Page 91 of Dominate
Gareth looks over at Sophia, who looks up at me and chirps in her perfect little British accent, “Mummy, I definitely like him enough to let him marry you.”
With a knowing chuckle, Gareth cracks open the box to reveal a beautiful diamond ring. My hands lift to my cheeks as tears fill my eyes, the emotion of the moment completely overwhelming me.
Gareth clears his throat and says, “This was my mother’s…I never thought I’d love someone enough to give it to them. But I was wrong, Treacle. I love you more than I ever knew I was capable of loving someone. And I love Sophia more than I thought possible…Enough for more than one million dads even. I love the silly package you two are, and I love the mess you both bring into my life. I know I’m not her father, but I want to spend the rest of my life being her family…and your family, because family isn’t just one thing. It’s everything. Will you marry me?”
A sob erupts from my throat as I drop down on my knees in front of Gareth and pull Sophia to my side. “Yes!” I laugh and chastely swipe at my cheeks. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”
With one arm wrapped around Sophia and my other hand cupping Gareth’s cheek, I kiss him. I kiss him and I repeat “yes” against his lips over, and over, and over until I hear Sophia groaning in disgust from beside me.
I pull away giggling through happy tears and watch Gareth put the ring on my finger. I show it to Sophia, who nods happily before cupping her hand to my ear and whispering, “Mummy, you should also know that I asked Gareth for a baby sister.”
I cry laughing and hug her to me as Gareth wraps his arms around us. He holds us and loves us completely. It feels good, like how life should feel. And I intend to hold onto this life for Sophia and me with everything I have.
“AFTER ALLEGATIONS OF FOUL PLAYby a Chelsea Premier League player, the investigation of striker Vince Sinclair’s involvement with the break-in and assault at the Gareth Harris Estate in Astbury has come to an end.”
“Shut that off,” I growl at one of my teammates who’s playing a newscast on his mobile. “We have a game to focus on. Not that noise.”
I toss athletic tape into a cubby in our changing room at the Luzhniki Stadium in Moscow and drop down on a nearby bench. I pop my earbuds in and blast Taylor Swift again, doing my best to ignore the madness that’s going on back in England.
Just as we were leaving for Russia, the detective—Bernie—who interviewed me at the police station called to inform me they received a confession in writing from Vince Sinclair. It was some sort of plea bargain Vince had accepted for a lesser charge, which named the two criminals who were in my house.
The entire thing makes my stomach churn.
Apparently, back in November, Vince overheard his coach and Gary Austin making arrangements for the national team to use the Chelsea training grounds for a closed-doors camp—the same camp my brothers and I were invited to train at for the World Cup. Vince got a hold of the list of players and was outraged that he hadn’t made the cut. After I showed him up on his home pitch, he was inspired to target me in hopes of ruining Austin’s plan to have all four Harris Brothers on the team.
Once word got out that Hobo’s house had been broken in to, Vince somehow hired the men responsible for the burglary to do the same at my house with the intention of injuring me. I guess the plan was blown to hell when it was Sloan who walked through the door first.
That’s the part that really makes me sick. What would have happened if Sloan wasn’t with me? How much worse could it have been? All things considered, walking away with a serious concussion is quite minor compared to what it could have been.
This was apparently the act of a desperate man. The detective told me that Vince has some major gambling debt, and he was relying on a World Cup invite to bring in some new sponsorship opportunities. When he didn’t see his name on the list, he went off the deep end.
Vince was fired from Chelsea immediately. He is also facing some serious time in prison, even with the plea bargain. I’ve tried to separate myself from the situation as much as possible while in Russia, though. I don’t need anything distracting me from what we’re doing here, which is some really fucking excellent football.
The World Cup tournament is insane. Sixty-four matches in just over thirty days. Twelve different stadiums in eleven cities. There are multiple games happening every day. It’s intense.
The group stage was a shaky start for England. But once we made it into the knockout stage games, we really found our stride, which is good for England. Our history in the World Cup hasn’t been the most impressive in the last couple of decades. Perhaps Austin’s theory of forming good team chemistry over stats has some merit.
The weeks in Russia have passed by as a constant blur of daily training sessions, team bonding activities, and media interviews. My brothers and I are hot ticket items in the press because it’s the first time this many players from one family have played on a team together. Hobo keeps trying to add himself in as a fifth Harris Brother, but most reporters continually question his validity of playing for England. It drives him mental and makes the rest of us laugh.
The press have also jumped on the news of my engagement to Sloan. Normally, I hate my life being splashed all over the papers, but I find myself not caring anymore. There was a time when I was reclusive and quiet about so much. My dad’s past with Man U, my mother. Now, I find myself opening up to the media in a much more candid way and it feels freeing. I guess finally having good news to share for myself has really changed my perspective.
Dad booked a private jet for the entire month. He has come for every match, along with Vi and various members of our family depending on their schedules, including Sloan and Sophia. They’ve been fitting right in with everyone like they’ve always been there. And seeing my mother’s ring on Sloan’s finger only makes her seem all the more a part of our family.
Unfortunately, I don’t get much time with them when they are able to attend a match here. The rule for our squad is that we can only see family members the day after games. But seeing them up in the stands cheering me on is enough to drive my game to an all new level.
Every match we play, I think will be our last. But we continue to come out on top, achieving some of the most incredible comebacks that have been seen at the World Cup in decades.
Now, here I stand in the tunnel alongside all three of my brothers. Twins in the middle, Booker on the end. We’re waiting for the all-clear to walk out onto the pitch to warm up for our face-off against France in the World Cup Final.
Tanner grabs hold of Camden’s hand.
“Gross. What are you doing?” Camden snaps, yanking his hand away. “Why are your hands sticky?”
Tanner smiles and nods slowly, his beard long and ragged because he hasn’t shaved during the entire month of our winning streak. “That’s called anticipation, broseph.”
“What? Ew…I don’t want to know what that means.” Camden looks over at me with his nose wrinkled.
I shake my head and smile, reaching down and grabbing Tanner’s other hand. “Come on, Cam. Let’s do this right.”
