Chapter 151: Full Circle

November 9, 2014 – Morning After Southampton

The early morning sun streamed through the windows, casting golden streaks across the hardwood floor. The kitchen smelled of fresh coffee, the faint aroma of breakfast still lingering in the air.

Barbara stood at the counter, wrapped in one of Tristan’s oversized hoodies, her bare legs peeking out as she scrolled through her phone with one hand and held a steaming mug in the other. Across from her, Tristan sat at the dining table, lazily pushing around the last bits of his meal, still feeling the weight of yesterday’s match.

Felix, already in his jacket, gave them both a knowing look as he wiped his hands on a dish towel. “I’m heading out. You two good?”

Barbara glanced up, offering a small, appreciative smile. “Yep! Thanks, Felix.”

Tristan lifted his mug in acknowledgment, still too sluggish to move much. “Yeah, we’ve got it from here.”

Felix took a slow look around the kitchen, his gaze settling on the state of the living room—blankets draped over the couch, a hoodie abandoned on the armrest, and a laundry pile in the corner that looked one misstep away from collapsing.

"Try not to burn the house down," he said, amused, slipping his arms through his coat.

Barbara let out a small sigh. "That was one time."

Felix chuckled as he stepped toward the door. "Sure. See you two later."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the house in silence.

For a few moments, neither of them moved.

Barbara took another sip of her coffee before lowering her mug, her eyes sweeping over the absolute disaster zone that had somehow become their home.

“Oh… my God.”

Tristan barely looked up from his plate, still half-asleep. “What?”

Barbara gestured at the mess. “We let this get bad.”

Tristan finally took a proper look around, eyes trailing over the scattered clothes and the general chaos.

“…Yeah.”

Barbara exhaled, resting a hand on her hip. “We should’ve bought a smaller house.”

Tristan leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. “You were the one who wanted a big closet.”

Barbara shot him a look. “And you were the one who bought the house.”

“Because you liked it.”

She opened her mouth to argue—then paused, realizing he had her there. Her eyes narrowed.

“…Damn it.”

Tristan grinned. “Checkmate.”

Barbara groaned, rubbing her temples. “Fine. But you’re doing the laundry.”

Tristan turned toward the ever-growing pile of clothes in the corner. He let out a deep sigh, rubbing his forehead as if he’d just been given the toughest challenge of his career.

“I’ve made a huge mistake.”

Barbara laughed, walking past him toward the cleaning supplies. "Welcome to adulthood, Hale."

Tristan dragged himself up from his chair, still shooting longing glances at the couch. “I was better off in my academy dorm.”

Barbara turned, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? You wanna go back to bunk beds and communal showers?”

Tristan froze, a visible shudder running through him.

“Alright,” he said quickly. “I’ll shut up now.”

Barbara grinned, pulling out the vacuum. “Good choice.”

Tristan watched as she untangled the cord, then muttered, “I still don’t get why we don’t just hire someone to do this.”

Barbara paused, giving him a knowing look.

They had talked about it before—having staff to handle cleaning, laundry, and other small tasks. With all the money they had, it would’ve been easy.

But it didn’t feel right.

Barbara came from a farming background—she had spent her childhood waking up at the crack of dawn, milking cows, feeding animals, and picking crops. Even after years in the fashion industry, that part of her never faded.

Tristan, on the other hand, had grown up in a strict but loving middle-class household, where his parents never let them get away with slacking. His mother made sure their home was spotless, and his father believed that no matter how successful you became, you took care of your own space.

They already had a private chef. They had more money than they could ever need.

But cleaning their home? That was theirs.

Barbara tossed a shirt into the laundry basket, glancing at him, her expression softening. “We don’t need to be even more spoiled. We already have everything. If we stop doing the little things, what’s left?”

Tristan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped forward, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead before resting his hands lightly on her waist.

“I know.”

Barbara scrolled through her phone, fingers hovering over the playlist. “Alright,” she mused, “we need a proper cleaning soundtrack. Something that makes this feel less like manual labor and more like an 80s montage.”

Tristan, standing beside the mess of laundry they had yet to tackle, gave her a sideways glance. “If you play Eye of the Tiger, I’m walking out.”

Barbara snorted, but a mischievous glint appeared in her eyes as she scrolled further. “Oh, come on. You love a good training montage.”

Tristan crossed his arms. “Not for laundry.”

She grinned as she found the perfect song and hit play. The opening beats of Uptown Funk blasted through the speakers.

Tristan let out a suffering groan. “Of course.”

Barbara ignored him, grabbing the vacuum and dramatically pointing it at him like a mic. “Come on, superstar. Time to earn your keep.”

Tristan rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out. He grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and tossed it at her. 

Barbara dodged it with a twirl, dramatically flipping her hair.

Tristan shook his head, but his feet had already started tapping along to the beat.

As the music carried through the house, they got to work.

Barbara vacuumed, adding an unnecessary little hip wiggle with each movement, making Tristan laugh as he wiped down the coffee table. She turned to him at one point, striking a dramatic pose with the vacuum hose.

“You having fun?” Tristan teased, stacking some of the blankets back into place.

Barbara grinned. “More than you.”

She playfully bumped her hip into him as she passed, earning a dramatic stumble from Tristan.

“Oi,” he said, pretending to glare at her. “You’ll regret that.”

Barbara gasped in mock fear, before darting away to fluff the pillows, laughing as Tristan chased her down.

At one point, she caught him singing under his breath, bobbing his head slightly as he scrubbed down the dining table.

Barbara leaned against the counter, smirking. “Oh my God. Are you actually having fun?”

Tristan scoffed, tossing the rag onto the table. “Don’t make this a thing.”

Barbara grabbed a cup off the counter and slid it into place in the dishwasher. “It’s already a thing.”

Tristan sighed dramatically, but when she spun around, he caught her by the waist and lifted her off the ground for a brief second, spinning her in the air before setting her down.

She squealed, smacking his chest. “Put me down, you brute!”

Tristan grinned down at her. “That’s for making me do housework.”

Barbara shook her head, breathless from laughter. “Yeah, yeah. Now come on, we still have laundry.”

Tristan groaned as she dragged him toward the laundry room, but there was no real protest.

….

The low hum of the washing machines filled the small laundry room, a steady backdrop as Tristan rummaged through the basket of clean clothes. He pulled out a fresh t-shirt and a pair of plaid shorts, shaking the wrinkles out before slipping the shirt over his head.

“Might as well get comfortable if we’re doing this,” he muttered, swapping his pants for the checkered shorts.

Barbara, leaning lazily against the counter, took a slow sip of water, watching the scene unfold with amusement.

“Comfy now, grandpa?” she teased, raising an eyebrow at his fashion choice.

Tristan snorted, hopping onto the washing machine with all the ease of a man who had fully embraced his domestic life. He settled in, arms crossed over his chest, one foot swinging lazily off the edge.

“I look good,” he declared, completely unbothered.

Barbara rolled her eyes, pushing off the counter before suddenly stopping in front of him. With zero warning, she struck a dramatic pose, flexing her arms and showing off the toned definition in her biceps.

"Yeah, yeah—but do you see these?" she challenged, switching to an exaggerated bodybuilder stance, flexing one arm and then the other. “All natural. No supplements. Just farm girl strength.”

Tristan raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as he inspected her arms with exaggerated scrutiny.

"Oh wow," he said, nodding slowly. "How did I not notice I was dating a heavyweight champion?"

Barbara smirked, pretending to kiss her biceps before flexing again, this time raising one arm like she was about to lift him over her shoulder.

“Face it, babe—I could probably carry you around the house if I wanted to.”

Tristan let out a laugh, shaking his head as he kicked his feet lightly against the washer. “Oh, is that so?”

She nodded smugly, hands on her hips. "You’re lucky I let you be the strong one in this relationship. Just keeping your ego intact."

Tristan hopped off the machine, stepping toward her, eyes glinting with playful challenge.

“Alright, alright—you win, Popeye.”

Barbara grinned, flexing again for good measure before jabbing a playful finger into his stomach. "That’s what I thought."

Tristan caught her hand in a quick motion, tugging her in just close enough that their noses almost brushed. His voice dropped teasingly.

"But since we’re showing off muscles…" he murmured, squeezing her waist lightly, "should I be worried you’ll start bench-pressing me in my sleep?"

Barbara burst out laughing, pushing him back lightly. “Oh, don’t tempt me.”

Tristan chuckled, leaning in to steal a quick kiss before finally letting her go.

"Alright, show-off," he said, stepping back toward the basket of unfolded clothes. "Let’s finish this before you start challenging me to an arm-wrestling match."

Barbara grinned, crossing her arms. “Oh, I’d win that too.”

The laundry was finally done, folded (somewhat), and stacked neatly in their closet. The only thing left? The absolute disaster that was their bed.

Barbara stood at the foot of it, arms crossed, surveying the battlefield of tangled blankets, pillows thrown out of place, and a sheet that was barely clinging to the mattress.

Tristan, meanwhile, was sprawled across said disaster, arms behind his head, watching her with a lazy grin.

"You know," he drawled, "we could just leave it. Gives the place character."

Barbara scoffed. "Yeah, like a crime scene."

Tristan shrugged. "I don’t see the problem."

Barbara shook her head before reaching for the sheets, determined to fix it herself.

Big mistake.

Before she could react, Tristan shot forward, grabbed her waist, and yanked her onto the bed with him.

"Tristan!" she yelped, landing half on top of him, half tangled in the mess of blankets. 

He grinned, pinning her down effortlessly. "You were working too hard."

Barbara huffed, pretending to struggle. "You only win 'cause you’re heavier."

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So now I’m fat?"

She smirked. "Just saying, maybe lay off Felix’s desserts."

Tristan gasped dramatically. "You take that back."

"Make me."

His eyes glinted mischievously. "Oh, you’ve done it now."

With zero hesitation, Tristan hooked his arms around her waist and powerbombed her onto the mattress—not with full force, obviously, but just enough to make her let out a breathless laugh as she bounced against the bed.

"DOWN GOES PALVIN!" Tristan bellowed in his best wrestling announcer voice.

Barbara wheezed. "What is WRONG with you?!"

"Nothing," Tristan replied, rolling onto his knees, hands raised like a victorious champion. "Just the undefeated Champion maintaining his reign."

Barbara was already planning her revenge.

With a burst of speed, she tackled him around the waist, knocking him sideways. Tristan barely had time to react before Barbara threw herself on top of him, trying to pin his arms down.

For a few minutes, it was absolute chaos.

Barbara twisted, trying to lock him in some kind of submission hold. Tristan, stronger but laughing too hard to fully fight back, rolled them both over.

At one point, she managed to wriggle free, leap onto his back, and wrap her arms around his neck in a terrible attempt at a sleeper hold.

"YOU’RE DONE!" she cackled.

Tristan, entirely unimpressed, reached up, grabbed her by the waist, and flipped her over his shoulder—gently, but with enough force to send them both tumbling.

Barbara landed on her back, blinking up at him in shock. "I can’t believe you just did that."

Tristan smirked down at her, hands planted on either side of her head. "Never challenge a man who grew up watching WWE."

Barbara narrowed her eyes. "Fine. No more mercy, then."

She twisted suddenly, locking her legs around his waist and flipping him over with a well-executed leg sweep.

Tristan grunted as his back hit the mattress, blinking up at her. "...Damn. That was kind of impressive."

Barbara grinned triumphantly. "That’s what I thought."

But before she could fully celebrate, Tristan retaliated—grabbing her around the waist and pulling her down with him, flipping them once more.

And then—

His knee clipped her thigh.

Barbara let out a small wince, her breath catching for just a second.

Instantly, Tristan froze.

His playful grin vanished. His hands immediately let go, and he pushed himself up slightly, his green eyes scanning her face with concern.

"Shit—did I hurt you?" His voice was softer now, serious.

Barbara rubbed the spot absentmindedly, still half-laughing. "Nah, you just have bony knees. It’s fine."

She meant it.

It didn’t even cross her mind to be worried.

She had seen him on the field—seen how ruthless he could be. How he fought with everything he had, how unshakable and relentless he was in every duel, every sprint, every battle for the ball.

But here? With her?

That side of him didn’t exist.

Not once had she ever feared him losing control. Not once had the thought of him truly hurting her ever entered her mind.

Because no matter how much they wrestled, no matter how much he teased, no matter how easily he overpowered her when they played around—

Tristan Hale would never hurt her.

That certainty sat in her chest, warm and unwavering.

Still, he didn’t look convinced.

His brows furrowed, guilt flashing across his face. "I didn’t mean to—"

Barbara cut him off, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down into a soft kiss.

"You’re fine, dummy," she murmured against his lips.

Tristan exhaled, finally relaxing again, his forehead dropping against hers.

"You’re sure?" he asked, quieter this time.

Barbara brushed a thumb along his jaw, smiling. "Positive."

A beat of silence. Then—

"Still think I’m fat?" Tristan muttered, lips twitching.

Barbara burst into laughter, shoving Tristan’s face away as she finally caught her breath. "You really think you can just get away with that?"

Tristan grinned, flopping onto his back beside her, arms stretched out like he had no worries in the world. "Technically, I didn’t do anything wrong. It was an accident."

Barbara shot him a pointed look. "Tell that to my leg."

Tristan tilted his head, clearly suppressing a smirk. "Alright, alright—so what do I have to do to make it up to you?"

Barbara pretended to think, tapping her chin. "Hmm… maybe something simple. Like, I don’t know, taking me out on a date."

Tristan let out a mock sigh, rubbing his face. "I knew you were gonna milk this."

Barbara stood up, stretching her arms above her head before shooting him a teasing glance. "Well, you did nearly cripple me, love."

Tristan sat up, resting his elbows on his knees, watching her with amusement. "So that’s how it is? I mess up one move, and suddenly I owe you dinner?"

Barbara arched an eyebrow. "Yep."

Tristan huffed, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. He stood, ruffling his already messy curls before stepping past her.

"Fine. Get ready, then," he said, heading toward the closet. "But only because I’m so thoughtful and not because you guilt-tripped me."

Barbara smirked, watching him disappear inside.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," she murmured under her breath, her smile lingering.

The midday sun hung lazily in the sky, painting the streets of Leicester in soft golden hues. It was the perfect autumn day—not too cold, not too warm—just crisp enough that a light jacket was all that was needed.

Tristan and Barbara strolled through the city center, hands lazily intertwined as they wandered past familiar storefronts, the light hum of traffic and distant chatter filling the air.

They had grabbed food at a cozy café, stopped by a bookstore where Barbara had gotten lost in the travel section, and now they were just walking without any real destination, simply enjoying each other’s company with of course John not too far behind them.

Barbara swung their joined hands slightly, glancing up at him. "You seem relaxed today."

Tristan hummed, his gaze flickering across the familiar streets. "Yeah, it’s nice. Been a while since I just… walked around here."

Barbara tilted her head slightly. "You recognize this area?"

Tristan exhaled through his nose, nodding. "Yeah. Grew up not too far from here. Used to run around these streets with my mates after school, kicking a ball against whatever wall we could find."

Barbara smiled softly. "Bet you thought you were already playing in the Premier League back then."

He let out a quiet chuckle. "You have no idea. I was convinced scouts were watching me dribble around lampposts."

Barbara laughed, nudging him playfully. "And look at you now. Leicester’s golden boy."

Tristan shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Wouldn’t go that far."

As they rounded a corner, the surroundings became even more familiar. The quiet residential street gave way to a modest brick building with large blue gates, the faint sounds of children’s laughter echoing from within.

Tristan’s steps slowed.

Barbara immediately noticed the slight shift in his grip, the way his gaze lingered ahead. She followed his line of sight, her eyes landing on an older man in a tweed coat, chatting casually with a woman near the school entrance.

It didn’t take long for her to put the pieces together.

"Is that—?" she started.

"Yeah," Tristan said, a little amused. "That’s my old school."

Barbara glanced between him and the building, surprised. "You never mentioned it was around here."

Tristan shrugged. "Didn’t really think about it until now."

As if sensing someone watching, the older man near the gate turned. His expression remained neutral for a split second—then, recognition dawned, and his features broke into a smile.

"Well, well," he said, adjusting his glasses as he stepped forward. "Tristan Hale."

Tristan grinned, stepping up to shake his hand. "Mr. Holloway, still holding down the fort?"

The headmaster laughed, the sound warm and familiar. "Trying my best, though it’s a bit quieter without you running around causing trouble."

Barbara raised an eyebrow, looking between them. "Causing trouble, huh?"

Mr. Holloway chuckled, his eyes twinkling with nostalgia. "Oh, don’t let this one fool you. Talented? Absolutely. But if there was a ball nearby, lessons might as well have not existed."

Tristan rubbed the back of his neck, feigning innocence. "It was all part of my education."

The headmaster shook his head with an amused sigh. "So what brings you here?"

"Honestly? Just passing by," Tristan admitted.

Mr. Holloway’s eyes flickered toward the school building before settling back on him. "You know, the kids here never stop talking about you. You’re probably our most famous former student—though I try to remind them that education is just as important as football."

Tristan chuckled. "Good luck with that."

Mr. Holloway smiled knowingly before gesturing toward the school. "Listen, I know you’re busy, but since you’re already here… how about coming inside? Say hello to some of your old teachers? Maybe even surprise the kids?"

"I don’t want to—" he started, but the older man waved a hand dismissively.

"Oh, nonsense," Mr. Holloway interrupted. "It’ll only take a few minutes. The kids would love it."

Barbara squeezed Tristan’s arm gently. "What do you think?"

Tristan exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting toward the schoolyard. The sounds of laughter and chatter carried over the wind, the kind of carefree noise that belonged to kids who didn’t yet know the weight of the world. His head instantly want to Jack.

Finally, he nodded. "Alright. Let’s go."

Mr. Holloway beamed. "Excellent! Follow me."

Barbara grinned, leaning into him slightly as they followed the headmaster toward the entrance.

"This," she murmured, "is going to be adorable."

She could still remember the hospital visit vividly in her head—Tristan playing with the kids. 

The hum of chatter and laughter filled the school corridors as Tristan followed Mr. Holloway through the familiar hallways of St. Andrew’s Primary. It had been years since he last walked these halls, but everything still felt the same—maybe a little smaller than he remembered, but the same nonetheless. The colorful posters on the walls, the faint smell of paper and whiteboard markers, the echoes of running footsteps from kids who were probably ignoring their teachers’ warnings not to sprint indoors.

Barbara trailed beside him, hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, taking in the sight with quiet amusement.

"Surreal, isn’t it?" she murmured.

Tristan huffed a small laugh. "Yeah. Feels like I should be carrying a backpack and worrying about my spelling test."

Mr. Holloway chuckled as they reached the staff room, where a small group of teachers had already gathered, some of them looking up in mild surprise before their eyes widened with recognition.

"Tristan," one of them beamed, stepping forward. "Well, look what the wind blew in!"

Tristan grinned as he shook hands with his old teachers, exchanging greetings and reminiscing briefly about his school days—mostly about how he had spent more time kicking a ball than actually sitting in class.

"Best first touch I’ve ever seen from a six-year-old," his former PE teacher mused, shaking his head. "Couldn’t get you to focus on anything else, though."

Barbara smirked, nudging Tristan. "Some things never change."

After catching up with the teachers, Mr. Holloway led them outside to the schoolyard, where the children were still on their lunch break. The moment Tristan stepped onto the playground, it was like a ripple effect—one kid noticed him, then another, and suddenly, the entire yard was buzzing with excitement.

"IT'S TRISTAN!"

Within seconds, a swarm of kids rushed toward him, their faces alight with awe and excitement. Some clutched footballs, others wore Leicester City shirts with his name printed on the back. A few were too stunned to speak, their eyes just wide as they stared up at him like he had just stepped out of a dream.

Barbara watched the scene unfold, warmth blooming in her chest as Tristan crouched down to greet them, ruffling hair, signing jerseys, and laughing as the kids fired off a barrage of questions.

 "How fast can you run?"
"Can you do skills like Ronaldo?"
"Are you better than Messi?"

Tristan chuckled, shaking his head. "Messi’s the GOAT, lads. But I can hold my own."

The kids erupted into excited chatter, and before he knew it, a football had been kicked toward him.

"Can we play a match?" one of them asked eagerly.

Tristan looked down at the ball at his feet, then up at the hopeful faces surrounding him.

He grinned. "Alright. But only if I get Barbara on my team."

Barbara, who had been enjoying the scene from the sidelines, blinked. "Wait, what?"

Too late. The kids cheered, already organizing themselves into teams as Tristan tossed the ball to the center of the makeshift pitch.

"Come on, cover girl," he teased, nudging her lightly. "Let’s see what you’ve got."

Barbara groaned but couldn’t fight her smile as she stepped onto the pitch.

The match had been a blur of laughter, dramatic goal celebrations, and kids running wildly in every direction. By the end of it, Tristan had let the kids score a few goals while Barbara… well, she tried her best.

Now, as the last of the kids were ushered back to class, Tristan leaned against the school building. God, he felt more tired playing against Southampton than against the kids; he had to be careful not to hurt them or go too hard. Mr. Holloway stood beside him, watching as the students disappeared inside.

"You haven’t changed much," the headmaster mused. "Still happiest with a ball at your feet."

Tristan exhaled, nodding slightly. "Yeah. Some things just stick."

Mr. Holloway folded his arms, glancing at him. "It means a lot that you came today, Tristan. The kids will remember this for a long time."

Tristan nodded, his gaze drifting toward the field. "I know what it’s like to be a kid and look up to someone. Feels good to give them that moment."

There was a brief pause before Tristan spoke again, more serious this time. "Actually… there’s something I wanted to mention."

Mr. Holloway turned toward him, curiosity flickering across his face.

"I’m setting up a charity," Tristan continued. "Still in the early stages, but I want it to focus on a few things—education, youth programs, giving kids better opportunities." He gestured around the school. "Places like this… they matter. If the school ever needs anything, supplies, new equipment, whatever—just let me know."

Mr. Holloway looked at him for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression.

Then, he smiled.

"You were always a good kid, Tristan. A bit of a handful," he added with a chuckle, "but a good kid."

Tristan smiled, shaking his head. "I try."

Mr. Holloway extended his hand, and Tristan shook it firmly. "I’ll hold you to that, son. And if there’s ever anything we can do for you, you know where to find us."

Barbara, who had been watching, smiled as she caught her breath.

 The afternoon sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows over the pavement as Tristan and Barbara left the school gates behind. The lingering sounds of children laughing still echoed faintly in Tristan’s ears.

Barbara looped her arm around his as they walked, her touch light and easy, as if she knew he needed the space to process everything.

“You’re really good with them,” she said after a moment, her voice softer than usual.

Tristan exhaled through his nose, kicking at a stray pebble on the sidewalk. “Yeah?”

Barbara hummed. “Mhm. You looked like you belonged there.”

Tristan huffed out a quiet laugh. “You saying I missed my calling?”

She nudged his side playfully. “Maybe. But it was cute watching them look at you like you hung the stars.”

Tristan shook his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Dunno about that. I think they just like football.”

Barbara smiled, letting the silence stretch between them for a beat before speaking again. “Have you ever thought about kids?”

Tristan glanced at her, eyebrows raising slightly. “Yeah, of course.” His voice was casual, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his expression. “Why’re you asking?”

Barbara shrugged, tilting her head as she gazed ahead. “I don’t know. Maybe because of the hospital visit, and now this. Also, seems like everyone around us keeps bringing it up.”

Tristan let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. “Babe, you’re twenty-one. I’m nineteen. Let’s get married first before thinking about kids.”

Barbara let out a laugh, squeezing his arm. “Obviously! I’m not saying now, I’m just… asking.” Her voice turned a bit more thoughtful. “I guess I was just wondering. How many would you want?”

Tristan looked at her for a moment before his lips quirked slightly. “How many do you want? It’s your body, love.”

Barbara paused, clearly not expecting that answer. She glanced at him, love flickering in her eyes. “I don’t know. Two? Three?” She hesitated. “I guess… enough to make a family without it feeling overwhelming.”

Tristan nodded, considering. “Two or three sounds good. Siblings are nice to have. I liked being an only kid, but it did feel lonely at times.”

Barbara let that sit for a moment before looking up at him. “You’d be a great dad, you know.”

Tristan’s lips twitched slightly, as if unsure how to take the compliment. “Yeah?”

Barbara smiled. “Mhm.”

He exhaled, giving her hand a squeeze. “Well, not rushing it. We’ve got time.”

Barbara laughed. “I know that, babe.”

She prayed to God in that moment. They reached that far with their own family and kids.

Tristan grinned, nudging her slightly. “Alright then. We’ve still got a lot of life to live before we’re chasing around little us.”

Barbara chuckled, resting her head against his arm for a moment as they walked. "Yeah, but it’s fun to think about.”

Tristan didn’t say anything; he just pressed a light kiss to the side of her head as they continued down the street, the weight of their future feeling a little lighter in the warmth of the setting sun.

…………

5015 word count not counting this end section 

Mark has been wanting Tristan to visit his old school for a while now; it’s been sitting collecting dust in the planning document, and I felt like writing something light after like 3 chapters of straight football around 20k words. So hopefully Marks likes this, he’s really been carrying me. To be honest, thank you, buddy. 

Next chapter will be an England game, and after that, a long life of chapter Tristan and Barbara going to the US. 

After that, we shall see where that story, besides that peace. And thank you to the three comments from the last chapter, lmao.