Page 13 of My Best Friend’s Silver Fox Daddy (Yes, Daddy #52)
MORGAN
Three Years Later
A fter the game that gave them the conference championship, I gather with the rest of the reporters for the post-game press conference.
The locker room is just down the hall from the press room, and we can hear the wild and raucous celebration echoing down the corridor.
It’s the team’s third title in the last four years, but my first time back at my alma mater.
They won the title the year after I graduated and have been building a dynasty since.
They’ve become one of the nation’s elite programs. After graduating, I started working for the local paper’s sports department.
My first assignments had me covering local high school games, which was fine.
I had to pay my dues. I put my nose down and focused on refining my craft and building a reputation as a solid reporter.
And it worked. After three years in the game, there was an opening after one of the old timers retired, and I was bumped up to the beat for the college I attended.
This isn’t the end goal for me. Eventually, I am going to make the transition to on-air talent for the networks, but for now, this is a good step up the ladder while I continue honing my skills.
After about half an hour, the players began trickling in for their postgame interviews.
They sat and answered all questions, but it was clear they were itching to get back to celebrating with their teammates.
I got a lot of good material. They all offered up solid quotes for my piece.
But if I’m being honest, it’s not the players I’m there to interview.
A smile crosses my face as Coach Marcus Hooper emerges and takes his spot at the podium on the dais at the front of the room.
I catch his eye as he gives his brief, scripted remarks.
The corners of his mouth tip upward, a small smile touching his lips, but he doesn’t break character.
Once he’s finished his statement, he opens it up for questions.
He points to a reporter for the local station first.
“Go ahead, Jack,” he says.
Jack gets to his feet and asks his question, wanting to know about Marcus’ game plan heading into the matchup with another perennial national power.
As he delivers his answer, Marcus’ eyes keep drifting to me, and I feel my heart swell.
For the past three years, we’ve been living together, our relationship growing and getting better every single day.
He’s patient with me. He encourages me to keep reaching for more.
And when I’m down and feeling sorry for myself, he gives me the kick in the backside I need to keep going.
He coaches me. But more than that, he simply loves me.
He instinctively knows when I need a hug, rather than a coach’s lesson, when to speak, and when I just want to be heard.
And he does all this while, at the same time, building the most successful basketball program in the history of our school.
The man truly amazes me each and every single day.
Just when I think I can’t possibly love Marcus any more than I already do, he proves me wrong.
There really is no bottom to the love I have for this man.
And whether it’s at home or from the podium where he now stands, whenever his hazel eyes meet mine, I see that same depth of love reflected back at me.
For almost an hour, he stands at the podium answering questions.
On more than a few occasions, his players burst in to hug and celebrate with him since he’s not in the locker room with them.
Marcus is beloved by his players, current and former, and they are not shy about expressing that.
I know how much he hates doing the press thing, but he does it to put a brighter spotlight on his players and his program.
I admire that about him. It’s never about him, and it’s always about them.
That’s reflected clearly in the way he answers questions, always highlighting their achievements rather than his own.
“All right, does everybody have what they need?” Marcus asks. “Are there any more questions from anybody?”
The crowd of reporters checks their notes and looks around at each other.
Most of them shake their heads. They’ve all gotten what they needed to file their stories.
I made it through the entire presser without asking any questions, knowing I would get the quotes I needed from him at home later.
It’s the privilege of living with the coach.
I wanted to be here, though, to support him on his big night and to go out and celebrate with him after.
As the reporters are all gathering their things and starting to pack up their equipment, Marcus lingers at the podium and raises his hand.
“Before you guys go, I actually have something else I want to say,” he says. “If you don’t mind indulging me for a minute.”
Everybody stops moving, some of them seeming to smell a story in the air.
There has been a lot of buzz in recent weeks about other, more prestigious schools around the country courting Marcus, trying to lure him over to their program.
Success builds demand. And as one of the most successful college coaches in recent years, there is a demand for him.
But he hasn’t told me about taking any job offers.
He hasn’t even seemed to give any of the offers he’s receiving serious consideration.
He tells me he’s happy right where he is.
So, I am as in the dark about this announcement as everybody else.
My stomach turns a somersault inside of me as I brace myself.
If he did end up taking another one of those jobs, he would be moving away.
I can’t imagine he’d take the job without talking to me about it first.
I let out a small breath and try to quell the churning in my belly. Marcus stands at the podium, giving everybody a chance to get settled again. When silence falls over the room, he gives them all a grateful nod.
“Thanks for the time, guys. I always appreciate the job you all do,” he says. “Tonight, my team is celebrating another title, as am I, but I want to celebrate something else as well.”
The reporters exchange curious glances. Nobody knows exactly where this is going, and there’s a certain tension in the air.
The sense that he’s accepted another coaching job seems to be growing among the crowd as everybody sits forward, expectant looks on all their faces.
Cameras are recording, and reporters are all holding their recording devices out, anticipating the announcement of his departure.
Marcus turns and looks at me, a small grin quirking the corner of his mouth upward. He steps off the podium and walks over to me. My heart stops dead in my chest when he pauses in front of me and turns to the crowd.
“Tonight, I want to celebrate this incredible woman,” he says. “For the last three years, she has been my rock. She’s been by my side, and she has made me the happiest man on the planet.”
The crowd of reporters all smiles, but the looks of curiosity on their faces grow.
Marcus pulls something out of his pocket and drops to a knee.
I clap my hands over my mouth, my eyes wider than saucers as he opens the small, black box in his hands.
There’s an audible gasp from the crowd around us, and the tension in the air changes and grows thicker.
“Morgan Hill, you make every day better than the last. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he says. “I love you. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
The room is silent, the air crackling with tension, and tears spill from the corners of my eyes. As his eyes bore into mine, I nod wildly.
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
His eyes shimmer with tears. A wide smile on his face, Marcus gets to his feet and slips the ring on my finger.
The room erupts in cheers and applause as he sweeps me off my feet and spins me around, both of us laughing.
He presses his mouth to mine and kisses me deeply, and I can hear the whir and click of cameras going off all around us.
I hold my hand out and admire the ring. “I just have to say, this is better than a championship ring.”
“And I have to say, you make me feel like a winner every day,” he says, wincing. “That was really corny, wasn’t it?”
“Really corny,” I say with a laugh. “But I love you, Mr. Hooper.”
“And I love you, baby girl.”