The Quiet One

down

International break was over, and Barcelona greeted me with warm sun and a light breeze that carried the smell of the sea through the open balcony doors. Training that morning had been sharp, fast, and honestly a little brutal, but worth it. The coach let us go early, giving us the whole afternoon to rest.

Which, in my case, meant cleaning the kitchen while Eli sat on the couch eating yoghurt like it was his life mission.

I checked the clock. Arsenal vs. United was about to kick off, and I wasn't missing it. The second the whistle blew, I lay down across the sofa, and Eli instantly abandoned his yoghurt to climb onto my lap, legs sprawled everywhere like a starfish.

Seven minutes in, Leah went down.

Not a normal fall.
Not a slip.
Her knee bent wrong — the kind of wrong that makes your stomach drop.

I sat up so fast Eli bounced. On the screen, Leah screamed, punching the turf, pain ripping through her face in a way I had never seen before.

My chest tightened instantly.

I grabbed my phone, fingers shaking, and messaged her first — then half the bench, then the girls who were out injured and watching from the stands. The ones who always knew the truth before the rest of the world did.

Play continued, but I barely saw it.

Eli poked the screen with his tiny finger and screeched, face scrunching with worry.

"I know, darling." I kissed the top of his head softly as I checked my phone again.

A message buzzed through from one of the Arsenal girls: She's calmed down. They think ACL. Call later.

I exhaled slowly — not relief. Just... accepting the inevitable.

ACLs were never small.

I got up, turning away from the TV, and started to clean again, putting toys in the basket with more force than necessary. Anything to keep my brain from spiralling. Anything to keep Eli's evening normal.

By the time I had his pyjamas out and his night routine ready, I'd checked my phone so many times it was embarrassing.

Eventually, we were both in Eli's room, curled into the big chair with him drinking his bottle on my chest. The room was dim, soft and calm — the opposite of the storm in my head.

Once Eli was settled, I took a breath and tapped Leah's name.

It rang.

Once.
Twice.
Three times—

"Hello," she answered, voice small and heartbreakingly shaky.

"Hey, darling," I whispered. "How are you doing?"

A tired, humourless laugh left her. "Not great. But... okay, I guess. How are you and bubba?"

"Long day," I admitted, "but better now I'm talking to you."

"Good," she said, her breath catching.

Then silence.

A long, heavy silence.

Until I heard it — the quiet sniffling, the soft breaks in her breathing she wouldn't let her teammates hear. She wouldn't let her coaches hear. She wouldn't even let her mum hear.

Only me.

"Why does it have to happen to me?" she sobbed suddenly.

My heart cracked. "I'm sorry, darling. I know it sucks. I wish I could help you."

"I wish you were here," she whispered. "I miss you."

"Hey," I murmured, voice low and sure, "Champions League is in a couple of days. We're in London. What if I come down early? I can contact my old PT from Arsenal, train with him, and stay the week with you."

She let out the tiniest laugh. "I won't be much fun. Surgery incoming. I'll be crippled."

"Just being with you is worth everything," I said. "Are you on your own tonight?"

"No. Mum came down as soon as she heard."

"Good. So listen — I'll talk to my manager in the morning, sort out the details. If I can't come early, I'll definitely be there for your surgery."

"Okay," she whispered. "Thank you. I love you."

"I love you so much. Sleep well. Go to your mum if you need her, okay? We're here to support you."

We said our last soft I love yous and hung up.

By the time I placed my phone down, Eli was sleeping soundly against me, his tiny hand gripping my shirt. I moved him gently into his cot; he giggled sleepily before settling.

I didn't make it to my bed.
I collapsed on the sofa and knocked out instantly.

The next morning, Eli woke me with his usual gentle slap to my cheek, babbling nonsense. We started our day early — breakfast, cartoons, training gear sorted for later.

While Eli smeared porridge across his face and the table, I messaged my manager explaining the plan I'd talked through with Leah.

He responded almost immediately:

I trust you. I'll send training files for your PT. Take the time you need.

Relief washed through me.

I thanked him, opened my laptop, and booked flights for both me and Eli for late that afternoon.

The bags came out next, and I started packing — warm clothes for London, training gear, toys for Eli, and the mental preparation I knew I'd need.

Leah needed me.

And I was going.