The Teammates

But just because they can't feel it too, doesn't mean that you have to forget.

“It started out as a feeling, which then grew into a hope, which then turned into a quiet thought, which then turned into a quiet word.”

Xabi was back at Liverpool.

He had been for a couple of weeks now, actually. Only very few people knew he was, but he preferred it that way. No big drama, no photographers, journalists, nobody poking around wondering why he had left Madrid to come back to the squad that had been struggling ever since he left five years ago. People called him an idiot for leaving, but what could they understand? They never had, and to be honest, Xabi didn’t expect them to start now.

Coming back to Liverpool was bittersweet. It was taunting just how familiar everything was, not a spot was out of place, and as he walked down the busy streets, he stopped to inhale the city. He wanted to take everything in, stop and stare at the city whose people gave him so much. He remembered parading down these very same streets in 2005, apart from winning the World Cup, that was probably the best time of his life. He could still feel the rush of adrenaline as he carried that trophy for everyone to see, for everyone to enjoy. The cup was finally back home where it belonged, and Xabi couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory. He could still feel the goose bumps on his skin after that final, Xabi, unsuccessfully, tried over the years to convince himself that they were a result of just winning, and not the taste of Steven on his lips.

No. Definitely not Steven.

“When are ya’ coming back Xabs?”  Steven would always joke around.

And without thinking Xabi would reply “Soon, and when I do we have to win the title! We will win the title, I promise you!”

“You best keep your promise, lad!”

If there was one thing Xabi had missed the most about Liverpool, it was certainly, undeniably and undoubtedly, the LFC captain. They had kept in touch over the years, strongly at first, at text before every match, a vacation in Spain, and vacation in England, but as the years passed, Steven’s struggle kept getting bigger and Xabi’s trophies kept coning in. It pained Xabi to admit it, but it was the Basque who hadn’t kept his side of the bargain. He wished he could blame it on Steven, but in reality, it was all Xabi. It was Xabi who didn’t answer the phone calls, who forgot to reply to the texts, who cancelled the trip to Liverpool last minute. He’d always promised he’d call later, to answer the texts, to make the trip, but there was always something in the way. A Clasico, a Champion’s League semi, a Copa Del Rey quarter, until one day Steven just didn’t try anymore. 

Xabi continued walking, it was getting late and he planned to meet with Carra in ten minutes.  He noticed the couple of stares, of hushed whispers as the people of Liverpool recognized him, but none came up to him, something which Xabi was eternally grateful. There would come another time when he’d be with them, but at the moment, he needed to be left alone. So great was the city, so thoughtful and understanding, Xabi cursed himself for ever leaving.

The door to the small shop that he planned to meet Carra at, was tucked into a street corner, hidden and kept away. Upon entry, he saw Jamie sitting in a far corner, tucked away behind small bookshelves, and made his way over. It was empty, with the exception of the ex-LFC player, which again, made Xabi thank his lucky stars.

“Jamie.” He called out, and Carra looked up from his book, and gave him a wry smile, one that did not reach his eyes.

“Nice to see you Alonso.” Carra whispered pulling apart and laying two hands on top of Xabi’s shoulders. He felt bad for the Scouser, his skin looked pale, his beard slightly overgrown, and there were bags underneath his eyes like he hadn’t slept in ages, and if Xabi had taken his time to look at himself, he would have known he looked the exact same.