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You’ve known Stevie your whole life. You grew up together; you watched him progress from his first kick to his first international goal.
And part of being best friends with him for life is watching him with his significant others. Sometimes it was fun, sometimes it was sad, and sometimes it was just downright painful.
You remember the first girl, Katie, when you were in grade four. She had the world’s biggest crush on him. He was frankly more interested in football but he enjoyed being liked, so he obliged her. They would, y’know, hold hands at break and sit together at lunch. And then one day, he decided he wanted to have a kickabout with you instead of hold hands with her, and then it was over.
The next big one you remember was Sophie, when you and Stevie were in sixth form. There were others, but Sophie was Stevie’s first everything: first kiss, first time, and first “I love you”, and first real heartbreak when Stevie found out she was fooling around with the keeper on their footie team. Well, you always thought she was a bitch anyways but Stevie was unreasonably mad for her.
And when you two grew up even more, there were even more girls. It seems like as Stevie got older and more beautiful (or so you heard from nearly every girl who Stevie bragged about, maybe you were blind but it just seemed like he was an average looking guy with a strange hairline), more girls were lining up at his door. Plus the fact that he was a damn good footballer didn’t hurt either, y’know.
The day you and Stevie were pulled from the Academy and signed at Liverpool was the happiest you’d ever seen your best friend. (Later, the title of “happiest day of Stevie’s life” would be replaced by Istanbul, but you didn’t know that yet.)
The two of you went to a local pub with your closest friends and got absolutely pissed. You only remember a few snippets of the night, the rest lost in a drunken haze. You remember Stevie dancing wildly to Like a Virgin (though he’d later deny it). You remember your mates Ian and Aaron hoisting up a limbo pole and Stevie going freakishly low (Shakira low).
And you remember Stevie grabbing you over your pint and making you promise to never let him settle for anything less than amazing, because why settle when you can have it all? “Why settle when you can be a midfielder for Liverpool fucking Football Club?!” he shouted that last bit and fist-pumped, followed by everyone shouting and cheering. Then Stevie took you by the shoulder, looked you in the eyes, and made you swear.
“You’re batshit, mate,” you said, shaking your head, but you swore anyways.
~*~
When Stevie first started dating Alex, you thought he was the luckiest bastard in the world. (But you wouldn’t trade Nicola for a hundred million pounds, of course.)
She was gorgeous, of course, and funny and sweet. She obviously looked like she cared about Stevie, she could hold her alcohol pretty well, and she could carry on a conversation for more than ten minutes, which is more than you could say for any of Stevie’s past girlfriends. She had a wicked sense of humor and you could see the fuckin’ sparkles in Stevie’s eyes when he looked at her.
He seemed happy with her. Happy enough.
But you can pinpoint the day when all of that started to change. August 2004, when all of Liverpool’s new transfers were introduced. At training that day, Stevie and Xabi ran side-by-side, talking and smiling and completely in sync.
You watched the two of them connect in the midfield, every pass completed and every assist and goal from the duo a perfect ten.
Rafa pulled you and Stevie aside after practice. “So, how are the new ones?”
Stevie smiled a bit. “Pretty good this year. Lots of Spaniards, eh? Picking from the heart?” Rafa chuckled. “Garcia and Morientes are not bad, I see lots of potential in Garcia especially. I think Alonso, though, he’s an excellent player. Great passing range and precision.”
You nodded along, offering a few other opinions, but mostly just listening. You knew that Stevie lost a good friend, Michael Owen, in that same season. You lost him too; Michael was a key part of your game. Stevie always loved the team, but it was rare for him to make a really close bond with anyone else. (Michael was an exception, but he was gone now.)
As vice-captain, you also saw Xabi’s talent. And you saw that he was a midfielder. You hoped that Stevie wouldn’t get all territorial and competitive, totally excluding Xabi and not letting him showcase his skills. You hoped they’d find some harmony between them.
You were right.
~*~
Xabi Alonso, number fourteen.
He was magic. He was a strategist; he was the brains of your game. He was the third goal.
He was Liverpool’s miracle. He was Stevie’s miracle.
~*~
It was strange to see them interact, because they were so in sync. They weren’t similar to each other; they weren’t even best friends.
They were opposites, they were high tide and low tide, Stevie would push and Xabi would pull.
You liked to watch Xabi’s puzzled look that first season, as he tried to decode yours and Stevie’s own version of English. And then, you liked to watch Xabi jab Stevie right back once he understood the ins and outs of your Scouse accent.
You thought that Xabi was just a close teammate of Stevie’s. (You were partially wrong.)
~*~
When Xabi broke his ankle, you thought Stevie was going to burn down Stamford Bridge. He was so angry, pacing around the hospital waiting room muttering to himself like Jack fucking Torrance.
“Carra, I don’t want you to ever fucking look at Lamps again, okay? I swear to god if Xabi tells me to I’m going to slit his throat, I promise you, mate.”
“Calm down, stallion,” you said, flipping through the magazine on the waiting table. “Xabi’ll be fine.”
“I know he’ll be fine, idiot,” Stevie said, sitting down across from you and resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s just…” he pulled at his neck, trying to find the words. “He’ll hate missing matches, you know. He’ll hate it. And how will our game be, without him? He’ll be out at least five, probably more. It’s…” Stevie met your eyes for a second, saw the look you were giving him, and shut down his conversation. “It’s gonna be hard for him.”
“Mate, we’ve had players out before. Having Alonso out for a spell won’t be too bad,” you said. “Shame he broke his ankle, though,” you returned to your magazine and completely missed the death glare Stevie was giving you.
~*~
Stevie told you one night when you and him were rooming together in a hotel in Tokyo. He told you the most important bits: that he and Xabi had a “thing” (as he so eloquently put it), and that it’s been going on for a long while now.
“Stevie, come on! What the fuck are you doing?” He sat on the opposite bed, with his head in his hands in a sort-of resigned position.
(Liverpool was a bit of a small town, and you were a small town boy. You weren’t used to this whole thing…not that Stevie was, well whatever, but Alonso, and.
Stevie was your best friend. You didn’t care what that entailed; he was your best friend and he always would be. He needed you, and you needed to be there for him, not invent some strange preconceptions and shun him. That wasn’t you.)
You paced around the room. You had so many questions. What are you thinking? Do you care about your family? What about your wife? Your daughters? What about their future? What about your future? What about your career? What’s your plan for this anyways?
But if you knew Stevie (and you did), he had already thought about all this. You could only imagine the inner strife he was going through. So you were left with only one question.
“Do you love him?”
Stevie looked up at you, his eyes wide and slightly shining. He answered without hesitating, plainly and simply, "I think so, mate."
You sat down next to him on the bed and put your arm around his shoulder.
You cleared your throat. Fuck, fucking fuck, you were always the world’s most supreme shit advice-giver, but you figured you’d give it a go.
“When Nicola went out with Robbie, you know, when we were in the Academy and she thought I’d moved on, I thought my life was over. I loved her with every bit of me, Jesus,” you sighed. “She seemed so happy with that bloke and that’s all I’d ever wanted, was for her to be happy, but I wanted her to be happy with me. I thought that’s what she wanted as well.”
Stevie gave you a look like where the fuck are you going with this, but let you ramble on anyways.
“So one day I showed up at her place and there she was, looking bleeding gorgeous as all hell like always, and I just said it to her. I told her I loved her, and you know, I never get to do that often enough, and I think there’s no harm in just saying it as often as you can because fuck, life’s short,” you said, going on a little tangent.
“So I told her I loved her and she gave me this look and to this day I don’t know what happened or why or how the fuck she picked me but she just kissed me and that was it.”
“That’s great, Carra, always so happy for you and Nic,” Stevie said, rolling his eyes.
“That’s not the point, you twit,” you said, flicking him on the temple. “She told me that she had never not loved me, and that would hold out for me for however long it took.”
You continued, sensing that he still didn’t get it. “So the point is," and you drew in a breath like a big drumroll, "that love will win out in the end. So whoever it is or whatever the fuck your situation is, if you love Xabi, it’ll happen. It will.”
Stevie smiled and nodded, looking a bit thoughtful.
And fuck, you patted yourself on the back and bought yourself a pint because that was a job well done.
~*~
After you knew, it was always a bit different. You never fancied yourself a particularly sensitive guy who noticed tons of things, but you started to pick up on Xabi and Stevie more than you had before.
And it was just...sweet.
Of course, you had always seen their dynamic before, the easy way they’d talk (heavy accents on both ends), the way they seemed to read each other’s minds on the pitch, the way they were a perfect team (just the two of them), and how their perfection made the rest of the team perfect, too.
But now, you started to notice the little things. The details they sometimes tried hard to conceal but couldn’t, like how they could read each other’s minds off the pitch as well, the tight embrace Stevie would pull Xabi into after a goal, how you could sometimes (just barely) see Xabi’s fingertips brushing Stevie’s skin and Stevie’s almost imperceptible smile when he felt it.
It was odd to admit and even odder to say, but you felt something unknown deep within you when you saw these things (when you would watch them fall perfectly in step with each other while running laps, everything in sync, even their blinks and their fucking heartbeats). Was it…jealousy? Was it pity? It wasn’t anger, and it wasn’t disgust.
The closest comparison you could make was this: It felt something like watching James make friends at school. Not that Stevie was like your fucking son, for god’s sake, but it was true. Seeing someone you love so much attach to someone else and be so incredibly happy. Stevie looked so happy recently (or maybe he was always that way, since 2004, you just never noticed until you could put a reason to it).
You felt protective of what Stevie and Xabi had. You knew Xabi was a good man, anyone with a pulse could see that. You saw that he cared about Stevie, more than most people did (including you, what can you say? Sometimes Stevie needed a fresh face and not your unsympathetic old mug.) He loved Stevie for more than just being his captain.
More importantly, you saw how happy he made your best friend. He had this fucking, y’know, glow around him. This weird aura of contentment and it showed in everything he did, especially his game. Stevie was just a better person around Xabi.
And that deserved to be protected.
~*~
You remember the day Xabi left. Rafa announced it in a closed-door meeting with you, Stevie, and the other transfers. Xabi kept his head down for most of the meeting; if he looked up he absolutely refused to meet Stevie’s eyes.
Steven was tight-lipped and fixated on Xabi. Every time you glanced over, his face would alternate between total abandonment and anger. As soon as Rafa dismissed the meeting, Stevie bolted out the door and into the changing room; Xabi stayed put.
You waited for everyone else to leave, muttering things about what the hell happened to Stevie? When Xabi stood up, you gave him a serious look. “How could you not tell him?”
His face looked pained. He searched for the words. “It hurts me, too,” he said simply. Before he left to go back on the field he turned to you. “I love him,” he said, still looking incredibly torn apart. Then he kicked the door open and went back on the pitch to run more laps.
You walked into the changing rooms and spared a glance over at Stevie. You had never seen such heartbreak in his eyes before.
“Stevie, lad,” you said, trying to comfort him. “He doesn’t want to leave, either.”
Steven scoffed. “So then why the fuck is he?”
You scratched the back of your neck. “Just try to understand him.”
He stood up from the bench, gave you a steely cold glare, and said, “Carra, mate, you just don’t fucking get it.” And then he stormed out.
Well. This comforting thing had never been your strong suit anyways. That one time was just a fluke.
~*~
One afternoon, a year or two later, you were sitting on the couch watching telly with Stevie. Alex waltzed through the living room, tossing her shopping bags on the couch next to you. “Stevie, I had my Saab bag around here, where is it?”
“Not sure. Maybe one of the girls took it,” Steven said with a sigh.
“I think you moved it. The girls have their own bags. I don’t understand why you always insist on moving my things when I put them somewhere. This happens all the fucking time, Stevie, Jesus. Where are my sunglasses, then? My shoes? I may as well ask you. It’s not like you’d know the difference between them anyways.”
She stared at you like you were some foreign object sitting on her couch, and she glared at Steven.
“Come on, Alex, I don’t want to fight now. Can’t you just find a different bag?” He sounded exasperated. Tired.
She rolled her eyes and tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Whatever. I’m going out again, Lilly’s coming too. Don’t know when we’ll be back.”
She stormed out into the garage, a minute later you saw her Porsche speeding away. You don’t remember when Alex turned like this. She used to be a social darling, hanging out with Nicola and the other wags often enough, not crazed about the money.
You knew that she wasn’t like this all the time, now, but it seemed like her overarching trait was vanity. You missed the old Alex, the one who could down a pint of beer and not worry about it going to her thighs, the one who would kiss Steven with as much love and affection as always.
As time went on, you saw the love draining out of Steven’s eyes. There was only so much he could do, and Alex didn’t care anymore and neither did he.
Steven sighed again. You looked over at him and remembered a (very) drunken night years and years ago.
“Hey,” you said, poking his shoulder. He looked up at you. “Don’t settle, mate.”
His brow furrowed for a second, then he understood. He sat up a bit straighter. “Yeah,” he said, sort of far away. “Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t.”
~*~
Of all the things in life you thought Steven Gerrard would be, lonely is not one of them.
But post-retirement Stevie was exactly that—lonely, sad, living with Lexie in a huge spacious empty flat on Albert Docks, seeing Lilly a few times a year when she would return from uni, going to watch the match at Anfield with you every week, and that’s it.
(His girls had little interest in football, especially Lilly. Lilly, who nearly made her father tear down his walls when he heard she chose University of Manchester. “Okay, obviously she doesn’t give a shit about footie,” he said through deep breaths on the phone with you later, “if she’s willing to spend the next four years among those fuckin’ Mancs, Christ. Next thing you know she’ll be inviting me down to Old Trafford for a match. Dear God.”
Lexie could take it or leave it, she enjoyed her casual game at Anfield but was no avid Sky Sports viewer. She’d rather do the One Direction shows than a match, given the choice.)
So Stevie was just a lonely old sad sack at home.
You knew what he wanted (or more specifically, who he wanted), but you had no idea how to tell him to go and get it. Stevie was never one to think he deserved what he wanted.
One Sunday, you had enough. Absolutely enough. “For fuck’s sake, mate, when are you going to do it already?”
Stevie looked at you like you had just put on a sombrero and started salsa dancing.
“You know what I’m talking about, don’t play dumb with me. I’m tired of your fucking pity party, Stevie! Why are you doing this to yourself? He’s divorced. He’s lonely, just like you. And don’t even pretend like he’s not the one you’re thinking before bed, yeah? I’m sure he daydreams of you too and writes your name in hearts at the top of his notebook. Now stop acting like you’re in a fucking sixth form soap opera and go get him already. Just, Jesus, this isn’t goddamn rocket science,” you started to trail away and turn back to the game. “Even I could figure this one out,” you muttered.
You turned back to Stevie to see what his reaction was. Silent, as usual. Except there was a little smile on his face.
“Wanker,” he said, poking you in the shoulder. “Bugger off about my love life,” he mumbled, not really meaning it, with an ever-increasing grin.
~*~
You were sitting at the breakfast table, drinking your coffee, when Nicola waltzes in the door. “Just got back from the grocery, love, and you won’t believe what I saw.”
“What’s that?” you say, taking a sip.
She reached into her bag and pulled out the Daily Mail. “Ugh, not that piece of rubbish. Don’t tell me you spent money on that shite, now?”
She rolled her eyes at you and opened to the back page. You nearly choked on your coffee. There was a picture of Stevie and Xabi, walking on the pier in San Sebastian together (in sync as always, even after fifteen years). Their fingers were tightly entwined and they were giving each other lazy, secret smiles. The headline read, Former captain of Liverpool Stevie G in love with former teammate Xabi Alonso! The two seen on a private date on a beach in Northern Spain! Details inside.
“Well, shit,” you said, laughing a bit.
“Isn’t it lovely? Aw, I’m so happy for him. Stevie was starting to turn into the saddest man on the block and it was quite depressing. About time he went for it,” Nicola said, washing her hands at the sink.
You hummed in agreement and took out your phone, sending a text to Steven. Proud of you mate. Ignore what those arsehole papers say, ur the cutest couple in europe!!
“Alright, gonna go drop Mia off at school, my dear,” Nicola said, grabbing her keys.
“Doesn’t she have her own car?”
“Mhm, but one thing you forgot when you bought your daughter a brand new convertible, love—she’s quite the laziest teenager in England. So she still has her mum drop her off. Whatever, as long as she never thinks she’s too cool for me, I’m fine with it,” Nicola kissed you on the cheek.
“Bye, love you,” you called after her.
Stevie and Xabi. Fucking finally.
~*~
“So when are you two coming back here?” Pepe asked, grabbing your phone from your hands.
“Jesus, Pepe, give it back, I was talking to them!” you tried to grab for it and he stood up, holding it as far above your head as he could. “You’re not even gonna hear their answer, you twat!”
“Language, Jamie Carragher,” Pepe warned, wagging a finger at you.
“Oh shut up,” you said, still trying to reach for your phone. “Just fuckin’ put it on speaker already.”
“Yes, alright alright, be civilized now, Carra,” he said, making it a point to say it loudly. “You don’t have to beg, I know you miss Stevie and Xabi so dearly, no need to cry now,” he snickered behind his hands.
“Arse,” you muttered. “So when are you two coming back, anyhow?” you said back into the phone.
“Whenever you two finish acting like children, I suppose,” Xabi mused.
“Oi, Xabs, I didn’t know you wanted to stay in Spain forever!” Stevie said in a mock-incredulous tone.
“Ha bloody ha,” you retorted.
“Really, though, Carra and I are lonely without you. Our four-person bed is so cold with just the two of us, and he is no good at cuddling, let me tell you,” Pepe whined.
“Yeah, please, I think I might actually lose my mind if I have to spend another night drinking alone with Pepe.”
“Tonto de culo,” Pepe retorted. “You’re lucky to have me. I am a prize, the jewels, el diamante de España!”
“Jesus, will you two stop bickering? It’s like talking to an old married couple. Except the accents make it worse,” Stevie said.
“Anyways, we are coming back in a few days. Jon’s coming with us, too, but Ane is staying with Nagore and her husband,” Xabi explained.
“Aww, I’m going to miss that little one,” Pepe said.
“Oh, believe me, Xabi knows,” Stevie answered for him. “He really wanted her to come with us.”
“Si, but I realize it’s best that she stays here, you know, for school and all. We will visit her often, right Stevie?”
“Yeah, ‘course.”
Pepe made a ridiculous aww’ing sound and Stevie cut him off. “So how’s my daughter doing? Mia keeping her busy?”
“Yeah, she’s a right social butterfly, has barely been home since you’ve left,” you said.
“I leave for a week and you can’t even watch my daughter?” Stevie demanded.
“Relax, mate, she’s fine! Now just get back over here so your daughter will stop making passes at James. I know he’s quite fit, but it’s getting just ridiculous.”
“Jamie, that’s your son! Don’t be gross.”
“Yeah, whatever. You should see the looks she’s giving him. It’s like she wants to wear his skin to her birthday party.”
Then Stevie made a grossed-out noise, Xabi laughed, and Pepe hung up the phone. “You’re a weird one, cabrón. Definitely weird.”
~*~
A few months later, Xabi was fed up of simply going to the same pub on the Mersey and watching you drink until you slurred Crocodile Rock loud enough to put the Kop to shame.
He suggested game night every once and a while, to bring some “culture” to your living room. It was usually at your house, since it was the biggest and Nicola was the most willing to cook for three or four families of hungry retired footballers.
Of course, Stevie agreed with every word out of Xabi’s mouth, so there was no stopping this game night business with both of them on board. Xabi invited Pepe and Yoyo and their entire gang that seemed to be multiplying every year, as well as Daniel and Sofie and their kids, plus you and Nicola and Mia (James was at uni), Stevie, Xabi, Jon, and Lexie.
You had no idea if he was expecting this to go well, but you were fairly certain it wouldn’t.
Everyone arrived and, as predicted, it was a huge multicultural mess. Yolanda cooked heaps of Spanish food in addition to the four shepherd’s pies Nicola made; Daniel brought a case of Dutch lager and you pretended like you didn’t see Jon and Lexie steal a few from the cooler.
After a whole lot of confusion, children running around everywhere, teenagers refusing to play “old people games” with the adults, Pepe and Yolanda sneaking off somewhere together, you getting increasingly tipsy, Xabi laid down the law.
“Okay. We are going to play Scrabble like civilized adults. Jamie, you stop drinking right now, because you and Nicola are going to play.” Xabi said, you merely snorted in response. Yeah right.
“Lexie, Jon, Mia, you three are playing. Since Pepe and Yoyo are missing in action, lord even knows what they’re doing, I guess they’re out. Daniel and Sofie, you’re playing too.” Xabi looked like he was going to pull his hair out.
“Relax, love, we’re all having a great time,” Stevie said, putting his arms around Xabi’s shoulders. Xabi’s muscles loosened a bit, and he leaned back against Stevie.
“Hey, we’d love to play, but our kids are young ones still and their bedtimes are coming up. Plus, a drunk Carra is a sight no one likes to see; don’t wanna expose my children to that too soon,” Daniel said, standing up. You flipped him off lazily.
Sofie herded up all of her children. “Thanks for a lovely night,” she said to Nicola. “You guys have fun, now!”
“Let’s play Scrabble, yeah?” Stevie suggested, and Nic went to go find your ancient set from deep within a closet.
You marveled at Stevie. First off, Stevie was no fuckin’ wordsmith. You would’ve guessed Scrabble to be in his top five least favorite things to do, ever. But Xabi was the complete opposite, of course. He knew more words in English than you and Stevie put together, he loved carefully constructing and translating his sentences like a goddamn poet.
Secondly, Stevie hated doing things that he didn’t want to do. Absolutely hated it. Even with Alex, if he didn’t want to go to a party that she wanted to go to, if he didn’t want to drive the girls to dance class, if he didn’t want to go see a film, there was no way he was gonna do it.
And yet, here he was, drawing letters to see who’ll go first in fuckin’ Scrabble. Amazing, innit?
Xabi managed to convince all three teenagers to play just one game of Scrabble. And who could say no to that lovely ginger bearded face?
“Come on, lad, there’s no way I could do this sober and I'm five beers past that. Nic and me can be a team!!” you petitioned to Xabi, who apparently transformed into the game master for the night.
“Okay, all right, just because it’d be embarrassing to let you play by yourself,” he grinned, sitting on the floor next to Stevie.
“Yessss,” you cheered, ignoring the fact that he insulted you while granting you partnership. Nicola set the board up on your huge square coffee table; Stevie and Xabi sat on one side, Lexie and Mia on another side, you sprawled out on the opposite side with Nicola half-in your lap, and Jon on the last end.
Xabi went first, putting down a beautiful six-letter word and earning protests of “unfair!” from yours and Stevie’s daughters. The game went around the opposite way, ending with Stevie, and one other thing you learned about them from the evening was that they were both massive cheaters.
They spent majority of the game whispering and peeking over each other’s shoulders like schoolgirls, mostly just Xabi helping Stevie make stupidly long words. They spread their legs out under the coffee table, messily tangled in between them, and giggled at dumb things.
“Dad, you can’t just give Stevie the words, you cheater,” Jon protested, taking a swig of his beer.
“Hey, it’s not cheating! I can speak three languages, and he only has one. I have to take pity on him, Jon,” Xabi said.
“Oi, I’m perfectly capable of coming up with my own words, you language supremacist!” Stevie said, nudging Xabi away from his letters.
“Alright, if you say so,” Xabi said, leaning back.
After a full three minutes of silence and no moves on Stevie’s part, he smiled sheepishly at Xabi. “I just prefer to have you help me, love,” he cooed.
Xabi laughed heartily and shushed the “ughs” from Mia and Lexie. He took Stevie’s hand and whispered something in his ear and Stevie put down a stupid word worth 43 points. Ugh.
Nicola was a genius and you don’t even know how she ended up with you of all people because she was actually rivaling Xabi. You took to just playing with her hair while she thought of a word instead of playing the actual game, but she didn’t mind.
Lexie, Mia, and Jon were bored out of their minds and sort of gave up the game without actually leaving, putting down little shit words like “sun” or “rat” when it was their turn and talking in between. You watched your daughter moon over Jon Alonso (yeah, he was a good-looking young lad, sure) and hang onto every word he said in his slight Basque accent.
Stevie rested his head on Xabi’s shoulder while Xabi was deep in thought on his turn. You thought it was kind of cute, you know, you knew Stevie got a bit more affectionate when he was tipsy. At the post-game bar crawl, you could see how he wanted to just go up to Xabi and dance with him and kiss his wrists and get all touchy with him, but obviously he never could. Now, he was so inhibition-less, he could do whatever he wanted and be damn happy about it, too.
At the end of the game, Xabi ended up winning, of course, followed closely by Nicola, then Stevie, and then the kids in some sort of random order.
“See, wasn’t this better than the usual drunken escapades, Jamie?” Xabi said, putting his arm around your shoulder.
“Eh, I rather prefer getting black out pissed and singing karaoke, but if this is some weird thing of yours, I guess it’s all right.”
“Good game, Nicola,” Xabi said, half-bowing to her like a stupid classy gentleman.
“As to you, good sir,” she said, curtsying right back. Xabi laughed and pulled her in for a hug.
“I think we should go, Xabs, our kids might actually be drunk and this is not something I’m prepared to deal with,” Stevie said, pointing at Lexie’s ridiculous fit of giggles and Jon twirling Mia around and around on an imaginary dance floor.
Xabi’s brow furrowed at the sight and he nodded. “Thanks for having us over, Carraghers,” Stevie said, patting you on the back.
Xabi herded Jon and Lexie out the front door and waved. “Also, you should probably check your bedrooms for Pepe and Yoyo. Otherwise you are going to be surprised when they show up at your table expecting breakfast tomorrow.”
You and Nicola exchanged a look and watched Xabi and Stevie leave. Xabi leaned over and pressed a kiss to Stevie’s cheek as they were walking across the lawn, then Nicola closed the door. “I’ll take the right wing,” she offered. “If you find ‘em, just let ‘em sleep. I need some practice making scrambled eggs anyways.”
~*~
It was your anniversary. You and Nicola were celebrating twenty incredible years of being married (though you remember being moony-eyed over her since grade three). You invited most of your close friends and their families, your former teammates, friends from school, friends from the Academy.
You came up behind Nicola and put your hands on her waist. She was beautiful tonight (she was always beautiful, every night). Sometimes, you just marveled at how incredibly lucky you were—you married the love of your life and your best friend, you had two fantastic kids, you had played for the greatest football team in the EPL, and now you lived comfortably in the best city on earth.
You thanked your lucky stars that this was how your life turned out to be. You could’ve been working at some factory in the countryside, bringing home slightly more than nothing (but possibly still married to Nicola?). But look at you now. Everyone in England knew your name, Jamie Carragher, #23.
You watched two of your other nationally known friends from faraway, glad that they could finally be as happy as you, even though it took them a while.
Stevie and Xabi were sitting on the couch on your back porch, their legs pressed hip to knee against each other. They were taking a break from your little party, just sitting and chatting with each other. You watched Stevie lean in and whisper something in Xabi’s ear, Xabi putting his hand on Stevie’s leg and laughing at whatever he had said. It was an intimate moment, and you felt like you were intruding just by watching. You smiled and looked away.
~*~
Pepe nearly tackled you when he came in. “Jamie!!!” he said, seeming to be excited like 97% of the time. “Twenty years, wow, I guess that means I can’t steal Nicola from you, no?” He twirled your wife around and she laughed.
“Not that I would want her, because this lovely lady is all I need,” he kissed Yolanda’s cheek and she swatted him away.
“Lo siento, Nicola, congratulations to you both!” Yolanda kissed Nicola on both cheeks and gave you a hug.
“Thanks, Yoyo, twenty years has never felt so short,” you said wrapping your arm around Nic’s waist.
“Aww,” she said with a grin. “Now go have yourselves a great time!” she shooed Pepe off and he went bouncing around to someone else.
~*~
Xabi was sitting by the fire pit and talking to Lexie. You couldn’t hear them but you could see him telling a story, using his hands and gesturing wildly, Stevie’s teenage daughter following along with a smile on her face. She asked questions, pointing to different parts of whatever elaborate and imaginary diagram Xabi had set up in the air in front of them. Knowing Xabi, he was probably explaining the plot of The Hound of the Baskervilles or something like that.
Stevie was over in the grassy area, kicking the football around with James and Mia. Your daughter had loved football as soon as she set foot on the Kop, and who were you to say that she couldn’t love your favorite thing in the world? “Oi, Daniel!” Stevie called, gesturing for him to come over. “Mia, why don’t you have the new captain of Liverpool show you a few moves, yeah?” Agger ran over and clapped Stevie on the back. “Let’s see what you got, little missy,” Daniel said, passing Mia the ball.
She was good, even in her dress and ballet flats, she was fast and fierce, too—you taught her how to tackle and she was already an expert. Stevie tried to steal the ball from her, but she innocently stuck her foot out and he fell over. James rushed over and helped him up, and Mia just laughed.
You walked over to them. “Mia, what did I tell ya about tripping Uncle Stevie? You know he’s old and his brittle bones can’t take that anymore, love. You could’ve dislocated his hip, y’know,” but you gave her a high five behind your back anyways and Stevie gave you a dirty look.
“You’re raising a vicious one, Carra,” he said, getting up and brushing off his jeans. He pointed an accusing finger at her. “That would’ve gotten you a red, little lady. Red for Mia Carragher of Liverpool FC, she brings shame on her team and her whole country!” Mia stuck her tongue out at him and he ruffled her hair playfully.
“Uncle Stevie, where’s Jon?” Mia asked him.
James rolled his eyes. “She will not shut up about that kid. I come home from uni and she’s all after me to go strike it up with Jon Alonso. I swear to God, Jon’s so hot! He’s so rugged! He’s so foreign! He could talk to me in, like, Spanish!”
Stevie stifled a laugh, which came out sounding more like a snort. “Xabi! Get over here!” he called over. Xabi and Lexie got up and walked over to the grassy area.
“Where’s your son, mate? Mia here’s got quite the crush on him,” you said. Your daughter looked mildly…no, absolutely mortified.
“Dad! Stop!” she said, blushing a deep red.
Xabi grinned and only looked slightly embarrassed.
“Ugh, you like Jon? He’s such a twat, honestly, I don’t even get it,” Lexie scoffed. Stevie laughed even harder. “Hi, James,” Lexie said, batting her eyelashes at your son.
“Lex, language,” Stevie warned, but you knew he didn’t mean it in the slightest. “And stay away from that boy,” Stevie pointed to James. James threw you a glare. This was turning into some weird BBC 2 love triangle shit in front of your eyes.
“Uh, I think my son is inside or something. But I am not so sure he’d want to be pounced on or called a twat, as Lexie put it…” Xabi said, frowning.
“Mia, let me tell you all the reasons you should let go of your dearest Jon Alonso,” Lexie began. “First of all, he’s a total slob. I don’t even know who he learned it from because Xabi is a clean freak, but Jon leaves his dirty trainers and socks everywhere, don’t let his elegant face and accent deceive you. That Basque accent gets everyone, just look at Xabi and my dad,” Lexie walked off with Mia, who was looking at Lexie like she was insane.
Xabi threw up his hands in defeat and confusion.
“Don’t worry, love, Lexie just adores Jon,” Stevie said with a chuckle, patting Xabi on the back. “He’s the light of her young life.”
“Sounds like it,” you said, walking alongside Stevie.
“Pinches gringos,” Xabi said, giving you and Stevie a pouting look. “My son is excellent. You are just jealous.”
“I’m gonna grab another beer. Xabi, you want one? Carra?” Stevie offered. Xabi nodded, you shook your head.
You put your arm around Xabi’s shoulder as soon as Stevie jogged inside. “So, how’s living here again been, mate?”
Xabi smiled warmly. “It’s been wonderful. I missed this place, you know? Is funny, I love Madrid and I love Spain, of course. Donosti will always be my home. But you learn that you have two homes. You have the place where you were born, where you grew up and where your family is. And you have the place where the people you love most are, the place you learned to love. And that is even more special because no one is forcing you to call it home, but there is no other name for it. It is your, ah, home away from home?”
You nodded and your heart warmed slightly. The people you love most—you inferred that was Stevie and Lexie and Jon.
Xabi continued. “Liverpool is…I have so many memories here, the best memories of my life. It feels so good again, to be back in this country.” Xabi’s eyes softened. “My life would be very different without the people here. These people make me so much happier than I could have thought, you know?”
(You know. He wasn’t really talking about everyone in Liverpool. Just one person in particular.)
You didn’t push him for more; you just smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “And we love you right back, Xabs.”
Stevie came bounding back up with a beer in hand. He handed it to Xabi. “What are you two gossiping about now?” he asked, taking a swig.
You looked at Xabi. “Not much,” you both agreed. (He gave you a knowing smile.)
~*~
“Jamie, love? Can you grab some more ice from the freezer?” Nicola whispered in your ear, gesturing to the empty bucket on the table. You nodded and kissed her cheek, grabbing the bucket and heading for the kitchen.
You poured some ice from the freezer drawer into the bucket and set it on the counter. You were about to walk outside when you heard a low chuckle, the (uh) sexy kind.
You peeked around the doorway carefully, not wanting to interrupt whatever was going on. Xabi and Stevie were standing near your living room, kissing. Stevie had Xabi pressed against the doorjamb and was kissing him in a slow, relaxed fashion, his hands curled at the bottom of Xabi’s back. Xabi was hanging onto Stevie’s belt loops.
You felt weird about watching them. But you also felt so enraptured by what you saw. You had seen Stevie kiss loads of girls, but this was different from all of them. Aside from the fact that Xabi was, well, not a girl, this was just more…loving.
They looked content, bashful even. It was sweet. It was a brief respite from the party, a quick stolen moment away from everyone else. They were kissing each other’s lips and faces, ducking their heads to nuzzle at each other’s necks, murmuring snippets of conversation in voices too quiet for you to hear, smiling and laughing softly.
You felt a bit weird for watching them, like some sort of creepy voyeur. You turned around and headed back for the kitchen, letting them make out in the hall like teenagers or whatever.
~*~
“Carra,” Stevie said, patting you on the back. “Great party, mate. You’re a right classy bastard now, you know that? I remember when you were still wanking in the Academy bathrooms, lad. Now look at you, you’ve got kids and a wife and a house! How’d ya manage that one?”
You shook your head at him, could still get smashed and he was going on 43. I think this is the first party where Stevie’s been drunk and I haven’t, you mused. Ha ha.
“Still need a few fashion tips, though, Carra,” you heard Xabi say from behind you. He glanced at your horrendous bright red tie and long-sleeved checkered shirt. “This,” he gestured at your whole ensemble, “is not really working.”
“Where’s Jon and Lexie?” you asked both of them.
Stevie’s brow furrowed and he made a weird face of confusion and how the fuck should I know?
Xabi rolled his eyes. “They left a while ago, cabrón.” He hit Stevie on the shoulder playfully. “Can’t even keep track of your own daughter, Dios.”
Xabi walked out the front door, unlocking his car and grumbling about how he was a much better parent than Stevie and Lexie’s going to run off one of these days and he won’t even know it until he sees it on the evening news and then Alex is going to come murder him and then what am I going to do?
“See you later, Carra,” Stevie said, making his way to follow Xabi.
You caught him by the shoulder just before he left. “Stevie,” you said, waiting for him to turn around and look you fully in the eyes. “You didn’t settle, mate.”
Stevie looked at you a little curiously for a moment, his eyes surprisingly and fleetingly clear. “He’s a good one,” you clarified, nodding over to Xabi.
“The best,” Stevie said with a grin larger than the moon. “Wanna know a secret, lad?” Stevie pulled you in by your collar, not hard enough to hurt. He mock-whispered in your ear, “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“He’s the best thing that I’ve got, except Lexie and Lilly, and of course, you, Carra baby.” He slapped your face lightly and gave you a big sloppy kiss on the cheek.
You shoved him out the door. “Get outta here, you drunk bastard.”
~*~