she wasn’t yelling at him- just the “inexplicably incapable” manager of his dad’s team.

“I think I’m gonna shower if you’re gonna play with him,” she yawned. “I put the turkey in about an hour ago. It should start to smell nice soon.” All the Thanksgiving posts on Instagram and Facebook from her friends in the US finally got to her. She ordered a 16lb turkey from the butcher and got a big sack of potatoes. There would be a mini-Thanksgiving in Ahlenberg later. And not a moment too soon. The family planned to go Christmas tree shopping on Monday.

“Go get out the cars you want to play with,” André advised as he returned Lukas to the floor.

“First put away the toys you’re done with,” his mother ordered in a most motherly way. André went upstairs for sweatpants and a t-shirt, and she dug her phone out of the Berkshire blanket blob she’d been curled up in in her sports bra and boyshorts. She’d been texting with Natasha about everything from Christmas to Cornflakes. Yannis and Leo were getting on really well with their new trainer at Box Hill, an older gentleman with experience in steeplechasing and eventing in addition to show jumping. He only taught at the stable two days per week so the kids weren’t getting as much instruction as they used to, but were benefitting from being in such a busy place. There were other boys and girls to ride with, so they learned from each other in and out of the saddle. They made up games. They hung out outside of the barn. Christina was really glad that it was working out so well for them because she was initially afraid that they’d lose interest and their ponies would go to waste. She was also really pleased that they were with a coach who would give them balanced instruction with elements of all the different disciplines. The boys wanted her to attend Box Hill’s Christmas show to see them compete. Their mom desperately wanted her to go Christmas shopping and cocktailing with her. Christina just wanted to talk about Eden and the effect of his football on her physical senses. To watch Eden Hazard play football after Eden Hazard finally had a forced vacation to rest his body and his broken ankle was to enjoy a sexual experience. He just kept getting better and better, and in her mind that somehow meant the Hazards’ sex life must also be devastatingly awesome.

“He’s not really any different,” Mrs. Hazard wrote back to her question as to whether or not his current run of world-beating form had any effect on him off the pitch. “The kids are getting a good lesson in humility because he keeps saying on TV that his teammates make it easy and it’s not just him and Morata. He’s lying.”

“I wish I could come to a game soon! Anyway. Do you have any idea what one would do with lightly worn couture dresses she wishes to part with? I need to get rid of some of the things I’m never gonna wear again. They’re too nice and too expensive to just give away.”

“No. I have fewer couture dresses than you have riding boots. Try calling the girls at our fave? They might know a consignment shop.”

“Do you remember the poufy red dress I wore for the CFC xmas party when I was pregnant?”

“No.”

“Oh well it’s so pretty and romantic and I just found it today because it’s been zipped in a bag since I moved and now I want to wear it somewhere. I’m so longing for a formal party to go to with Schü in a tux or nice suit. In London you can go to one like every week. There’s always something. We have nada here.”

“What about just a really nice restaurant? We could double date in party frocks and suits when you’re here.”

“Maybe!”

“Okay you’re relieved,” André yawned when he returned. “Who you talking to?”

“Nat.” Oof it’s cold in here, the rider complained inside once she was fully out of her blanket and covered in goosebumps instead. Man he needs a haircut. I hate his winter hair. “Come here a second.” Can’t take him to a fancy dinner with this hair, ugh. Christina stood on her toes and reached up to completely wreck her partner’s carefully coiffed look. His hair was longer than usual all around, and he’d slicked it back and over for the sake of formality. He liked it that way. She made a messy mop of it. “That’s better.” He got a kiss of approval before she padded off in her slippers.

“All right, Mommy’s gone, what kind of trouble do you want to get into?” the footballer asked his mini-me. He sat on the rug with him in front of the end of the Manchester City game. Lukas had a handful of tiny Hot Wheels supercars, a larger military jeep, and Ferrari Formula 1 cars in two sizes. He’d also brought his road map mat out from his playroom, and collected two throw pillows.

“Rally cars!” His favorite thing to do with his toy cars, besides crash them into each other, was push them on, around, and over a series of obstacles he cobbled together from whatever was around. He had the world’s only open-wheel racing cars capable of sticking the landing after jumping off a coffee table. There had to be sound effects too. The best part of playing rally cars with Daddy was that Daddy did good car and crash sounds. The two boys arranged the pillows and the mat to establish their racetrack, and discussed which cars they each wanted to use. André chose the Hot Wheels Porsche. It was small and easy to hold, and he had a pretty good flat-6 engine impression in his car sound effect repertoire. He pretended the rear engine car was hard to keep going straight and that he had to drift through all the turns. Lukas went for the Le Mans-spec Aston Martin, which his mother deeply regretted letting him have. It was an expensive model that used to serve as a bookend on her shelf, not a toy. He broke an endplate off the wing, bent the mirror, and cracked one of its yellow headlights. It made her angry every time she looked at it. He needed two hands to navigate it around his course, and he had to stand up and crawl while André could reach most of the course while seated Indian-style in the middle of it.

“Were you watching the game with Mommy?”

“Yep.”

“Was it exciting?”

“No.”

“Did she shout a lot?”

“No. She napped.”

“She napped?” Dad chuckled. “Are you sure? She’s not supposed to nap when no one else is home with you!”

“She napped. Do the souuunds,” Lukas giggled while André’s 911 skidded out and narrowly missed colliding with the ottoman. The pilot made tire squeal and engine rumble noises as he straightened his car and headed for the magazine ramp up to the furry pillow, but he was thinking about Christina. She doesn’t fall asleep when she’s watching the baby, ever. That’s like her biggest fear. She falls asleep and he burns the house down or cuts the dog’s ear off or something. I know she’s tired but wow, he commented to himself. I hope it’s not her new drugs. She said the whole point of them is that it doesn’t make her tired and loopy. They’re supposed to just make her nauseous instead, as if that’s so much better, the player tutted inside. He asked his girl about her new prescription when she got home from Qatar. She asked Müll for a non-opioid pain solution, and he recommended trying an anticonvulsant used for people with chronic nerve and musculoskeletal pain. He gave her an extended release version designed specifically to avoid the common side effects of the regular kind, like drowsiness. It could be taken once a day for a long time, or used as needed. Christina didn’t want to try the daily course because one side effect it definitely still came with was a feeling of weakness in the extremities. That wouldn’t do for her. Her various ailments hadn’t been bad enough yet to give the new drug a go, as far as André knew. They had a small fight about the pills. She didn’t like his assumption that she was seeking new drugs for some nefarious, secret reason, and he didn’t like that she had enough pain to warrant asking their doctor for a new solution but didn’t tell him about it. Her rebuttal was that she always told him exactly what and how much it hurt when he asked about it, and that he just didn’t ask that much anymore.

“You beat me! The Aston Martin is so quick, yeah?”

“Again! This time, Ferrari,” Lukas said after their first race. He went to hand the smaller of his single-seaters to his dad to use for the second race, and his dad’s phone buzzed on the coffee table at the same time.

“Do a practice run,” André suggested, reaching for the device. He lay on his back to check the message, and Lukas complained that he was blocking the track. He told him to just drive over him, so his stomach became part of the rally car obstacle course. The text was in the team’s group chat. The guys wanted to do a team dinner the following night to talk about what was happening at the club, and what they could and should do about it. There was a lot of re-coaching going on on the pitch. The team’s leaders changed the game plan a lot without the manager largely due to a lack of confidence in Bosz. Some of the players believed they should do more of that, and some felt they were undermining the coach to the team’s detriment. That wasn’t the kind of talk they could have in public in a restaurant in Dortmund, so Schmelle was soliciting ideas about where to gather.

We could just have everyone over here, André mused, taking a break from the screen to stare at the painted wood planks every three feet across his ceiling. They used to be natural. Zoe made them white to make the room feel bigger, and it worked. Something like grilled steaks and fish would be easy. It’s a lot of food to prepare but I can grill. Chris doesn’t have to do it all herself. And we have room for a lot of food on the one outside and space for more on the griddle thing in the kitchen. Roasted vegetables. I think we can do two pans at a time in each oven. I’m not sure where we put everyone. He glanced toward the kitchen but couldn’t really see it beyond the back of the couch. The dining table is for 10 but we could probably fit 12 or 14. Then some people could sit at the counter in the kitchen. We don’t all have to sit together. The talking can be before and after the food. If it’s not raining, we could even eat outside. The space heater is supposed to keep the whole patio warm. I can set up the beer pong table to eat on, and bring the dining room chairs out. The regular table is for 8 maybe. Yeah. I’m going to volunteer, André concluded. I think I’m the only one with enough parking too. I’ll tell them to try to carpool though.

“Do you want to go to Noah’s tomorrow night?” he asked while typing.

“I like Noah,” his little body nodded, significantly more interested in landing his Aston Martin after the jump from his waist to the carpet, which the cars really had to skim over. The pile was too deep to push them along quickly. André finished offering his house and his food in exchange for Marco’s partner’s childcare services and sat up to get his little Ferrari.

“Okay let’s race.” I’m going to let him think he’s winning again and then I’m going to hold the back of his Santa penguins pajama shirt and laugh at him doing the air swimming thing like the dogs do when you hold them over the pool or the bathtub. Where are they anyway...The BVB man swiveled his head around to check for Toy Fox Terriers. They were sharing one plaid flannel bed by the fireplace. Christina took them to the barn with her for her early morning rides. Their energy wasn’t as limitless when it started getting cold, or in the middle of summer for that matter. Lukas played more physical games with them as he got older too. He was like having a permanent ball-throwing machine for them. He was also impatient about racing, so André leaned over to line up his suggested Ferrari beside his car. He did the three-two-one-go and the race was on. He was on the “inside” of the track and his opponent moved around the outside.

“You can’t catch me!” Lukas bragged, crawling with his English GT racer toward the finish line, which was indicated on his road map mat. The whole final sector of the course was on there. His dad leaned forward on his knees, collected a fistful of his little shirt to inhibit his progress, and “raced” his red Formula 1 car right by. “Daddy! Let go!”

“Nope. This is the only way I can beat you!” André laughed. “I win!” He let go and the child went flying. Luckily Dad had good reflexes and one hand already in the landing zone. He caught him before he could faceplant near the finish line. “This was called cheating and you should never do it.”

“But-“

“Some day you will understand the concept of “Do what I say, not what I do.” Until then, just go with it.”

“But...Daddy, I’m foosed.” Lukas squinted at him, perplexed, and squatted to retrieve his car.

“Get used to it, buddy. I’m always foosed! Your Momma thinks it’s cute though, so I embrace it.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” André bent down to smooch his confused little boy and then asked him which car he should pilot next, and if he wanted to switch out the Aston. Lukas chose the Ferrari, which the player liked because he thought it meant Lukas was really smart- that he recognized that the Ferrari beat his DB9 and was thus faster. Then he worried that Lukas was actually really dumb, because he should have known the Ferrari only won because he cheated. Then he concluded that he was reading way too much into racecar selection. The little Schü assigned him a Hot Wheels Polizei car for their tiebreaker. Christina returned, smelling like peppermint, halfway through the race. She went straight to the oven to check her Turkey, and then to the snack cabinet to see if there was anything good to eat. She plopped on the couch with a handful of raw almonds.

“Who won?” she inquired.

“Mausi is up two races.”

“I meant the football.”

“City.”

“Ugh. Why.”

“So hey. We’re having the whole team over for dinner tomorrow night, but it’s okay because I have a plan,” André explained. He knew she wouldn’t react well, so he smiled and lifted one brow in a way he thought made him looking charming. There were certain expressions that usually made it very hard for her to say no. The face looking back at him quickly morphed into an expression that foreshadowed worse than just a no, and she almost choked on her nuts. “What?” Christina’s reply began with fury and somehow ended with just dejection

“Besides the fact that a dinner party for 29 is not a little thing you throw together 24 hours in advance, we were supposed to go get a Christmas tree. You said we could get the tree and start the rest of the decorating.” She slumped over on the side of the chaise part of the couch and worked her fingers into her wet hair to massage her scalp the way she did when she was stressed. Her pretty cornflower blues were full of disappointment. She dejectedly put another almond in her mouth and chewed in slow motion.

“I’m sorry pretty girl- I forgot.” The Big Schü tilted his head sympathetically. “Can’t we do that on Tuesday? I completely forgot you wanted to start decorating. We haven’t talked about it in a few days.” His self-defense was miscalculated.

“How could you possibly forget? He’s in Christmas PJ’s. I’m using candy cane shampoo. I even got out the Christmas beds for Spence and Lucky! And how am I going to feed everyone? Babe-“ The rider sighed heavily with frustration and tried not to glare. I don’t want him to think I’m mad. I’m not mad. I’m upset. There’s a distinction and he doesn’t always get it and then we get into fights as a result. Deep breaths. “I-“

“I’m going to go to the market in the morning and I’ll get everything we need. You don’t have to do anything.” This is going to require hugs, André concluded about the forlorn situation happening on the couch. Lukas was trying to climb up there already, so he got up, gave him a boost, and then let him crawl into Christina’s lap before he sat next to her. The way she welcomed the little boy and rubbed her chin on him made his dad feel worse. She treated him like a stuffed animal when she was upset. He stole her almonds. “I’ll get steaks and salmon and they can go on the grills with a couple of seasonings. I thought maybe sheet pan vegetables? I can even get the pre-cut ones so we just dump them on the tray. And a green salad. That’s simple, right? We’ll eat outside. And Marco said Zoe will take the boys out to eat.”

“Fine. Whatever you need. I just- I was really looking forward to our plans. I’m not trying to be whiny or have to get my way. I’m just...telling you so that you understand. I was looking forward to an afternoon and evening without anything Borussia Dortmund because the whole subject of Borussia Dortmund makes me want to kill people,” she mumbled, covering Lukas’ ears. “And now Borussia Dortmund is coming over for dinner, so...yeah.” Borussia Dortmund, ruining my life since...I don’t know...the 90’s. They gave me two good years and the rest? Pain. Just pain. But now Borussia Dortmund ruins my life more comprehensively. Before it just my heart hurt when they lost, or when players left. And when Marco was killed, all 6 times. Now I’ve had to move, watch boyfriend get hurt 8 million times, watch him regret his decision to do this, watch him feel like he’s letting everyone down- like he’s letting ME down. But by all means, bring a swarm of Bees into the house. “Is there gonna be a brawl? Are you all going to get into fights?”

“I hope not,” her Bee chuckled. “I’ll make sure they take it outside. And I promise I’ll make it up to you, Prinzessin.” He leaned over to hold her face and smooch her forehead, confident he’d adequately smoothed over the situation. “Tuesday we can go to the tree place, and the Weihnachtsmarkt if that’s not too much Borussia Dortmund for you. It’s a little Borussia Dortmund there.”

“I can’t. I have a Skype interview.”

“Wednesday?”

“Maybe.” Juan plays Wednesday. Chelsea. Football that doesn’t make me homicidal. I don’t want to miss that.

“Okay. We’ll work it out. Is my food plan good?”

“You always do this.”

“What?” She keeps changing. I can’t tell if she’s mad, annoyed, or sad.

“You conceive a dinner party without consulting me, and then you think you can do it all and I won’t be bothered. Newsflash,” Christina snorted. “I always end up bothered. How is it that you never learn? Like, for real. How is there never a point in your plan-making where you go, “Hm, this situation feels familiar...”?”

“No. But I think about whether you’ll be okay with it or not,” André argued in his own defense. “I go through the whole thing and make sure I have a plan so it’s not your problem. I always think of you. It’s not like you’re an afterthought.” He wanted to make that point really clear, as his girl had accused him a lot recently of being inconsiderate or falling out of the habit of taking her into account.

“I hope Lulu Schü doesn’t grow up to be the “but I have a plan!” guy,” she groaned. Her son was trying to get out of her lap to get his sippy cup from the coffee table. André handed it to him so that he’d stay put. Christina lamented many times that no rejection stung like bringing Spencer or Lucky to sit with her and having them get up and leave, until Lukas did it to her. “Also, the Skype interview is with an author doing a book about me and Dirk, by the way. Thanks for asking.”

“I was getting there! I was trying to- Wait. Why?”

“Well technically it’s about the evolution of jumping horses and the current breeding trends. Dirk gets his own chapter and we’re in a lot of parts together.”

“That sounds cool. Do I say congratulations, or? I don’t know the protocol here, Prinzessin.” The footballer leaned over to put his arm around her shoulders and squeeze. He had to draw his knees up too just to close off Lukas’ exit. He could see him eyeing the alternative lap to sit on with his cup of water. Christina wasn’t done petting his head.

“I don’t know either.”

“Your hair smells nice.”

“Stop sucking up for making me cook for 30 people.”

“I’m not. I’m giving you affection because I think you don’t really care that much about having the squad come over and you actually just want me to pay more attention to you and I would have been stuck with you for several hours tomorrow out of the house. I’m guessing you’re even happy to have a chance to do something that might help me feel better about what’s happening with the football club. What do you think?”

“I think your instincts might not be totally off...” the rider told her partner, tentatively, without looking up from the blonde head with the softest hair in the house.

“I’m sorry I’ve been very distracted lately and we haven’t done anything fun together since you got back.” André stretched over to kiss her cheek, which was noticeably hot. He wasn’t sure if that was part of getting out of the shower or if she was upset, or maybe even embarrassed. He said what he did on a hunch, because he thought it would be better to skip to the real problem rather than litigate the many layers of grievance shielding it.

Christina returned from Doha a week before, with a nice trophy for the Grand Prix but none for the Championship. That was okay. She didn’t go to enough shows to even really be in the contest. She relinquished her title with grace, and little bother. What she brought back with her in addition to the trophy was a serious physical hangover. Juan went to the Global Champions Tour Final with her to help keep her thoughts pointed in the right direction- on riding, on enjoying herself, on being open enough to connect with her horses and be able to feel and thus show what made her and them so good. One way he helped her enjoy herself was taking her out every night. They partied with all of her friends at the Kygo club night, had an intimate late night out together at Doha’s first and only jazz club, and celebrated her Grand Prix of Doha win at the official party on Saturday night, which was hours after the magazine launch party. It was all parties. It was all food, and drinks, and staying up late but still waking up early to work out, still making healthy eating choices, and still focusing on her work. Christina had a blast.

She slept on the plane ride home, went to bed when she got home, and slept away half of Monday too. Then André was with the team that night, they flopped big time in the Spurs game and he went right to sleep after, he was sequestered in “we must fix this downward spiral” training and meetings for the entire day on Wednesday, and never really found a way to do anything with his wife on Thursday either because he had to do an appearance for adidas and she had a mom-date with Zoe and the boys. Friday was training and the team hotel. Saturday night was mutual shouting about Borussia Dortmund and then frustrated, solitary video gaming and NBA-watching. The week included no dinner dates, no breakfasts out, no family trips to the public playground, no footballer drop-ins at the barn, and very limited couch time because one or both adults in the house wanted to be alone or go to bed early. The lack of together-activities was mostly not Christina’s doing, and André understood why the Christmas tree mission would matter so much to her just then. He also understood that she wasn’t going to walk into the living room and literally implore him to pay attention to her, the way he sometimes did. That wasn’t her style, and she too understood the circumstances. He truly believed his girl would be happy to host a problem-solving dinner for him and his teammates so that he could feel better and improve the playing picture, once she got past the inconvenience.

“It’s okay,” she mumbled.

“Want me to get the decorations out now? We could start putting them up after the turkey. Isn’t that how the Thanksgiving works anyway? You eat the turkey and then put up the Christmas stuff?”

“Not quite that immediately, usually. People are too stuffed. But maybe...we could start after he goes to bed?” A hopeful little glance his way reassured the German that he definitely wasn’t in trouble anymore.

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