Football singularity-Chapter 675 Chat
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[11/12/2020 | Hahnwald Estate, Cologne | 16:42]
The terrace doors were open despite the cold, and the winter air slipped in quietly, carrying the faint smell of pine and wet stone. Rakim stepped out barefoot, towel slung around his neck, shoulders loose from the light recovery session he’d just finished. Nothing heavy—mobility work, band resistance, a short spin on the bike.
His body still hummed from the last few games as his exhaustion caught up to him after the Madrid clash. But it wasn’t too bad after undergoing two days of recovery sessions exactly how the physios wanted it. He’d have more time to rest since he wouldn’t play in the Hoffenheim game in two days.
May was already there. She sat sideways on one of the outdoor loungers, legs tucked beneath her, a glass of water balanced between her hands. She looked casually elegant, in her cream knit sweater, dark jeans, hair tied back loosely, a few peach-blond strands escaping around her face. Her green eyes lifted at the sound of him.
"You’re late," she said, glancing at her watch with exaggerated seriousness.
Rakim checked the empty wrist where his watch should’ve been. "I finished early."
"You said forty minutes."
"And I did forty-five," he replied easily, dropping into the chair beside her. "That’s basically early."
She leaned over and flicked his shoulder. "That’s not how time works."
He smiled, wide and familiar, the kind that only ever showed up around her. "It is if you’re black Superman time."
She rolled her eyes. "God help the rest of the world, then."
They sat like that for a moment in comfortable silence. The city beyond the trees felt distant, muffled. Wrapping them in their own personal bubble, giving them the peace to be themselves. "You showered?" she asked.
"Five minutes ago."
"Good," she said, standing. "Because if you tried to get in my car sweaty—"
"Your car?" he repeated, amused.
She walked past him toward the house. "I said what I said."
~~~
[18:25 | Hahnwald Estate Garage]
The garage door rose with a quiet hum, revealing Rakim’s babies. The mint-green i8 sat to the left, and the silver Lamborghini Sián FKP 37 gleamed under the overhead lights beside it. The BMW looked like a puppy next to it, its silver-white paint shifting between metallic shades depending on the angle. Only 63 were made worldwide, and his Dad had acquired number 22 through connections.
May appeared beside him, now wearing a long black coat over her outfit. "Really? The spaceship?"
"It’s a special night," Rakim said, opening the scissor door with theatrical flair.
"We’re going to dinner, not the Met Gala."
"Same difference." He gestured for her to get in. "Besides, when else am I supposed to drive it? It just sits here looking pretty."
May slid into the passenger seat, the low-slung position making her feel like she was sitting on the ground. "Fair enough, it’s not like you can stay incognito even if you tried."
"Perks and burden of the job igues." Rakim settled into the driver’s seat, the V12 hybrid engine coming to life with a deep, rumbling growl that echoed through the garage as its eyes lit up. "Ready?"
The Sián rolled out into the December evening, its LED headlights cutting through the gathering darkness. The roads were quiet; most people were already home for dinner. Rakim navigated the residential streets carefully, the car’s low profile demanding attention to every bump and dip.
Once they reached the main road toward the city centre, he opened it up slightly. The acceleration was brutal—0 to 100 in 2.8 seconds—but he kept it civilised, the engine purring rather than roaring. "So," May said, adjusting the heated seat, "have you thought about Christmas?"
Rakim glanced at her briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "What about it?"
"Well, we have that week off between the 23rd and the 28th. Are we going back to Orlando? Staying here? I need to know if I’m booking flights or staying put."
He was quiet for a moment, hands steady on the wheel as they passed through Lindenthal. The Christmas markets were already up, their lights twinkling in the early evening. "I was thinking of staying here this year. It’d be fun to host, but speaking of which, you plan on visiting your family this Christmas?"
A short silence ensued following his question, but he didn’t rush her for an answer. "Not sure?" she said, biting the bottom of he lip, deep in thought. "I definitely want to go see my brother, not sure about Dad. Visiting him in prison isn’t exactly Christmassy."
"You still haven’t talked to him, it’s almost half a year now, May" He paused. "Never mind, you’ll talk when you’re ready?"
May nodded lightly. "He’s been trying to reach out, but he hurt me, you know. All that talk about my future, and he empties the fund my mother made for it"
Rakim smiled lightly, knowing how much she struggled to talk about this topic, even though she had overcome most of the backlash that came with her father’s actions. "I know, but end of the day, he is still your father, you don’t have to let him back in, but try to find a way to forgive him for your own sake before these feelings eat you alive?"
They lapsed into comfortable silence following his words, the city lights reflecting off the Sián’s polished surfaces. Christmas songs drifted from the stereo—May had connected his phone, letting a curated playlist fill the cabin. After a while, Rakim spoke up again, noticeably slowing down to a comfortable cruise.
"I was thinking," Rakim said as they crossed the Hohenzollern Bridge, the Rhine flowing dark and steady below, "maybe I should meet my biological father this Christmas."
May turned to look at him, surprised they had met the man who had helped them when they were hospitalised during COVID. They had kept in touch here and there in the past months, but the relationship was strained. Having to deal with her own problems, she hadn’t really noticed much, but she could tell that her man was conflicted over the relationship. "You Sure?"
"I think it’s time, can’t stay in limbo forever," he replied, looking serious as if he had made up his mind in that moment.
---
[19:55 | Ristorante Verdi, Altstadt]
The restaurant was tucked away on a quiet street in Cologne’s old town, far from the tourist traps and Christmas market crowds. Ristorante Verdi was the kind of place you got to know when you lived in the city long enough, Michelin-recommended but not starred, which kept it exclusive without being pretentious.
Rakim pulled the Sián up to the curb, and a valet immediately appeared, his eyes widening slightly at the car. "Good evening, Mr Rex. We’ll take good care of her."
"Thanks, Marco." Rakim had been here enough times that the staff knew him by name. He handed over the keys with a fifty euro tip, then walked around to open May’s door, offering his hand.
She took it, stepping out gracefully. "You know, you’re insufferably charming when you want to be."
"Only when I want to be?"
"The rest of the time you’re just insufferable."
Inside, the restaurant was warm and intimate—soft lighting, exposed brick walls, tables spaced far enough apart for private conversation. The maître d’ greeted them with a professional smile. "Mr Rex, Ms Parker, your table is ready."
They were led to a corner booth in the back, semi-private, shielded from the rest of the dining room by a decorative screen. Perfect for avoiding attention while still enjoying the atmosphere. Rakim pulled out a chair for her before settling in the seat across from her.
The waiter appeared with menus and water. "Good evening. Can I start you with some wine? Perhaps the 2016 Barolo?"
"Just water for me," Rakim said. "You, babe?"
"Sparkling water, please."
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To Be Continued...
