Page 24 of Game Changer
I wipe her tears away with my fingertips.
"I've never been surer of anything," I tell her, meaning every word. "I'll be there for you and for Tyler, no matter what happens with my knee, with football, with anything. You're what matters now."
She leans in and kisses me softly, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her close, making a silent promise to never let go again.
One month later
I stare at my reflection in the hospital bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the man looking back at me. Clean-shaven, clear-eyed, dressed in the standard-issue hospital gown that somehowmakes everyone look vulnerable regardless of their size or strength.
In just under an hour, I'll be wheeled into surgery. The experimental procedure we've been waiting for, the one that might allow me to play football again. A month ago, this day loomed like the final judgment, the moment that would determine whether I had a future in the game I've loved my entire life.
Now? Now I'm terrified for completely different reasons.
I splash water on my face, trying to calm my racing heart. It feels like my eyes might pop out of their sockets, like my heart might leap from my chest.
My brothers have all texted their support. Ethan offering to drive down if I need him, Michael ensuring I have the best surgical team money can buy, Jack promising to be at my first game back if things go well.
But it's Mia and Tyler waiting for me in the pre-op room who matter most right now.
I dry my hands and face, take a deep breath, and return to them. Tyler sits quietly in a chair, swinging his legs, his dinosaur action figure clutched tightly in one hand. Mia looks up from her magazine, offering me a smile that doesn't quite hide her own anxiety.
The past month has been a revelation. After our unexpected reconnection that day in my apartment, Mia agreed to stay in town. Not in my place. She was firm about needing their own space, but in a furnished condo Michael helped us find just ten minutes from my building. He even offered to pay for the first six months.
I've been sober for thirty-three days now. Not without struggle. There have been moments of intense craving, nights when sleep wouldn't come, days when the only thing that kept me from breaking was the thought of Tyler's disappointed face if I failed him. But I've done it. One day at a time, just like Mia said.
I've also been going to outpatient therapy three times a week, both for the drinking and for the depression that followed my injury. It was Michael's suggestion, and though I resisted at first, it's been helping. Slowly, painfully, but helping.
"You okay, buddy?" I ask Tyler, noticing his unusual quietness. "You've been pretty silent this morning."
He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. "I'm okay."
I crouch down in front of his chair, wincing slightly as my bad knee protests. "Are you worried about the surgery? Because the doctors are really good at this. They've done it lots of times."
He shakes his head, still fidgeting with his dinosaur. "It's not that."
"Then what is it?" I ask gently.
He finally looks up, his eyes—my eyes—serious and concerned. "I'm afraid you won't care about me anymore once you start playing football again."
Fuck. I've been so focused on the surgery, on my recovery, on building our new family dynamic, that I hadn't considered how Tyler might be interpreting all this. To him, football is the thing that kept me from being in his life before. Of course he's afraid it will take me away again.
"Tyler," I start. "That will never, ever happen. You're more important to me than football. If you're worried about this surgery, I'll walk out of here right now. No operation."
His eyes widen. "Really?"
"Really," I confirm. "You and your mom are my priority now. Football is just a job."
He thinks about this for a moment, then throws his arms around my neck. "I don't want you to not have the surgery," he says against my shoulder. "I want you to get better. I want you to be happy again."
I hold him close, my heart so full it feels like it might burst. "I am happy, buddy," I tell him, and I mean it. "Happier than I've been in a very long time."
I look over Tyler's shoulder at Mia, who's watching us with tears in her eyes. She mouths 'I love you,' and though we haven't said those words aloud to each other yet, I know in this moment that I love her too. Not just because she's Tyler's mother, but because she's Mia: strong, patient, forgiving Mia who gave me a second chance I'm not sure I deserved.
The door opens, and a nurse appears. "Mr. Morrison? We're ready for you now."
I take a deep breath, give Tyler one more squeeze, then stand up.
"This is it," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
