Chapter 21
Niko
I wrap the photo frame holding the baby’s ultrasound picture and tuck it into the box.
As soon as I saw the frame in a shop window, I ducked in to purchase it.
It’s a soft green color and decorated with hand-painted honeybees and wildflowers.
It reminded me of Bianca and I wonder if she looks at our baby’s image every morning and night like I do.
After I mail the gift, I head to the stadium for a workout.
“There he is,” Stavros greets me as I walk into the locker room.
“How are you, man?” I smack hands with him, pulling him into a half hug.
“Good. I should be asking you that.”
“I’m fine,” I admit. After Stavros covered for me, I nearly blew shit up with my team. Coach was furious, team management issued a fine, and my teammates stonewalled me for a few weeks.
But now that I know Bianca and I are in a good place, I’ve been able to focus on my game.
And I’ve been contributing to the team on and off the field.
I scored five goals in the last two games, had two solid assists, and have been adding in extra workouts.
I know my efforts aren’t going unnoticed and my performance on the field has lessened some of the anxieties my skipping practice stirred.
“Glad to hear it.” Stavros gives my hand a little shake before releasing it. He lowers his tone. “How are things in Spain?”
“Good,” I reply. “She’s doing well. I’m going to fly out for the next ultrasound. I’ve already cleared the date.”
Stavros nods. “Excellent, man. Hang in there.”
I nod as we head toward the gym.
Then, I pop in my AirPods and lock in. Work has been a wonderful distraction from Bianca and her pregnancy. The more time I spend at the stadium, the faster it seems to pass.
“We can’t name the baby Lucas,” Bianca says that night on FaceTime.
“Why not?”
“It’s too similar to Luca.”
“Don’t you think your brother would be honored?”
“Probably, but that’s not the point. Besides, we don’t know if it’s a boy,” Bianca points out.
“I have girl names too.”
She quirks an eyebrow. “Let’s hear them.”
“Athena.”
“The Goddess of War?”
“It’s a beautiful name.”
“Keep going…”
“Calliope.”
“Very Greek of you.”
I snort. “Ivy.”
“Ivy?” Bianca repeats. “Where did that come from?”
“She’s going to be born in April, the fourth month of the year. IV is the Roman numeral…” I trail off.
Bianca stares at me.
“What? Dumb?” I ask.
“No.” She shakes her head. “Not at all. You’ve put a lot of…thought into this.”
“Well, it is our baby’s name.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “I just…thank you, Niko. I got your gift and…it meant a lot. I like the frame.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I like Ivy. And Pietro,” she says, changing my suggestion of Peter to the Italian version.
I nod. “Me too.”
“Good,” Bianca breathes. Yawns.
“Tired?”
“Very.”
“I won’t keep you then.” I sit up straighter on my couch, noting the dark circles under her eyes. “Get some rest, Honeybee.”
A soft smile touches her lips. “Talk tomorrow?”
“Of course. Good night.”
“Night, Niko.” She disconnects the call.
Sighing, I lean back on my couch and stare out the window into the darkness of the city. I wish I could call Ellie or my sister up to grab a beer or catch a movie. But, save for Stavros, there’s no one in this city to call.
I haven’t clicked the way I expected. The team isn’t a version of a found family the way I assumed. In fact, the more time I spend in Germany, the more I miss Chicago, Bianca, and the life I could have with her and our baby.
“You’d hate this weather,” I speak into my phone as I send Bianca a morning voice note. “It’s raining. Again. I hope it’s sunny, all blue skies, by you. Eat something more than toast this morning, Honeybee. I’ll call you later.” I send the voice note, knowing that Bianca is still sleeping.
Then, I grab my hoodie and keys, shoulder my practice bag, and head to the stadium.
I turn my head off and commit to the sessions—the workouts, the team meetings, the meal prep.
For the first time in my life, soccer isn’t at the forefront of every thought and the strangest thing is, I’m excelling at it.
I’m playing the best I’ve ever played. I’m starting for my club, gaining a fanbase, and receiving more endorsement deals through my agent, Callie. And sure, I’m happy about it.
But not ecstatic.
Instead, thoughts of Bianca and the baby are on a constant loop in the back of my mind.
I miss her, them, and hate that I’m missing out on aspects of this experience.
Of watching my baby grow in her belly. Of being on hand to run to an ice cream shop or buy chocolate for a late-night craving.
Of being present the way my baba was for my mom and me.
When I score a goal, I glance up into the crowds, wondering if they’re watching and cheering for me in Spain.
When I sign a new deal, relief over contributing to the baby’s college fund rolls through me.
When I sign jerseys for fans, I grin at the excited expressions of the little kids wondering if my baby will be a soccer fan.
Or football. Or gymnastics. Or music or chess or reading… the possibilities are endless.
The days begin to run into one another as I move through the motions of my career, almost relieved for the distraction to lose myself in, and count down the days to Bianca’s twenty-week ultrasound.
My nerves ratchet up as the day looms closer.
Will everything be okay with the baby? Will the relationship between Bianca and me still be easygoing and natural?
Will we spend time with her family? Should I invite her to Germany to be part of my life here?
Or Chicago to meet my parents? Can she even fly that far?
“One more week,” I send her a voice note the week before her appointment.
“I legit have a bump,” she sends a voice note back. A moment later, a photo comes through of Bianca standing to the side in front of her wardrobe. Her belly has the cutest swell.
“Jesus,” I murmur, enlarging the photo. “You really do,” I voice note back. “You look adorable.”
“I look like my pants don’t fit,” she replies.
“Buy new pants,” I suggest.
She sends me a text with three laughing emojis. Then, “Marlowe and Carla are taking me shopping this week. Abuela has decided, it’s time. I’m going to buy some maternity clothes.” A vomit face emoji follows.
“I’ll take you next week, too,” I offer, wondering if that was too forward a suggestion after I send the voice note.
Will she want to shop with me? Is she loving her pregnant body or feeling insecure about it?
Sometimes, Bianca is tough to read, which is at odds with her “take it at face value” personality.
“Really?” she asks, giggling.
“Really,” I say seriously.
“I might take you up on that.”
“I hope you do, Honeybee.” I send the voice note, slip my phone into my pocket, and move through my morning ritual. I need to be at the stadium within the hour to meet the team before we bus to our away game in Freiburg. Next weekend, we fly to Hamburg before I head to Spain.
Once I collapse into my seat on the bus, I pull out my AirPods, listen to a playlist, and resume reading the parenting guidebook I downloaded. Aunt Thea sent me a list of recommended reading and this was at the top of her list.
As I learn about baby-led weaning and what the hell a swaddle is, I look out the window and remind myself that in one week, I’ll be flying to Spain. To Valencia. To Bianca and our little honeybee.
“You really are the Greek God of Goals!” a fan hollers at me as the team files onto the bus in Hamburg.
A few guys on my team snicker and Stavros smacks me on the back. “He’s not even from Greece!” he hollers at the fan over his shoulder.
The guys on my team laugh harder, amusement etched in their expressions.
I roll my eyes and take the teasing. If I’m being honest, it feels good to get razzed by my teammates. Anything to prove that on some level, we are a squad, even if it’s at my expense.
“You guys wish you had a nickname like mine,” I retort.
Stavros shakes his head and drops into the seat beside mine on the bus. “It’s some nickname,” he mutters. “But you did good today, Karas.”
I dip my head in thanks.
“Heading right to Spain?” he asks, lowering his voice.
“Yeah. I can’t wait,” I admit.
“This is the big ultrasound, isn’t it?”
“Twenty weeks,” I say. “It’s the full anatomy scan. We find out the sex of the baby.” I fight my grin.
Stavros smiles and shakes his head. “Honestly, man? You’re handling this better than any man I’ve ever known in your position.
I’m not talking about the married guys or dudes in committed relationships.
But every man I’ve known in your spot, having a baby with a woman he’s not even with, has fucking panicked. You’re too damn calm. It’s unnerving.”
I shrug. “Bianca’s special.”
He groans and shakes his head. “Don’t go falling in love with your baby mama, Karas. You don’t want to have a messy breakup and make shit complicated when you have to raise a kid together.”
While I understand his point, I can’t imagine a reality where Bianca and I aren’t putting our baby first. We’re both committed to this child, to this situation, regardless of whatever does, or doesn’t, happen between us.
“I just can’t wait to get to Valencia,” I say instead.
When we arrive at the airport, the team is quickly ushered to our chartered flight. I take a window seat and relax, relieved that Bianca arranged for an evening appointment with the OBGYN so I won’t miss it.
Pulling out my phone, I send Bianca a quick text.
Niko
Taking off now.
I hit send.
Niko
Can’t wait to see you
Before I can send that message, my phone powers down. “Shit,” I mutter, looking around. “Does anyone have a phone charger I can borrow?”
“Hang tight, Karas,” Gus says. He digs through his bag and passes back his charger.
“Thanks.” I plug in the charger, but when I move to connect it to my phone, it doesn’t fit. Damn, I close my eyes. It’s not the charger I need.
I’m about to holler out another request when the intercom crackles.
“Good afternoon, this is your captain from the flight deck. I’m sorry to share that our crew has identified a minor hydraulic issue. We will need to deplane while the issue is resolved. I’ll provide an update as soon as possible.”
A groan ripples through the plane as my teammates sigh and shake their heads. Coach has his phone pressed to his ear, his German clipped and rapid.
I press at the screen of my phone, knowing it’s no use. The phone is dead and I don’t know Bianca’s number by heart to text her from someone else’s phone.
“Damn,” I say to no one.
Stavros turns around from the seat in front of me. Leaning over the backrest of his chair, he has a grim expression on his face. He waves his phone at me. “Karas, what time is your flight to Valenica?”
I groan, my momentary relief long gone. If this issue takes more than an hour, I’ll most likely miss the flight. “Four thirty p.m.”
“Shit.” Stavros hands me his phone.
On the screen, I note the news update. “Hundreds of flights across Germany, Netherlands, France, and Spain cancelled as French air traffic control strikes.” My stomach sinks as I groan. “I’m not going to fucking make it if my flight is cancelled.”
“It’s always France,” Jorgen sighs, tossing me a sympathetic look.
“Okay, listen up,” Coach says, standing in the center of the aisle. “We’re grounded for the time being. Let’s deplane and stick together until we have updates. In the meantime, phones off. No social media updates. The last thing we need is paparazzi tracking our new flight route.”
The team powers down their phones and I toss my dead cell into my backpack. Dread settles in my chest as I follow my teammates off the plane.
In the airport, angry travelers abound, adding company to my growing misery.
Team management keeps our team together, moving us to a private lounge to wait for updates about our charter. But not before I hear staff weighing in on the strike in France.
“All connecting airspace is closed. France has completely shut down.”
“We might reroute over Switzerland, but clearance could take hours.”
“The delays and disruptions are going to be endless.”
“Sorry, Karas,” Stavros offers as we enter the lounge.
“Me too.” Wanting space, I grab a bottle of water and sit in a corner chair, staring out the large windows that showcase grounded aircrafts.
Bianca’s going to think I didn’t show. She’s going to think I don’t care. She’s going to be hurt.
And the fact that this situation is completely out of my hands isn’t going to matter. Not when she’s just starting to trust me.
Not when we’re finally making progress.