Page 11 of Game Changer (The Morrison Brothers #3)
One Year Later
"Morrison! Two minutes!" the trainer calls, clipboard in hand, headset around his neck.
David doesn't move. He stands frozen at the tunnel entrance, helmet in hands, staring out at the field where sixty thousand fans roar in anticipation.
The nervous energy rolling off him is almost tangible.
After a year, six months of recovery followed by six grueling months of training to rebuild his body, this is it.
His return to the game that once defined him.
I squeeze through the cluster of staff and players to reach him, Tyler's hand firmly in mine.
"Hey," I say, touching his arm. "You've got this."
He looks down at me, doubt clouding his eyes. "What if I can't do it? What if the knee doesn't hold?"
"It will," I assure him, adjusting his jersey collar unnecessarily, just needing to touch him, to connect. "You've always been a genius on the field. That hasn't changed."
"Mom's right," Tyler pipes up, bouncing with excitement in his team jersey—a miniature version of David's, complete with the Morrison name and number. "You're gonna be awesome, Dad."
David kneels down, bringing himself eye-level with our son. "What do you think? Should I score a touchdown just for you?"
Tyler grins, revealing the gap where another baby tooth recently fell out. "Yes! Promise?"
"I promise," David says, ruffling his hair. "More than one, if I can manage it."
"Morrison! We need you now!" The trainer sounds more urgent.
David stands, pulls me close for a quick, hard kiss. "I love you," he whispers against my lips.
"I love you too," I reply, meaning it more than I ever thought possible a year ago. "Now go show them who you are."
With a final wink at Tyler, he puts on his helmet and jogs toward the field, where his teammates await. I watch him go, still amazed sometimes at how much has changed, how much we've all grown.
"Mrs. Morrison?" A security guard approaches us. "If you'll follow me, I'll take you to your seats."
I don't correct him about the "Mrs." part—not yet, anyway, though the ring hidden in David's sock drawer suggests that title might be accurate soon. Instead, I take Tyler's hand and follow the guard through a series of corridors and up an elevator to a private box overlooking the entire stadium.
The door opens to reveal the entire Morrison clan waiting for us. Michael has rented the entire suite just for family, sparing no expense as usual. Ethan, Jack and Michael are there, and so are their beautiful girlfriends. They all rise when we enter, greeting us with hugs and high-fives for Tyler.
"Aunt Mia!" Jack calls me by the nickname he started using months ago, embracing me warmly. "And there's the man of the hour," he adds, lifting Tyler up and spinning him around, making him shriek with laughter.
Ethan offers me a beer from the fully-stocked bar, which I decline in favor of water. His girlfriend compliments my dress. A team-colored number I bought specifically for today, while Michael's girlfriend helps Tyler to the buffet of snacks laid out along one wall.
It strikes me, watching them all interact, how completely they've welcomed us into the fold.
Not just me and Tyler, but the idea of us.
The concept of David as a family man, a father, a partner.
They've supported him through his recovery, through his occasional struggles with sobriety, through the rebuilding of a life that's no longer centered solely on football.
"Kickoff in two minutes," Michael announces, gesturing toward the wall of windows overlooking the field. We all move to our seats, Tyler bouncing between me and Jack, barely able to contain his excitement.
"Do you think Dad will throw a really long pass?" he asks Jack, who's become his favorite uncle.
"I bet he throws the longest pass of the game," Jack assures him, handing him a pair of binoculars specially sized for a child.
The game begins, and at first, David seems cautious, hesitant. His first few plays are conservative—short passes, quick handoffs. But as the first quarter progresses, I can see him finding his rhythm, settling back into the instincts that made him a star.
By the second quarter, he's moving with confidence, dodging defenders, making the split-second decisions that always set him apart. The crowd responds, a wave of energy surging through the stadium every time he completes a pass or evades a tackle.
"Go Dad!" Tyler shouts, standing on his seat for a better view. "You can do it!"
Soon we're all on our feet as David leads a drive down the field. Tyler chants his father's name, and I join in, along with Jack and the girlfriends. Ethan and Michael remain quiet, but their eyes never leave the field, their intensity betraying how much this moment means to the entire family.
And then… It happens. David sees an opening, fakes a handoff, and takes off running.
His knee shows no sign of weakness as he cuts between defenders, sprinting toward the end zone.
The crowd roars as he crosses the goal line, scoring his first touchdown since the injury that nearly ended his career.
Instead of the elaborate celebration dances of his past, David simply looks up toward our box, pointing directly at us, at Tyler. Dedicating his achievement to his son, to his family.
The stadium cameras swivel, finding us in the private box, projecting our faces onto the massive screens for everyone to see. Tyler waves frantically, jumping up and down. I smile, feeling oddly exposed but also proud. Proud of David's journey, proud of our journey together.
It's strange being put on display like this.
The quarterback's girlfriend, the mother of his child.
I know I'll have to get used to it if this is our future.
The spotlight, the public interest, the scrutiny.
But in this moment, it feels right. There's something powerful about being acknowledged this way, about David declaring to the world that he's not just a football star anymore. He's a family man, a father, a partner.
As the game continues, with David leading his team to what looks increasingly like a victory, I watch my son's face glowing with pride and excitement.
I think about how far we've all come in just a year. David, from a lonely, alcohol-dependent has-been to a man rediscovering both his professional gifts and his capacity for love and commitment.
Tyler, from a boy who'd never met his father to a child secure in the knowledge that he is cherished, prioritized, seen.
And me, from a struggling single mother afraid to trust to a woman learning that sometimes second chances do work out, that sometimes the ending can be even better than the beginning.
Later, when the game ends in victory and the three of us are together again. David sweaty but triumphant, Tyler exhausted but ecstatic, me simply grateful.
I know that whatever comes next, we'll face it together. The ups and downs of a football career, the challenges of raising a child in the public eye, the complexities of building a life that balances professional ambition with family needs.
We're a team now, the three of us. And that makes all the difference.
Thank you for reading it!