The Quiet One

the surgery

The hours before Leah's surgery stretched endlessly, like time had decided to crawl. The hospital room was painfully bright, the walls sterile and too white, and Leah looked impossibly fragile. She tried to mask it — the fear, the panic — but I could see it. I knew her too well. Even behind her brave smirk and sharp, sarcastic jokes, she was terrified.

Amanda sat quietly in the corner, bouncing Eli gently on her knee. She whispered soft, coaxing sounds, keeping him entertained while her eyes flicked toward Leah with a worry that never left. Leah's mum did her best to stay composed, but the tension in the room made even the air feel heavy.

I settled beside Leah, taking her hand in both of mine.

"You don't have to pretend with me," I whispered.

Her eyes met mine, glassy and raw. "For once, I'm really trying not to cry. You'll take the piss."

I chuckled softly, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Not now. Later? Absolutely."

A tiny smile cracked across her face — the kind she only ever gave me when it was just us, a fleeting moment of vulnerability she usually hid.

When the nurses arrived to wheel her away, Eli started fussing, reaching toward her like he sensed something was wrong. Amanda pulled him close, murmuring soothing words, while I pressed a kiss to Leah's forehead.

"I'll be right here when you wake up," I murmured.

"You better be," she whispered, voice breaking ever so slightly.

And then she was gone through the double doors.

Amanda rose, rocking Eli with practiced ease. "Jae, sweetheart, I'm taking him home. You stay here — Leah needs you more right now."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," she said softly, a warm smile on her face. "She'd want you by her side when she wakes up. I'll bring him back in the morning."

I hugged her quickly, pressed a gentle kiss to Eli's head, and then she was gone.

Alone, I paced the too-bright corridor. My heart thudded in my chest, each beat loud and unrelenting. I replayed the moments before her injury, the match, the fall — every second etched sharply into my memory. Hours felt like days.

Finally, the surgeon emerged, a smile breaking across his face. Relief hit me like a physical force.

"Successful reconstruction. Clean tear. She's waking up now."

I nearly cried on the spot.

Leah looked small, almost fragile, in the hospital bed. Pale, exhausted, hair clinging to her forehead in messy strands. But the moment her eyes opened, the first thing she did was search for me.

"You're here..." she murmured.

"Always," I whispered, brushing my fingers along her cheek.

Her hand shook as she reached for mine. I held it gently, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. I could see the pain in the way her jaw clenched, her nose scrunched, shoulders tensed. She didn't need to speak — every shiver, every wince said it all.

Whenever the pain came, her hand found mine. Every single time.

Around 2 a.m., exhaustion and frustration finally broke through.

"I hate this," she whispered, voice cracking. "I hate not being able to walk, to run... or do anything."

"Leah, look at me," I said softly.

Her gaze lifted, tired and red-rimmed.

"You are one of the strongest people I know," I said gently, brushing my fingers over her knee. "And this... it won't break you."

Her lip trembled. "Stay closer?"

I shifted onto the bed carefully, propping myself beside her without disturbing her leg. She rested her head on my shoulder, breathing unevenly until sleep claimed her, and I stayed with her, unmoving, through the night.

By the next afternoon, she was ready to leave. I wheeled her into the warm London sunlight, and she closed her eyes dramatically.

"Finally. Real oxygen."

"You act like you've been locked away for years," I teased.

"Felt like it," she muttered.

Amanda arrived moments later with Eli, who squealed and reached toward Leah immediately. I helped him onto her lap carefully as she kissed the top of his head. He nestled against her chest instantly.

"See? He missed you," I said.

"I missed him too," she whispered, her fingers stroking his soft hair.

The car ride home was quiet, filled with soft music and the hum of the engine. Leah leaned her head against my shoulder, Eli dozing in her lap, and the warmth of that little family cocoon made my chest ache.

At home, I helped her onto the sofa, arranging pillows beneath her legs. She winced but relaxed once everything was settled.

"I hate being this helpless," she muttered.

"I don't mind helping," I said honestly.

Her gaze softened, almost shy, and she murmured, "I know. That's why it means so much."

Our hands brushed lightly, a simple contact that sent warmth flooding through me. She rested her head against mine, silent, letting herself lean into me for the first time without pretending to be okay.

Later, after Amanda finally went to bed and Eli slept in his travel cot, Leah shifted on the sofa.

"Jae?" she said, careful, soft.

"Yeah?"

She looked down at our joined hands, then whispered, "Thank you. For everything. You didn't have to come. You didn't have to stay. You... you always show up for me."

"I always will," I said, my voice steady.

"Why?"

I blinked. "What do you mean, why?"

Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I need to know if it's just because we're... close. Or if it's something else. Because for me, I think it's becoming something else."

My heart stopped. I moved closer, gently lifting her chin so her eyes met mine.

"It's something else," I admitted quietly. "It has been for a while."

Relief washed over her, and she laughed softly, almost a sob. She didn't kiss me — not yet, not with the exhaustion and painkillers. But she rested her forehead against mine, a tender, fleeting contact that said everything.

The next morning, Amanda insisted on caring for Leah and watching Eli.

"You need a break," she said, pressing travel coffee into my hands. "Leah will sleep for hours — go train."

And I needed it. I needed to run, breathe, push through, clear my mind.

At the private training pitch, my old PT, Marcus, greeted me with crossed arms and a teasing grin.

"You're back and didn't tell me?"

"I've been busy," I said, smiling.

He smirked knowingly. "Yeah, I saw the match. And the girl."

My ears burned. "Shut up."

Training was brutal — sprints, shot stopping, crossfire drills — but it cleared my head. My legs ached, my lungs burned, but every muscle reminded me why I loved this.

When Marcus handed me a bottle of water afterwards, he grinned. "Sharper. More focused. Something lit a fire under you."

And I knew exactly what — or rather, who — that something was.