Become A Football Legend-Chapter 261: Familia (2)

Roger was sitting upright against the headboard, one leg bent, one arm resting on his knee. He wasn’t in his Cantona jersey anymore. Just a plain white t-shirt. But he was fully awake.

Waiting.

His expression wasn’t angry. Not exactly.

It was tired.

"You’re back," he said quietly.

Jane turned slowly to face him. The light caught her face fully now. If he looked closely, he would see it—the slight puffiness around her eyes, the careful reapplication of mascara that hadn’t quite masked the redness.

"Yes," she answered, setting her heels down on the dresser. "Traffic was bad."

Roger didn’t respond to that.

He glanced at the clock on the wall.

"It’s nearly midnight."

Jane swallowed, keeping her voice steady. "I needed some air."

Roger studied her for a long moment.

"You went back," he said.

It wasn’t a question.

Jane didn’t answer immediately.

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.

"I just..." She inhaled softly. "I had something to take care of."

Roger’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"With who?"

The room felt smaller suddenly.

Jane looked down for a second before meeting his eyes again.

"I saw someone."

Roger’s gaze sharpened.

"At the stadium?"

She nodded once.

He shifted forward slightly on the bed. "Who?"

Jane’s throat felt dry.

"Michael."

The name sat in the air between them.

Roger’s expression changed—not shock, not fully anger—but something deeper. Something wounded.

"You mean Javi," he said flatly.

Jane didn’t correct him.

"Yes."

Silence again.

Roger let out a slow breath through his nose.

"So that’s why you rushed us out of the car."

Jane didn’t reply.

"And that’s why you were smiling," he continued quietly. "Not because of the goal."

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and for a second something fragile flickered across her face.

"It wasn’t like that."

Roger gave a short, humorless huff. "Then what was it like?"

Jane’s shoulders dropped slightly, exhaustion catching up with her.

"I just needed to speak to him."

"After seventeen years?"

The words weren’t shouted. They were worse than that. Calm. Controlled.

Jane blinked.

"I didn’t plan it."

Roger swung his legs off the bed and stood up slowly.

"You didn’t plan to call him a month ago either?"

Jane’s breath caught.

He had known.

"You went outside to take that call," Roger continued. "I heard you say his name."

The lamp light cast long shadows across the walls.

Jane pressed her lips together.

"I wasn’t trying to hide it," she said quietly.

Roger stared at her.

"You just weren’t trying very hard to explain it."

Jane’s composure wavered for a split second.

"I needed to see him."

"For closure?" Roger asked.

"For my son."

The word hung there.

Roger’s expression hardened.

"You signed those papers."

"I know."

"You walked away."

"I know."

"You built a life here."

Her voice trembled slightly now. "I know."

Roger shook his head, pacing once across the small space near the foot of the bed.

"And now?" he asked. "Now he’s famous. Now he’s on every screen. Now he scores a hattrick at Old Trafford and suddenly you remember you’re a mother?"

The accusation hit harder because it wasn’t shouted.

Jane flinched.

"It’s not because he’s famous."

"Then why now?"

She hesitated.

Because she had seen his face up close.

Because she had seen her own eyes looking back at her from a stadium screen.

Because she had heard him say they were going to win, and he had.

Because she had heard a stranger say, when you realize you’ve made a mistake, you fix it before it becomes bigger.

But none of that sounded strong enough when spoken aloud.

"I can’t keep pretending he doesn’t exist," she whispered.

Roger stopped pacing.

"And what about Lexi?" he asked quietly.

Jane looked up sharply.

"What about her?"

"You think this won’t affect her?" Roger’s voice remained controlled, but there was steel in it now. "You think she won’t connect dots?"

Jane’s heart dropped slightly.

Lexi’s voice echoed faintly in her memory.

Mom, you and him kinda look alike when you smile.

Jane turned away slightly, as if that memory alone could burn her.

"I’m not trying to blow up our lives," she said softly.

Roger studied her for a long moment.

"Then what are you trying to do?"

Jane didn’t have an answer that fit neatly into one sentence.

She stood there in the yellow lamplight, shoulders slightly slumped, the weight of seventeen years pressing down on her.

"I just... don’t want to run anymore," she finally said.

Roger’s expression softened—but only slightly.

"And if he doesn’t want to see you?" he asked.

Jane’s lips parted, then closed again.

"That’s his right."

"And if Javi files something?" Roger added. "A restraining order. He looked like the type tonight."

A faint, sad smile flickered across her face.

"He would."

Roger watched her closely.

"You still love him?"

Jane didn’t answer that.

Not directly.

She looked at the floor, then at the bed, then finally back at Roger.

"That’s not the point," she said quietly.

But the way she said it told him enough.

The silence stretched.

Finally, Roger exhaled and sat back down on the edge of the bed.

"You’re playing with fire," he said.

Jane nodded.

"I know."

He rubbed a hand over his face.

"Just don’t let it burn this family."

Jane stood there for a long moment before walking toward the bathroom.

At the door, she paused.

"I won’t," she said softly.

Then she disappeared inside, closing the door gently behind her.

The lamp remained on.

And Roger sat there alone, staring at nothing, the echoes of the stadium still ringing in his head.

He remained sitting on the edge of the bed long after the bathroom light flicked off.

The flat was dark again. Quiet. Just the distant hum of London through double-glazed windows.

"So this day really has come."

He had dreaded it from the moment Jane came back into his life sixteen years ago. Not because he didn’t love her. He did. But because she had returned with a past that wasn’t fully buried—just carefully folded away.

Back then, she had told him only what she could bear to say. There had been a child. She had signed everything away. The father had taken him. That Chapter was closed.

Roger had chosen not to pry.

And eventually, life filled in the gaps.

Until Lexi entered their life, and everything shifted into something warm and busy and forward-moving. School mornings. Football shirts drying over radiators. Family dinners. The past shrank into something abstract. Something distant.

He never followed German football.

He never searched for the boy.

He lived in London. The Bundesliga wasn’t part of his world.

It was pure chance that he was in Frankfurt that afternoon months ago.

A last-minute work trip. A reshuffled meeting schedule. Lexi convincing him to take her to a stadium because some teenage prodigy was making noise online. They were already in Germany. It was harmless.

So they went.

He hadn’t known the name meant anything.

Lukas Brandt.

It was just a name.

Until the first time the camera zoomed in on him during warm-ups.

Roger had felt it before he understood it.

The familiarity.

Not exact. Not identical.

But something in the face. The eyes especially. The shape of the smile when he tried to suppress it. The way he carried his shoulders.

He had stared at the screen a little too long.

Then his head had started turning.

Dates.

Ages.

Timelines.

Sixteen.

Released from an academy. Raised by his father. No public mention of a mother beyond "not in the picture."

Roger hadn’t said anything that night.

But curiosity had followed him back to the hotel.

And he started digging.