Chapter 45: The Quiet
The morning after the Coppa Italia final, Leo woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains. Rome. The hotel room was quiet. Chloe was still asleep beside him, her breathing soft and even. The trophy sat on the desk—silver, gleaming, real. The double. Champions League and Coppa Italia. He stared at it for a long moment, then turned away.
It was done. The season was over.
He lay back and stared at the ceiling. Eighteen years old. European champion. Coppa Italia winner. And all he wanted was a proper breakfast and a week where no one asked him about football.
Chloe stirred beside him. "You're thinking too loud."
"I'm not making any sound."
"Your brain is." She opened one eye. "What time is it?"
"Almost ten."
"Ten?" She sat up, her hair a chaotic mess. "I never sleep past eight. What have you done to me?"
Leo grinned. "Ruined you."
"Completely." She flopped back onto the pillow. "So. What now?"
"Now? We go back to Milan. You start moving your stuff into my flat. We eat too much pasta. We do nothing for at least a week."
"That sounds perfect."
"It does."
She reached over and took his hand. "I'm proud of you, you know. Not just the trophies. How you've handled everything. The pressure. The attention. You're eighteen and you act like you've been doing this for twenty years."
Leo squeezed her fingers. "I have good people around me."
"Flatterer."
"Always."
---
Milan. Two Days Later.
The flat felt different with Chloe's things in it. Books on the coffee table—novels, journalism anthologies, a worn copy of Things Fall Apart that she'd read three times. A second toothbrush in the bathroom. Her laptop on the kitchen counter, next to his. Small things that made the space feel lived in. Made it feel like home.
She was in the kitchen, attempting to make jollof rice. The smell was incredible, but the mess was catastrophic.
"I followed the recipe," she said, stirring frantically. "I don't know why it's sticking."
"Did you use enough oil?"
"Yes. No. Maybe." She tasted a grain of rice and frowned. "It's crunchy."
Leo walked over and looked at the pot. "That's because it's not cooked yet. Give it time."
"Time. Right. Patience. Not my strong suit."
He wrapped his arms around her from behind. "You flew to Italy for a boy you met in a car park. Patience isn't the issue. Impulse control, maybe."
She laughed and leaned back against him. "Worth it, though."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
They stood like that for a moment, the rice bubbling, the city humming outside the window. Leo closed his eyes and let himself feel it—the quiet, the calm, the absence of pressure. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this.
His phone buzzed. Mendes.
"Don't answer it," Chloe said.
"It could be important."
"It's always important. That's the problem."
Leo kissed the top of her head and picked up the phone. "Jorge."
"Leo. Resting?"
"Trying to."
"Good. You've earned it. I'll be brief." Mendes paused. "England U19s. The European Championship in Norway. Starts late July. They want you."
Leo felt a flutter in his chest. International football. The Three Lions. Even at U19 level, it meant something. "I'm interested."
"I thought you might be. I'll handle the details. Rest first. We talk next week."
The line went dead. Chloe turned from the stove. "What was that?"
"England U19s. European Championship. They want me to play."
She raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"And I think I want to. It's only a few weeks. Norway in July. Then back for pre-season."
Chloe nodded slowly. "You don't have to do everything, Leo. You've already won two trophies this season."
"I know. But international football... it's different. Representing your country. I've never done that."
She walked over and took his hands. "Then do it. But promise me you'll actually rest first. Properly. Not just 'rest' while thinking about football."
He smiled. "I promise."
---
Southampton. One Week Later.
Leo hadn't planned to go back so soon, but his mum had called. "The garden's a mess and I can't reach the top shelves. Also, I miss your face."
So he flew to Southampton, alone, and spent three days doing nothing of consequence. He trimmed hedges. He changed lightbulbs. He sat in the back garden with a cup of tea and watched the clouds. His mum talked about the neighbours, about her book club, about the new bakery that had opened on the high street. She didn't ask about football. She never did.
On the second night, they sat in the living room, the television playing some drama she liked. Leo was half-asleep on the sofa when she spoke.
"Your father would have loved this."
He opened his eyes. "What?"
"Seeing you like this. Not the famous footballer. Just Leo. Fixing things. Drinking tea. Being here." She looked at him, her eyes soft. "He always said the most important thing was to be a good person. The football was extra."
Leo felt his throat tighten. "I miss him. Even though I don't remember him properly."
"You remember enough. The feelings. That's what matters."
He nodded. They sat in silence for a long moment, the television murmuring in the background. Then his mum clapped her hands. "Right. Trifle. I made trifle. You're eating it."
Leo laughed. "Okay, Mum."
---
Milan. Late June.
The call-up came officially. Leo Carter had been selected for the England U19 squad for the UEFA European Under-19 Championship in Norway. The tournament ran from 21st to 28th July. Group stage matches against Germany, Belgium, and the hosts. Then knockouts. A trophy was there to be won.
Leo read the email three times. England. Representing his country. It felt surreal.
Chloe found him on the balcony, staring at his phone. "You're thinking again."
"I'm always thinking."
"About Norway?"
He nodded. "It's just U19s. Not the real thing. But it feels like the real thing."
She sat beside him. "It is the real thing. It's your first step toward the senior team. The World Cup. The Euros. All of it."
"You think I can do it? Win something with England?"
She looked at him like he'd asked if water was wet. "Leo. You've won the FA Cup with Southampton. The double with Milan. You've scored against Zidane, Beckham, Buffon. You can do anything."
He smiled. "When did you become my biggest fan?"
"The moment you gave that kid your jacket at the airport. That's when I knew."
He leaned over and kissed her. "I love you."
"I know. You tell me every day."
"Want me to stop?"
"Never."
---
Milanello. Early July.
Leo had gone to the training ground to collect some things before the U19 camp. The place was quiet—most players were on holiday. But as he walked toward the dressing room, he saw a familiar figure on the pitch.
Maldini was alone, running through a light drill, his movements still elegant even at thirty-four. He spotted Leo and waved him over.
"You're supposed to be resting," Maldini said.
"I could say the same to you."
Maldini smiled. "I don't know how to rest. My wife tells me this is a problem."
"Mine too. Well. Girlfriend."
"Ah. The journalist." Maldini nodded approvingvingly. "She is good for you. I can tell."
Leo wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Thanks. I think."
Maldini picked up a ball and tossed it to him. "Norway. The U19s. You're going?"
"Yeah. Next week."
"Good. International football is different. The pressure. The pride. It will make you a better player." He paused. "But remember—you are still young. You don't have to win everything at once. The trophies will come. What matters is that you enjoy it."
Leo nodded. "That's what everyone keeps telling me."
"Because it's true." Maldini clapped him on the shoulder. "Now go home. Rest. You have a tournament to win."
---
The Night Before Departure.
Leo lay in bed, Chloe curled against his side. His bag was packed. His passport was on the nightstand. Norway awaited.
"You'll call me?" she murmured.
"Every day."
"Good." She was quiet for a moment. "I'm going to write about you, you know. During the tournament. 'The Boy Who Would Be King.' Something dramatic."
"Sounds very dramatic."
"Football is dramatic. You're dramatic." She lifted her head and looked at him. "Win it, Leo. Come back with a trophy. I want to see you lift something in an England shirt."
He kissed her forehead. "I will."
She settled back against him, and within minutes her breathing slowed into sleep. Leo stared at the ceiling, the city quiet outside.
Norway. The European U19 Championship. A new challenge. A new stage.
The system flickered.
[Next: UEFA European Under-19 Championship. Norway. Group Stage: England vs. Germany, 21st July 2002.]
Leo closed his eyes. He was ready.