Javi’s phone.
Both of them froze.
It buzzed again, then started ringing.
Javi frowned slightly and reached into his pocket. An unfamiliar UK number glowed on the screen.
He didn’t know anyone here.
Except—
He had already blocked Jane’s number.
He looked up at Lukas.
Lukas looked back at him.
Neither spoke.
Javi accepted the call and pressed speaker before lifting it slightly away from his face.
"Hello?"
There was a small pause on the other end. Then a man’s voice. Calm, asured, but strained beneath the surface.
"Hello... is this Javier?"
Javi’s brow tightened. "Yes."
"My na is Roger," the man continued. "I’m... MJ’s husband."
Javi blinked. "I’m sorry—whose husband?"
"MJ. Jane. Maryjane."
There was a flicker of confusion across Javi’s face.
Maryjane?
He had never once heard her called that. Not in all the years they had known each other.
He glanced at Lukas again. Lukas was listening, perfectly still.
Javi cleared his throat. "How can I help you?"
Another brief pause. Then:
"Are you still in Manchester?"
"Yes."
"I was wondering if we could et. In person. It’s... it’s important."
Javi didn’t answer imdiately.
Roger’s voice shifted slightly. Less composed now.
"Please."
The word wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t demanding.
It was heavy.
Somber.
Javi held the phone a little lower and looked at Lukas again.
Lukas gave a small nod.
No words. Just a nod.
Javi brought the phone back up. "We’re at The Lowry. I can text you the room number."
"Thank you," Roger said quickly. "I’ll be there in twenty minutes."
The line clicked dead.
Silence returned.
Javi lowered the phone slowly.
For a second, neither moved.
Then Javi looked at his son.
"Well," he said quietly. "Looks like we’re not the only ones who’ve had a long night."
Lukas let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
"I had a goodnight. I only learnt about this today," he replied with a forced smile as he tried to shake off the nervousness he was feeling.
Javi looked at his son, and for a brief second, he wondered if this was really a good idea.
* * *
About half an hour later, the room phone rang.
The sharp, old-fashioned trill cut cleanly through the silence.
Lukas’s leg stopped tapping for a split second.
Javi stood and picked up the receiver.
"Yes?"
A short pause.
"Yeah. Send him up."
He placed the phone back in its cradle.
Lukas hadn’t realized he’d started flicking at the edge of his thumbnail until Javi’s eyes dropped to his hands. His leg was tapping too, heel drumming lightly against the carpet in an uneven rhythm.
Javi studied him for a mont.
"Nervous?" he asked gently.
Lukas exhaled through his nose, staring at the floor.
"A bit."
Javi nodded once.
"I can et him alone, if you’d prefer."
Lukas shook his head imdiately.
"No. It’s fine." He swallowed. "I’d like to hear what he has to say."
Javi didn’t push further.
They waited.
Footsteps passed in the corridor outside. A distant elevator chi. The faint hum of the air conditioning.
Then—
Knock. Knock.
Not aggressive. Not hesitant either.
asured.
Javi stood. "Co in."
The door opened slowly.
Roger stepped inside.
Lukas looked at him properly for the first ti.
He was older than Javi, that much was obvious. Mid-to-late forties, maybe pushing fifty. Clean-shaven head, close-cropped salt-and-pepper stubble lining his jaw. His posture was straight, shoulders squared, the kind of posture that ca from years in professional environnts.
He wore a navy lightweight blazer over a pale blue open-collared shirt, no tie. Tailored charcoal trousers. Brown leather loafers polished but not flashy. The outfit of a well-to-do upper middle-class British man who had sowhere important to be but wanted to appear controlled, understated.
He carried himself carefully.
Not arrogantly.
Just carefully.
His eyes moved first to Javi.
Javi stepped forward and extended his hand.
"Javi. Michael Brandt."
Roger took it. His grip was firm but not competitive.
"Roger Jackson."
Their hands separated.
Roger’s gaze shifted to Lukas.
For a fraction of a second, sothing flickered there. Recognition. Study. Sothing deeper.
"So," Roger said, a faint attempt at levity softening his voice, "I can’t believe I’m eting the star who knocked us out of the Europa League."
Lukas stood up from the edge of the bed.
"No hard feelings," he said, offering a small smile.
Roger gave a brief nod. "You were... extraordinary."
There was sincerity in it.
They shook hands.
Roger’s palm was warm, steady.
Lukas noted the slight tremor in his own fingers and subtly tightened his grip to mask it.
They separated.
Javi gestured toward the small sitting area near the window. "Please."
Roger removed his blazer and draped it neatly over the back of the chair before sitting down. Lukas returned to the edge of the bed. Javi took the armchair again.
The room felt smaller now.
Tighter.
As if the air pressure had shifted.
For a few seconds, no one spoke.
The tension didn’t creep in gradually.
It snapped into place almost imdiately.
Three n.
Bound by one woman.
And sixteen years of silence.
The silence stretched only a few seconds longer.
Then Roger leaned forward slightly, clasping his hands together between his knees.
"I’ll go straight to the point," he said. His tone was controlled, direct. "We’re strangers. There’s no need for small talk."
Javi gave a small nod.
Roger continued.
"I’ve been married to MJ for over fifteen years. We’ve been together for twenty."
He let that sit for a beat.
"That’s almost half my life I’ve spent with her. I know her. I know how she carries guilt. I know how she carries regret." His jaw tightened faintly. "And I know she ca to see you yesterday."
His eyes moved to Javi.
"She told ."
Javi didn’t react outwardly.
Roger shifted his gaze between the two of them.
"She asked you to set up a eting."
He exhaled quietly.
"I’m here to ask—no, to plead—that you reconsider."
The word hung there.
Lukas’s fingers stilled on his knee.
Roger pressed on.
"She has a bad fever this morning. High. It didn’t co out of nowhere." His voice dipped slightly. "I can tell the conversation yesterday... didn’t go well."
Javi’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Roger looked at Lukas now.
"I’m not here to reopen old wounds for the sake of drama. I’m not here to defend what happened sixteen years ago. I can’t. I wasn’t there." He swallowed once. "But I know MJ. And I know she hasn’t been able to breathe properly since she saw you."
The room was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioning.
Roger’s voice softened, but the urgency remained.
"She doesn’t expect forgiveness. She doesn’t expect anything. She just wants to speak to you. Once."
Javi listened, face unreadable.
But Lukas—
Sowhere around the middle of that speech, he had stopped hearing parts of it.
Not because he didn’t care.
Because sothing else had caught him.
He lifted his head slowly.
"I’m sorry," he said, cutting in gently but firmly.
Roger paused mid-sentence.
"Yes?"
Lukas’s voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it.
"Did you say you’ve been with her for twenty years?"
Roger blinked once.
"Yes."
Lukas tilted his head slightly.
" But I’m sixteen."
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