July 16, 2016
London, 7:42 a.m.
.
room was the slow beep of her heart monitor.
Barbara sat upright in the hospital bed, already in the gown, IV port taped to her hand. Her legs were tucked under a thin blanket, stiff from over-washing.
Tristan and Anita were both in the room with her, he by her side, she leaning against the wall. The conversation had stayed in Hungarian since they walked in. Anita’s English wasn’t strong yet, and Tristan’s Hungarian was close to perfect.
He was glad Anita had come. Her parents were stuck up north on the farm, unable to make it in time. His own mum and dad were still an hour or two out, caught in the same traffic-laced chaos that came with morning trains and post-Euro celebrations.
So it was just them for now.
“I swear,” Barbara muttered in Hungarian, eyeing the nurse prepping the stretcher nearby, “if one more person touches me with cold hands, I’m filing a lawsuit.”
Tristan didn’t respond. He shifted his weight, took a step closer, then knelt by the bed. His eyes dropped to her hand, pale beneath the tape. Without a word, he gently adjusted the blanket that had slipped from her legs.
Barbara noticed. “You okay over there, Captain?” she asked softly.
“Could ask you the same,” he murmured.
“I’m fine,” she said, too fast. “It’s just laparoscopic. Three tiny holes. I’ll be back to bossing you around in no time.”
Anita crossed her arms. “You said the same thing before you got your wisdom teeth out. Then passed out in the elevator.”
Barbara turned toward her. “Why are you even here?”
“Because Mum and Dad are freaking out and stuck on the farm,” Anita shot back. “And because you’re my little sister. Where else would I be?”
Barbara rolled her eyes. “Bet you just came to steal my yogurt from the hospital tray.”
Anita smirked. “You think they give you yogurt? They’re about to gut you like a fish.”
“Three tiny holes,” Barbara said flatly. “It’s barely surgery. It’s interior decorating.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Do I want to know what part they’re redecorating?”
“You don’t,” both sisters said at once.
That actually made Barbara laugh. She tilted her head against the pillow and gave Tristan a tired smile.
“You’ll be here when I wake up, right?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The knock was soft.
A nurse stepped in, cheerful but careful. “Good morning. Time to head down. Should take around two hours, maybe a little less. You’ll be back before lunchtime.”
Barbara let out a breath and looked between them. “Okay, then.”
Anita walked over and gave her a quick hug, then flicked her forehead on the way back.
“Stop being dramatic,” she said. “You’re going to be fine.”
Barbara made a face. “Says the woman who fainted when she got a flu shot.”
Tristan bent and kissed her knuckles. “You’ve got this.”
She nodded once, eyes holding his.
The nurse unlocked the wheels and adjusted the brakes. “Ready?”
Barbara inhaled through her nose, exhaled slow. “Ready.”
They watched as the bed rolled out.
The door clicked shut behind her.
For a moment, the room felt too still.
Then Tristan stood. “Come on,” he said, voice quiet. “Let’s wait outside.”
.
The hallway felt colder than the room had.
They walked without speaking, side by side, until they reached the waiting area. Plastic chairs. A coffee machine humming in the corner. A TV mounted high with the volume muted, morning news captions crawling along the bottom.
They sat.
A minute passed.
Then two.
Anita broke first. “The parade was insane,” she said, still in Hungarian. “Dad hasn’t stopped talking about it.”
Tristan glanced over.
“He keeps replaying the video of you lifting the trophy,” she continued. “Telling the neighbors, ‘That’s going to be my son‑in‑law one day.’”
That pulled a real laugh out of him. “Did he now?”
“Every five minutes,” Anita said. “He’s proud like he scored the four goals himself.”
Tristan shook his head, still smiling but the image didn’t quite sit right. Every time he’d been around Barbara’s parents, they were serious. Stiff, almost. Not cold, just… formal. Reserved. Always asking polite questions. Never raising their voices. Never doing anything like shouting at a TV while calling him their future son-in-law.
And yet, picturing her father, stoic, stone-faced István grinning at a screen and bragging to neighbors? It felt oddly warm.
Tristan didn’t know if he believed in signs. But that one felt like a good one.
“I was zoned out for the entire day,” he said. “But I’m glad someone enjoyed it.”
Anita nodded, then tilted her head at him. “Are you going to marry my sister?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah.”
Anita blinked. “Yeah?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he said simply. “I’m just waiting a year or two before I propose.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You already planned this?”
“Of course,” he said. “You think I do anything without planning for your sister?”
She studied him for a second, then gave a small, satisfied nod. “Okay. Good. Be honest with me.”
He waited.
“When she first told us her symptoms… did you think she was pregnant?”
Tristan exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. I did.”
“Me too,” Anita admitted. “I was convinced. I was already thinking about names.”
A faint smile touched his face. “Same.”
She sighed. “Turns out… not that.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But at least they caught it. That’s what matters.”
Anita nodded again, then added, “Not gonna lie, though… I was a little sad I wasn’t going to be an aunt.”
Tristan chuckled quietly.
“I can only imagine how pretty that kid would’ve been,” she went on. “And probably annoyingly nice too.”
“That’s optimistic,” he said. “Kid might’ve been a menace.”
She laughed. “With your face and her attitude? Definitely.”
A beat passed. Then Anita looked at him sideways.
“Tell me something, Mr. Romance.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You know another guy like you? One who learns another language just to say he loves his girl? Does everything you do?”
Tristan leaned back a little, feigning deep thought. But in truth, the question wasn’t that hard.
He did know someone.
Anita hadn’t dated anyone in a while, he knew that from Barbara. And one of his best mates, a good guy, was in the same boat. A quiet one, thoughtful, and someone Tristan could actually imagine her clicking with… if they figured out the religion part.
That part might get tricky. But Tristan didn’t think love should lose to that. Not if it was real. Not if it was deep enough to make people change.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know one.”
Her eyes narrowed, curious. “Oh yeah?”
“I can give you his number or something,” Tristan said, deadpan. “But he’s shy. Don’t text or call him. You’ll have to meet him in a group or something.”
Anita blinked. Then grinned. “Alright, give it to me. I’ll be nice.”
Tristan smiled back, but in the back of his mind, something flickered.
What if that actually worked?
.
Thirty Minutes Later
Anita had gone to call her parents ten minutes ago, promising she wouldn’t be long.
Tristan sat alone now, elbows on his knees, phone untouched in his pocket. He didn’t want to scroll. Didn’t want to see photos from the parade or old match clips or some fan account arguing about the next England manager.
He stared at the muted television overhead, an endless loop of news headlines and weather updates. 22°C in London. Slight showers expected later. It felt like the most irrelevant thing in the world.
His phone buzzed. He almost didn’t check.
But it was Sofia.
He answered. “Hey.”
There was a beat of static, then her voice came through, soft but steady. “How is she?”
Tristan leaned back, ran a hand over his jaw. “Still in surgery. They said two hours. It’s only been one.”
“Right,” Sofia said. A pause. “Well… I won’t keep you long. Just wanted to let you know, Liverpool’s done. Everything on their end is finalized.”
His brow lifted slightly. “Everything?”
“Everything,” she confirmed. “Contract is finally finalized. Image rights agreed. Bonus structure settled. Everything is finally done to the point that Mendes has no complaints.”
Tristan blinked. “Seriously?”
“I know,” she said. “I nearly fainted.”
That pulled a small smile out of him.
“And Leicester?”
“All handled,” Sofia said. “Rudkin’s just waiting for your call. Leicester and Liverpool will honor whatever timeline you want for the announcement.
Tristan exhaled through his nose. “So now we wait on me.”
“Basically.”
Another pause. Then her voice softened again. “There’s no rush. Barbara comes first. Just keep me updated when you're ready. We’ll set the whole thing in motion.”
“I will.”
“Alright,” she said. “That’s all. Tell Barbara I said good luck. And I see her soon.”
Tristan smiled faintly. “She’ll love that.” He said before ending the call.
It was done.
The next chapter of his life was ready.
.
Just got back from work like 3 hours ago and it's currently 1:11 am so I do apologize for the short chapter.