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If there’s one question that Iñigo Martínez hates receiving from the press, it’s this one:
“Any chance of having a third? Another son to pass your genes onto?”
He never answers. Just glares until the reporter backtracks and asks something more along the lines of, “I mean, is your family enjoying Barcelona?”
“Yes,” he answers smoothly. “They are. The girls love exploring the city, but we visit Euskadi on weekends to see their grandparents.”
A stupid question but nothing new. Robert mentioned getting the same treatment. “What they don’t know is that Klara will tackle Laura if she gets too close to goal,” the Pole explained between fits of laughter. “And that Laura has tripped Klara more than once.”
“Stupid. They make it seem like girls don’t play on their own teams, in their own leagues.”
“They’re stuck in old ways,” Robert said as he taped his wrist.
Iñigo tugged on a shirt. “Or blind.”
“Don’t pay mind to them,” Robert advised. “This is another trick to poke at the club. To get in your head.”
Iñigo shrugged. He hadn’t seen it that way, but Robert had more time to acclimate to the club. Iñigo still needs a reminder to speak in Spanish.
Oddly enough, the questions stopped coming as soon as Iñigo began to prove himself on the field. The transition from Athletic Lion to Barça Culer was bittersweet, but smooth with Xavi and then eerily easier under the stern Hansi Flick. Iñigo slotted seamlessly into the back row, and while he could not always decipher the banter among the younger players, he easily understood the high line methodology. It’s not perfect, but it works. A new language was born: a bizarre mix of Spanish, Basque, Catalan, English, German, eye contact, and hand signals.
It works.
Most days, he feels best connected to Pau Cubarsi, the 17, soon to be 18, year old centre back who, like him, keeps forgetting to switch to Spanish during interviews. Nearly twenty years between them, but the fondness was palpable beyond the pitch. The boy had not yet gotten his driver’s license, so some of them took turns driving him from the dorms of La Masia to other places: shopping with friends, team outings. They had learned from the days when Pedri would stumble out of a taxi cab and vowed to never let that media disaster happen again.
There’s Marc Casado, too. A bit older, but not as mature as he ought to be. There were some instances where Iñigo had to bite on his tongue to stop himself from laughing at Casado’s reactions. The 21 year old will stomp his feet like he’s a child, often reminding him of his youngest daughter whenever her favorite flavor of ice cream has run out. Casado has racked up his fair share of yellow cards, too. Yet, even within the year, the lad grew: taking responsibility for his recent red card and shyly asking Iñigo what he ought to do to win back Flick’s trust.
Iñigo kept it simple: “Stop apologizing and come to practice with your head up.”
In a way, with their first captain gone due to injury and Raphinha’s hands full with his growing toddler, the dressing room benefitted from the occasional adult (who, as Gavi so lovingly puts it, “looks old”) telling the younger ones to quiet down.
His girls came to visit here and there, especially before school began. Shouting “papá” from the observation stands and giggling whenever the boys lifted their shirts to wipe sweat from their brows. It helped ease the unpredictable bouts of homesickness that hit Iñigo in odd moments. Other times, Nerea would drop him off and pick him up from practice, especially on weekend training sessions. His girls, pink faced and enamored, extended their little hands towards the rest of the team, who were more than happy to compliment the bows in their hair or equally pink frilly outfits.
“I’m going to marry Gavi,” Nikole, his oldest, once declared during one September dinner.
“Not if I marry him first,” Paule shouted.
“You’re too ugly!”
“Am not!”
Nerea laughed. Iñigo wanted to cry.
It could be worse, Iñigo told himself. It could be a boy at school.
“Relax.” Nerea leaned into his ear. “You look like someone shot your dog.”
He put on a brave face for the rest of the meal, but the discussion was far from over. “When did they stop finding boys icky?” Iñigo demanded later as they readied for bed. “Two weeks ago, Nikole was telling us about how she hates that one classmate who keeps sitting next to her.”
His wife smirked as she dotted something under her eyes. “When did you get so protective?”
“I’m not protective. We have to watch out.”
“For who? Gavi? Cuba? The girls have crushes, my dear. I was in love with half of Athletic when I was their age.” She began step six of her evening skincare. Iñigo sat down to watch her, finding solace in her little routines.
“And look where you are. I stole you from your home and brought you to this city.”
“And I have not once regretted it. I think those boys have got you feeling protective.”
Iñigo scowls. “Some are still children.”
His wife got up from her vanity and put her arms around him. Iñigo found her hips as she kissed him deeply. “You love our girls. I know you do. But…”
“But.”
“You were so fond of Nico.”
Hearing Nico’s name brought a pang to Iñigo’s heart. Fondness was not a strong enough word. He watched the younger Williams find his footing in Athletic. Ran drills with him and his brother until they molded him into not only Athletic’s trusted winger, but Spain’s next permanent fixture. He had celebrated the youngster’s call up with the team and Nico, in return, hugged him tightly as he announced his departure from the Lions.
“I still am,” Iñigo whispered.
“Then admit you’re close to those boys, too.”
“I am.”
“Shall we have a son?”
Iñigo groaned, holding onto his wife. “You’re walking into dangerous territory.”
Nerea giggled before batting his wandering hands away. “We do have a problem.”
“What’s that?” Iñigo asked absently, still watching the sway of his lover.
“How will we tell Nikole that Gavi will not marry her?”
Iñigo shook his head. “That’s all you, my love.”
“My daughter wants to marry you,” Iñigo laughs, when Gavi asks how his family is doing.
The young man gets a kick out of the joke. “This is the price of being so damn handsome,” he sighs, cupping his own jaw and pretending to fix his hair back into place.
Iñigo nudges him playfully. “Your head is too big.”
“Tell her footballers are up to no good.”
Though Gavi is not one of those footballers, Iñigo sure will.
Iñigo almost forgot that it’s Gavi who’s temper is far worse on the field. Casadó pales in comparison.
He’s no daisy. Picking up a yellow card from an ill-timed boot to whatever fucking white shirt next to him barely makes Iñigo qualified to talk about how to avoid yellow cards.
Gavi’s a whole other level though.
Iñigo once again finds himself trying not to laugh at the newly revived Barça midfielder, who’s now nose to nose with Real Madrid’s next Ballon d'Or winner. He nearly keels over when he sees the boy flash four fingers at the man: a petty reminder that los blancos are losing this match in a miserable fashion and that really, no trophy can fix their back line.
To no one’s surprise, Gavi’s antics land him a yellow card just three minutes into his arrival. Not a single regret is on the midfielder’s face, and Iñigo can hardly blame him for celebrating. For when the clock runs out and the stadium stays stunned, it’s the red and blues who take on the pitch in droves, shouting at the top of their lungs. A night for the ages, a victory for the history books, for the night, they feel like champions. Nerea joins him on the field when things die down a little; he’s grateful that she’s come all the way to Madrid even though two children make it hard to do so.
“Papá,” Nikole tugs on his shorts. Iñigo looks down to see his daughter, misty eyed.
Despite his bones creaking at the effort, he kneels down to pick her up. “What’s wrong?”
“Who-who’s that with Gavi?”
Iñigo turns to see a beautiful young lady next to his teammate, his hand not so casually at her waist. He tries not to laugh but, oh, young heartbreak. “Should we find out together?” Nikole nods. They walk over to Gavi and his friend and a few others. “Nikole wanted to say hi.”
“Hi Nikole.” His voice is sweet and high pitched, and he reaches for Nikole’s hand briefly. “Did you like watching?”
“I did!” Nikole is all smiles, beaming happily that her favorite player is paying her mind. It’s short lived, however, when Gavi’s lady friend speaks.
“Hi there.”
Nikole turns away with a pout, burying herself in her father’s very sweaty shirt. And that’s Iñigo’s cue because usually, his daughter is post-game sweat averse. “Someone’s ready for a nap,” he sheepishly adds. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be,” Gavi’s friend says. “She’s so cute.”
Gavi gives her a little tap on the arm. “Sleep well, Princess.”
Nikole immediately pops back out. “Bye Gavi!”
Iñigo rolls his eyes before bidding the rest of them goodbye. The next day, he apologizes to Gavi.
“She’s sensitive, I hope your girlfriend wasn’t offended.”
Gavi laughs. “Are you kidding? Anna loved seeing Nikole.”
“How long have you two been together?”
“Over a year,” Gavi grins, though Iñigo can tell that the boy is shy at the question. “We try to keep things private.”
Iñigo nods. “Best thing to do when you’re young.” He gets up off the bench.
Gavi beams as he agrees. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
It’s the post game recovery session. Stretching and chatting and unwinding, but Gavi is still full of energy, buzzing about. Iñigo could chalk it up to the win over Real Madrid, but he senses it’s something else. Perhaps his friends approve of Anna. Or her presence during the game. Whatever it is, Gavi hits the ground running, drawing circles in the grass with his fast paced-jog and shouting loudly at Pedri who keeps getting dragged away by Ferran whenever they use the exercise bands. If anyone were to look at Gavi on the field right now, they’d think he was a child who had never seen the sun before rather than a Barça player meant to recover from a superb victory.
“Do you remember watching me play for the first time?” Iñigo asks a few nights later.
“Yes,” Nerea cheekily replies. “I thought it was stupid that you only had one sleeve of tattoos.”
Iñigo shoots her a look. “Really?”
“‘The more the better,’ is what I thought.”
“Thank goodness I saved for the second sleeve then,” Iñigo teases.
She hums as she combs her hair. “Why do you ask?”
“Gavi’s girlfriend, Anna.”
“Ah, yes. Who could forget? Nikole is still seething.” She sits on the bed and then passes him a glass jar. He dutifully sits behind her before opening it and rubbing the thick oil into his fingers. “Remind you of anyone?”
“Not a person. Just when you first visited a football match. I was so nervous.”
“You won that game,” she sighs as Iñigo starts rubbing her scalp. “I knew you would.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that I was still nervous.”
“Was Gavi nervous?”
Iñigo barks. “I don’t think Gavi has a single fear.”
“Mmm.”
“Seeing them reminded me of how long you and I have been together.” He kisses the side of her head. “We weren’t that much older than him.”
“We weren’t,” Nerea agrees. “But I knew.”
“And I did, too.” He tilts her face towards him. “Thank you,” he whispers before kissing her forehead.
“For?”
“For everything you did and will do.”
“Do you think she’ll like it?”
Iñigo glances over to see Gavi pointing his phone to Pedri.
“Man, I don’t know. I don’t even wear the Barça rings we got that one year.”
“Wait. We got rings?”
Iñigo chuckles to himself. He can only imagine what the hell those two are up to. Trouble, no doubt about it. Now that Gavi is finally back to full health, he torpedoes any sense of routine simply by existing and causing a ruckus.
But it’s so loved and appreciated, especially when they’ve suffered a recent draw.
“God, I can’t rely on you for anything. Iñigo, come look at this.”
Iñigo groans and gets up. “What is it?”
“A gift for Anna for her birthday.”
It’s a silver necklace with an obnoxious heart at the center.
“Ah.”
“It’s good, right?”
Iñigo scratches his head. “Have you already bought it?”
“No, but it’s on reserve at the store.”
Iñigo sighs. “I would get her something else.”
“Wait, why? What’s wrong with this?”
“Heart jewelry isn’t exactly top of any woman’s list.”
“Really?” Gavi, puzzled, squints at the photo. “But I love her.”
“Yes, you do,” Iñigo patiently agrees. “But it’s very… it’s very in her face. Does she wear heart jewelry?”
“I’ve never seen her wear one before.”
“Then… she may not like it. What does she wear, usually?”
“Mostly gold, but-”
“Then get her something gold. Or, better. Go look at what she’s wearing and show it to the shop. They’ll find something that suits her style.”
“Won’t that be too similar to what she already has?”
Iñigo shakes his head with a laugh. “It won’t matter. Because you got it for her, so she’ll wear that piece over the others.”
Pedri looks like he’s taking notes with the way his jaw drops. “Damn, I didn’t even think about looking at what a girl already wears.”
“That’s smart, not gonna lie,” Gavi adds, impressed. “Look at you, Iñigo. Romantic.”
“I just have a wife,” he gruffs. “Been doing this for a long time.”
“How long?”
“Coming up to eleven years.”
“Wow! Married so young!”
“No, no,” Iñigo corrects. “We married eight years ago. But we dated three years prior.”
Pedri smiles. “And two daughters later.”
Iñigo nods. “Good luck, boys.”
“Thanks, Iñigo!”
The New Year comes and goes, and Iñigo finally feels fully settled in the city. He and Nerea spend the time off between Euskadi and their new home, but what tells Iñigo that his homesickness is on the mend is the fact that his eyes do not sting when they start driving away from the Basque air.
Nerea grabs his free hand while they drive back towards Barcelona. “We’ll be back soon,” she mutters. The girls are asleep in their carseats.
“I know we will.”
“We are so lucky to have two homes.”
“We are.”
“Because of you.”
“Because of you,” Iñigo emphasizes. “What am I with you and my girls?”
The ride is quiet until Nerea speaks again. “You first wore blue. Then red. And now you wear blaugrana.”
It is precisely that sentence that brings Iñigo to tears.
“Two days until 18,” Iñigo remarks when Cuba slides into his passenger seat. “You must be excited.”
“I am,” Cuba quips. “And ready to get my license.”
“Are you taking lessons?”
“I am!”
“Do you want to drive then?” Iñigo laughs.
“Hell no,” Cuba flatly says. “I’m still recovering from yesterday.”
Iñigo raises his eyebrows. “Didn’t you have fun at your birthday dinner?”
“I did, but Gavi drives like a damn maniac.”
Iñigo’s heard of Gavi’s reckless driving. Or, well, he’s seen how petrified Pedri looks some days when they carpool together. “He’s just excited.”
“Not yesterday.”
“No?”
Cuba’s expression falls. “I don’t know what’s up with him, but…” He hesitates.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know if I should tell.”
“You don’t have to,” Iñigo shrugs. “As long as Gavi is fine.”
Cuba leans into the seat. “I think he’s having trouble with his girlfriend.”
“What makes you think that?”
Cuba turns to him. “You know how Gavi is just… he’s never attached to his phone? He’s always talking or joking?”
“Yes?”
“He wasn’t like that last night. And it’s my birthday dinner. It was only six of us but it’s like he wasn’t there. Just on his phone the whole time.”
“Ah.”
“I’m annoyed at him, but I don’t want to be. Not if he’s having trouble.”
Iñigo reaches to ruffle Cuba’s hair. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Gavi is fine. Are you going home this weekend?”
Cuba brightens immediately before launching into the details of his birthday plans with his family. Iñigo drives him towards the La Masia dorms, only half listening, wondering if their beloved midfielder is, at the very least, staying safe behind the wheel.
Iñigo gets his answer a week later when Gavi arrives late for practice and is subsequently taken off the starting eleven. He doesn’t argue at all with Flick, choosing to get ready for practice in total silence.
It sends the whole team into a quiet session. Some chatter here and there, only picking up towards the end when everyone figures out that Gavi needs about ten kilometers worth of space. Still, it’s concerning.
“Have you spoken to him?” Iñigo asks Robert.
“I think they’ve split,” Robert laments with a sigh.
Iñigo swears. “His first break up?”
“I can’t say, but it seems so.” Robert unlaces his shoes. “At that age, it feels like the world will end.”
Iñigo is well aware. Before Nerea, he had his fair share of heartbreak. At least Gavi showed up for practice. Iñigo recalls spending days in bed and in the bottle before Nerea came around. When the midfielder is still scrolling through his phone while the rest of the dressing room clears out, Iñigo has an idea.
“Hey Gavi. Do you want to come over for dinner?”
“Gavi!”
Nikole squeals happily when both men step into Iñigo’s house. Nerea is surprised, shooting her husband the “tell me when guests are coming over” look that he’s become all too familiar with. Nevertheless, she sets another place at the dinner table while Gavi twirls around with Nikole, Paule hot on his heels yelling, “Me next! Me next!”
“What did I say,” Nerea sighs as Iñigo walks her into the kitchen. “At least text me first.”
“I’m sorry, love. I really am. But I don’t think he should be alone today.”
Nerea peers out the kitchen to see Gavi with Paule in his arms now. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah. Not really,” Iñigo sheepishly explains without really explaining. “It’s a long story.”
“About a girl.”
“And that’s why you’re so smart,” Iñigo pecks her cheek before walking back into the living room.
“Don’t let him tire himself out before dinner!” she calls out.
Gavi is never tired on the pitch. And this also applies to Iñigo’s living room, where both girls are now shoving toys at Gavi and demanding he play Princesses and Pirates.
“You have to be the princess,” Nikole says.
“Me?!” Gavi asks, aghast. “You’re the girl!”
Nikole plucks on a captain’s hat. “I’ll rescue you, Princess!”
Gavi goes positively red faced at this, but he succumbs quickly to his role. He even throws in a fake fainting spell, one that has the girls laughing as they crawl over him. Iñigo watches before escaping to the kitchen to help Nerea with the rest of dinner. It’s not long before they’re all seated at the table. Iñigo cuts up the chicken for Paule and Gavi is relaying stories about his cousins who are not too different in Nikole’s age.
“I hate all boys,” Nikole pouts while folding her arms. “Except Papá. And Cuba.”
“What about me?” Gavi asks, genuinely offended.
“You’re okay, but you have to get better at Princesses and Pirates.”
Gavi holds up a hand. “I promise you I will.”
The kids finish first, racing through dinner so they can get their coveted television and iPad time. “They’re so well behaved,” Gavi remarks as they sit on the couch, waiting for Nerea to pass out their respective devices.
“They’re just doing that to impress you,” Iñigo laughs. “They know they’ll get an extra hour if we have a guest.”
Nerea puts down a simple rice pudding for dessert. “I’ll leave you both in charge of them,” she sings sweetly before kissing the top of Iñigo’s head.
When she’s out of earshot, Gavi spoons a heavy helping of the dessert into a bowl. “I hope I didn’t cause trouble by randomly showing up.”
“More like I caused trouble. But it’s okay. I’ll make it up to her.” He serves himself before asking, “How was Cuba’s birthday dinner?”
“Was okay.”
“Just okay? He’s 18 now. You should teach him how to drive.”
This makes Gavi chuckle. “Every time I drive Cuba anywhere, he does the sign of the cross. Pedri keeps a copy of his will on his phone because of me.”
“You kids.”
“Not kids, men.”
“Men aren’t late to practice,” Iñigo points out, effectively trapping Gavi into a corner. “That’s twice this week.”
Gavi turns away. “It’s complicated.”
“The girls are watching cartoons. Nerea is in her vanity room. And we’re eating dessert. It doesn’t have to be complicated if you don’t want it to be.”
“You have a nice family.”
“I do. It didn’t happen over a year.”
“I figured.”
“And it took more than jewelry. Or fancy trips.”
“I know,” Gavi grits out. “I thought I came here for a meal. Not a lecture.”
“You did. There’s no lecture here. All I’ll say is that you should continue to be who you are, even if someone else wants otherwise. Because you're easy to love.” Before Gavi can respond, Iñigo offers him another serving of rice pudding. “Also, Nerea is going to pack up the rest of this for you. Whether you like it or not.”
The next day, Gavi shows up to practice on time.
The next match, against Iñigo’s former club, Gavi scores.
“I did it,” he later boasts. “Fulfill your end of the promise.”
Iñigo laughs. “Okay. I’ll tell Nerea to make the pudding again.”
“I want several bowls. A vat of rice pudding.”
“I’ll let her know.”
“Are we saving this for Gavi?”
“Yes. I accidentally said you were making more.”
“Poor boy misses homemade food.”
“That, or you’re an amazing cook.”
“Please. We might as well adopt him. Did you hear Nikole calling him hermano?”
Iñigo sure did.
It takes two weeks and decimating Real Madrid for Gavi to go back to his old antics.
“Iñigo’s kids love me.”
“That’s because they think you’re pretty. When they find out you’re an idiot, they’ll fall back in love with me,” Cuba insists.
Iñigo chokes on his water as he overhears. They get ready to go home, filtering out. And Iñigo’s about to go too, until he sees Gavi frozen in front of his locker.
“What’s wrong?”
“Ah, nothing.” Gavi swallows. “She… she wants some of her things back.”
“Do you need anything?”
“No,” Gavi sighs. “It happened so quickly. Everyone wants me to move on quickly, too.”
Iñigo sits on the bench. “It’s never a quick process. Takes time. And backbone.”
“Backbone?”
“Yeah. Like courage. To face that you both want different things.”
Gavi presses his head to the metal. For a moment, Iñigo worries that he’ll bash his head in. Instead, Gavi whispers, “We like each other a lot. But we don’t agree on anything.”
“No couple agrees on everything.”
“This… this was a big thing though.” Gavi hesitates. “I’m not a secretive person, but I just…”
“Like things private.”
“Yeah. I bet that wasn’t a problem for you and your wife.”
Iñigo scoffs. “We’re not that old. Instagram was alive and well when we started dating.”
“Who even uses Instagram, old man?”
Iñigo rolls his eyes. “Nerea likes things about her and the girls to stay private. I, on the other hand, would post them every day if I could.”
“Your wife is so chill.”
“Thanks,” Iñigo laughs. “But I promise you, it’s about compromise more than anything else.”
“Did she…” Gavi pauses again as if he’s unsure that Iñigo will answer him. “Was she mad when you wanted to come here?”
Iñigo hums. “Not mad. More nervous. She left everything she knows behind for me. For me to join this team. That’s not easy for anyone to do. She went from seeing her mom every other day to only seeing her a few times a year.”
“But you compromised.”
“We did. I told her that if she hated living in Barcelona after a year, I would find a way to go back and forth between Euskadi and here.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“How do you know she’s being honest with you?”
“I trust her to be honest with me,” Iñigo answers simply. “Because if she loves me, she’ll be honest with me, especially about our family. It also helps that I told her she could pick our house.”
Gavi laughs. “Compromise?”
“Yes, in so many ways. And sacrifice.”
“Like?”
“When she was studying for exams, I would go to her, even though it took hours to get to her campus.”
Gavi makes a face. “Like a movie.”
“Anything but. I was so tired, and so was she, but her job was much harder than mine. When her father got sick, I helped as much as I could. When my spot in Real Sociedad was at risk, she took the risk of marrying me anyways. She supported me while I tried out for Athletic and endured all the heat that came from the switch.”
“I forgot about that.” Gavi grins. “If she asked you to go back to Basque country, would you?”
“Yes.”
The younger man is shocked. “Oh, wow.”
“I love this team, but my family is important to me. If we need to go back, ever, I would. For her, I would.” Iñigo turns his wedding band around his ring finger. “We never have to pretend with each other.”
Gavi pushes off of the lockers. “Not to sound creepy, but I hope I find someone as cool as your wife.”
“You won’t, but you can try.” Iñigo watches the young man grab his backpack. “Are you okay, Gavi?”
“No, but I will be.” Gavi shoves his things into his backpack. “And I’ll be on time for the rest of the season. And I’ll score against Athletic the next time we play them.”
“Go for it.”
“And I’ll get over her, too.”
Iñigo’s expression softens. “For that, you can take as much time as you need.”
“I will.”
“Need a ride?”
“Nah. I’m taking Cuba out for dinner since I fucked up his birthday plans.”
“Good. Go have fun.”
“I will. Thanks.”
Iñigo is about to walk away but Gavi stops him. “Iñigo?”
“Yeah?”
“Can… can I come by for dinner again? Not today, but-”
“Any time,” Iñigo says. “Just say when.”