I went straight back home after practice no saying anything to the guys.
The door clicked shut behind me.
No one answered when I called out — no "I'm watching TV, come eat," no warm scent from the kitchen. Nothing.
Just me.
I dropped my boots and bag by the staircase and kicked them to the side. The house was quiet — too quiet. The kind of silence that didn't sit right after a long, sweaty practice.
I grabbed a bottle of water and headed upstairs. My room looked the same as always — football posters, barely made bed, a desk cluttered with stuff I never used. It felt… empty. Stale. Not the room, really — "me"
I flopped on the bed. Pulled out my phone. Scrolled. Pointless memes. Old group chats. A message from my cousin in Wembley I ignored. Nothing new. No buzz, no life.
The boredom got under my skin, mixing with the leftover adrenaline and heat from practice. I peeled off my shirt, tossed it somewhere. Just wanted to "feel something", maybe not be so painfully alone for a second.
One tap led to another. It wasn't planned , just the only escape I had. The screen lit up. I let my body do what it wanted. Just put on some adult stuff. I felt Numb. Thoughtless.
It was how I knew I was spiraling , not sad, not angry… just empty.
But then
BZZZZ—BZZZZZ—BZZZZZZZ
My phone buzzed violently in my hand. Unknown number.
"Middlesex Hospital" flashed across the screen.
My hand stopped. My breath caught.
I sat up straight, wiping my face with the back of my arm, heart already thudding fast.
"Hello?" I answered, voice raw.
"Is this Noah Charles?"
"Y-Yeah. Who is this?"
"I'm calling from Middlesex Hospital. You were registered as next of kin. Patients named Joseph and Magdeline Charles were involved in a serious collision on the M4 motorway. We need you to come in as soon as possible."
I stared forward. I couldn't process the words.
"Wait, what…? Are they okay?"
The voice on the other end took a beat.
"They're stable. That's all I can confirm at this time. Can you come now?"
I didn't even realize I'd stood up. My body moved on its own.
"Yeah. I'm coming. I'll be there."
I threw on the nearest hoodie, stuffed my phone in my pocket. Shoes on, keys in hand, everything still blurred.
It didn't feel real. A part of me thought I was still in bed. Still scrolling. Still wasting time.
But I wasn't.
I stepped out into the night. Cool air slapped my face, grounding me in the moment. Streetlights flickered. Cars passed. The world kept spinning like nothing had changed — but mine had.
Whatever happened before today , Sam, Laura, the betrayal, even the goal, none of it mattered now.
Not when your world could be taken away "just like that".
-------------------------------------------------------------
The bus ride to Middlesex Hospital was a blur. I didn't even check the stops — just stared at my reflection in the window, barely blinking.
The glass looked steadier than I felt.
When I arrived, the fluorescent lights of the hospital lobby pierced through me. Everything smelled like antiseptic and distant sadness. A nurse at reception recognized my name, her voice soft and rehearsed.
"They're in trauma recovery. This way."
She led me through hallways I didn't want to walk. Past curtained bays, quiet sobs, and machines that beeped like tired heartbeats.
And then we stopped.
Room 207.
Through the window, I saw them — my mama and dad, lying in two separate beds, both hooked up to IVs and surrounded by machines.
Mama's face was bruised, cuts stitched carefully along her forehead and cheeks. Dad looked worse — body stiff, head tilted slightly. Tubes in his nose. A neck brace. Wires like vines connecting him to blinking monitors. I couldn't breathe for a second.
"You're Noah, right?"
I turned. A doctor in scrubs stood beside me, eyes heavy, clipboard in hand.
"Yes."
"We managed to stabilize both of them. They lost a lot of blood — especially your father. The accident was… severe. From what we've gathered, a lorry swerved unexpectedly and hit their car on the driver's side. Your dad took the full force."
I clenched my jaw.
"And now?" I asked.
The doctor exhaled through his nose.
"Your father's spinal cord was damaged. He's likely paralyzed from the waist down. We're still evaluating. Your mother has multiple fractured ribs, some facial trauma, but no internal bleeding. They're both unconscious, but stable for now."
I nodded slowly, holding in every tear that was trying to break out. I wouldn't cry here. Not yet.
"Will… will they make it?"
"We're doing everything we can. They've got strong vitals. And don't worry — they're both covered under the NHS. All costs are taken care of."
"Thank you," I whispered, almost forgetting how to speak.
The doctor gave me a look — not pity, but respect — and then stepped away.
I stood by their beds for a while, just watching. Watching their chests rise and fall. Watching the machines keep them alive. Watching their faces, once so full of life, reduced to quiet stillness.
I pulled a chair between them and sat down. The room was cool and dim, the only sound was the faint hiss of oxygen and distant footsteps in the hall.
Time slowed.
I didn't move. Didn't even unlock my phone. I just sat. My parents — the people who raised me, cooked for me, laughed with me, shouted at me to wake up for school — were lying still, and I couldn't do anything. Not one thing.
At some point, a nurse peeked in.
"Sweetheart, you should try to rest. You look like you haven't slept in days."
I blinked. How long had I been there?
"They're not awake," she continued, gently. "And they won't be for a while. You can lie down on the bench just outside, or I can get you a pillow here if you'd rather stay."
I looked back at Mama. Then at Dad.
Their faces looked peaceful in a terrifying way — the kind of peace that makes you beg for noise, for shouting, even for nagging.
I nodded. "Just… ten minutes," I murmured.
"That's all you need sometimes," she smiled softly.
She handed me a folded blanket and walked out quietly.
I stayed a bit longer, just in case either of them opened their eyes. Just in case this nightmare shifted back into something normal.
But it didn't.