This Can't Be Real

Chapter 1

Despite the pounding pain in my head, I force myself to open my eyes. They open slowly but I can't keep them open for a long period of time. My eyes close back over and with a deep, calming breath, I open them enough so I'm able to squint and take in my surroundings.

The walls are a soft cream colour and with the natural sunlight streaming through the windows, the room looks big. As I scan the room, barley moving my head as I do so, I'm quick to discover that the room isn't actually as big as I thought. It's just a trick of the light.

In fact, it's a hospital room. There's vases of different flowers placed by the window and on the small storage cabinet near the side of the bed. They're beautiful but at the same time, expensive.

I take note of the cards that surround the vases. I can't make out what they say as the writing is too small, but one catches my eye with it's large bold text.

'Get Well Soon'

I stare at the card, my eyes opening completely and staying that way.

Why would I need to get well soon? There's nothing wrong with me. At least, I hope there's not. I don't know why I'm in a hospital room, lying in a hospital bed, and receiving cards from people wishing me well.

Actually, I know nothing. Why do I suddenly not remember anything? 

Just as I ask myself that question over and over again in my head, the wooden door of the room opens. I hold my breath as I watch the door open and try to move my body up the bed a bit. I stop when a pain shoots through me, all my movements stilling. From my little burst of movement, I suddenly feel weak and it's like all of my energy has left me.

I really don't know what's wrong with me.

The door opens fully and my eyes widen at the sight of the tall blonde haired male standing there.

No. It . . . it can't be.

I'm dreaming. It's all a dream. Joe Hart isn't really here and it's all a dream.

He steps further into the room, dressed casually in a pair of dark wash jeans and a white t-shirt with a pair of white trainers to top the look off. When his eyes fall on me, a smile grows on his face and the door closes quickly.

"You're awake," he voices happily. Obviously. He steps round the bed and takes a seat in the chair next to it at my left side. He reaches his hands out and they clasp round my left one. I can feel a coolness of something within the heat from his hold but I push that thought to the back of my mind. I just want to know what he's doing here, holding my hand like there's something between us when there isn't. "Every time I'm called by the nurse to say that you're awake, by the time I get here you're asleep again. How are you feeling?"

I don't say a thing. I just stare at him. I don't think I can say anything to describe the fact that there's a footballer in my room. Sitting next to me. Speaking to me as if we know each other. This is obviously some kind of a joke. This has to be a joke.

"I know that's a stupid question." He looks down at the floor and shakes his head at his stupidity for asking me how I'm feeling. He looks back up at me and smiles on  small sigh. "I just can't help it. It's just so good to finally see you awake. The past two weeks have been torture for me."

My gaze drops from his happy face and down to my hand that he's holding. His hold isn't too tight, it's just right. I spot the platinum wedding band that's bound round his ring finger on his left hand and narrow my eyes at it.

That can't be a wedding band. Since when did he get married? I didn't know this!

"Leigh, baby, are you okay? Is this some kind of side effect from the medication they've given you? Are you mad at me or has something else happened?" He asks quickly, his brows knitting closer and closer together with every word he speaks.

"What on earth are you talking about? What medication? I haven't taken anything!" I defend just as quickly as he accused me of taking something. "Why am I here?" I pull my hand free from his and move myself away from him. I don't go far or I'd be falling out the bed but it's far enough if it means I'm away from him. "What are you doing here?"

Joe sits back away from me and holds his hands up in surrender. "Leigh, baby, I'm not going to hurt you."

"Stop calling me that!" I scream.

"Just tell me what's wrong. I know this isn't good for you or the baby, so just tell me what's wrong."

"There's nothing wrong with me! It's you who has something wrong with them! I don't know you and I want you to stop acting like I should. Yes, I know of you but that's all. There's nothing else to it. I know this is a sick joke and I want you to stop it."

"I can assure you that none of this is some sick joke. You were in a car accident two weeks ago and it was the same time that you found out that you were pregnant again. Our son is going to have a sibling."

A car accident? Son? Sibling? Okay, this is a good one but none of it is true! I must be dreaming and any second now, I'm going to wake up and this will all have been a dream. A dream many female's will wish to be true, no doubt.

"I don't have a car so I can't have been in a car accident. I also don't have a son and I sure as hell ain't pregnant. I don't know whose contacted you regarding playing a joke on me, but you can cut it out now. I'm on to you and the ones who are making all of this up and I would like to inform you that it is now done. You can go back to the limelight you're in and forget all about this sick joke."

He frowns. "Leigh, how can you say that all of this is a sick joke? I would never lie to you. I love you too much to do that." He stops briefly to take a breath. "You said you wanted another child," he whispers sadly.

"Explain to me why I would even consider getting together with a footballer? All of you are just the same. You get into a good relationship with a girl and when you get bored, you go and sleep around. It's how they all are."

My words may sound hurtful but at this moment in time, I couldn't care less. I'm done with this whole thing and have grown tired of it, too.

"You have no idea what you're saying." He snaps out of his sad state and his voice has a crisp edge to it that I can tell is defensive. "I have never cheated on you since we got together five years ago. Our son was born four years ago and we've been married for two. I have loved you then and I love you now. I will always love you and I know you feel the same about me." He makes a move to reach out for my hand again but I pull it from his reach so he can't hold it. His hand drops to the bed and he shakes his head. "What is wrong with you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me! Now, if you don't get out of my room right now, I will call for security to come and remove you from the room." He stays quiet, calling my bluff, and just sits back in the chair with his arms folding over his chest. "Fine. Be that way but let me tell you this, I will figure all of this out and if you are telling the truth about me being pregnant with your kid, I will not hesitate in getting rid of it."

My words finally spark a reaction from him. He rises to his feet and glares down at me with anger clouding over his green eyes.

"Don't say that. I know you've never get rid of our child out of spite. You're acting as if you don't love me!" He snaps.

"That's because I don't! I don't love you and never have. Don't get me wrong, you're a good footballer, but that's as far as it goes." I take a moment to steady my breathing and thoughts before I look back to him. "I would like you to go now."

A few long and silent moments pass before he does finally leave. When he reaches the room door, he gives me one final look that's filled with pain and heartache. Neither of us say a word and he leaves.