by Amy Daws
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.”
Booker’s hand grabs hold of Camden’s free hand, and I see Cam exhale heavily before finally accepting Tanner’s.
Feeling our squad pressing in behind us, I shout out, “Three Lions, are you ready?”
“Ready!” they all shout back.
“Three Lions, are you fit?”
“Fit!”
“Three Lions, are you fierce?”
“Fierce!”
“Three Lions, let me hear you roar!”
They holler a loud roar behind me, and over top of their cheers, I shout, “Then let’s go out there with our heads held high, our bodies full of endurance, and our hearts ready to challenge! We will not surrender. We will dominate because we are the keepers of this game!”
They chant “Three Lions” over and over behind us as we walk slow and steady out of the tunnel and onto the pitch, where the deafening roar of the crowd surrounds all of our senses and we prepare for the game of our lives.
Before the game begins, I look up into the crowd and find my entire family standing tall in England team shirts. Dad, Vi, Hayden, Rocky, Indie, Belle, and Poppy.
Poppy’s parents kept the twins, Oliver and Teddy, back in London as they’ve been helping her with them while Booker has been away. Especially since they are both much too small to even remotely enjoy the game. And, let’s face it, Rocky is too young to understand it as well, but Vi says her obsession has to start somewhere, and what better place than at the World Cup final game.
And what a final game it is.
Not even the light downpour of rain we experience twenty minutes into the match can dampen the energy of our squad on this day. England controls the ball for the majority of the first half. Camden and Tanner volley back and forth like there is a string attached between the two of them. France’s defence and keeper have their work cut out for them as the twins take shot after shot, pulling back to Hobo in midfield several times only to come to the net again.
Finally, after a high pass from Tanner to Camden, Cam scoop kicks the ball into the back right corner over the keeper’s hands, breaching the scoreboard one-nil.
The second half is when things really get hairy. France readjusted some things during halftime, so Booker and I have our work cut out for us to keep the ball out of the box. We hold firm for the first twenty minutes, but an unstoppable penalty shot brings France back to tie us with fifteen minutes left in the game.
A few minutes later, in a wide and fast breakaway run, Tanner fakes a pass to Camden and chips in a high, floating shot that hits the post flush and drops back into the net. To the crowd’s delight, the twins go wild, dancing like complete wankers on either side of the goal post. At one point, Camden reels in Tanner like a fish. It is bloody ridiculous…and brilliant.
We’re leading two-to-one with only two minutes left in the game. France is all over our end of the pitch, and I stop two goal attempts before Booker finally scoops one up and boots the game back to the other side.
With less than a minute to go, Tanner takes a hard and fast high shot that bounces off the top pole and back out into the box. As if Camden knew the shot was going to be too high, he’s right there in the box and leaps up impossibly high toward the deflection, giving the round leather a header to the far left side of the open net.
The keeper’s gloves reach out and graze the side…
“Goal!” shouts Booker from behind me, and the crowd erupts into cheers.
Camden falls to the ground, covering his face in the grass, obviously overwhelming even hims
elf with his luck. It’s complete pandemonium in the arena when the ref blows the whistle three times and signals the end of the game.
I turn and lay eyes on Booker, who runs out of the box, straight into my arms. I lift him up off the ground and release him swiftly as we both go tearing down the pitch toward the rest of our team, piling on top of Camden and Tanner. We hug our outside teammates, cheering alongside all of them. By the time the twins are released from the pack, Tanner has Cam tossed over his shoulder. He sees me and Booker and sets Cam down, his face bending with emotion as I pull them all into a giant embrace. The four of us stand in a circle, arms wrapped around each other’s necks, heads pressed together, and smiles wide as we take a quiet moment to absorb the exhilarating experience we’re sharing together.
The voice over the speaker is screaming, “England has won the World Cup! England has won the World Cup! England is the champion of the world!”
By the time we break apart, Booker is full-on crying, so I pull him under my armpit and ruffle his hair. The coaching staff comes up behind us and we accept hugs from them all the while photographers and camera operators swarm around us.
After embracing nearly every member of the team, I turn around and clap eyes on Sloan and Sophia walking out onto the pitch with my family. I move through the swarm of cameras, ignoring Camden and Indie snogging and Tanner lifting Belle up into his arms. Poppy and Booker are face-to-face, holding each other’s cheeks and talking softly to one another.
Dad, Vi, Hayden, and Rocky are crying and hugging everyone, one at a time, but I only have eyes for my fiancée and my number one fan.
Sloan leans down and points me out to Sophia, whose eyes are wide and watery as she takes in the masses of people flocking the field. She turns and finally sees me. Then, the little brown-eyed stunner begins sobbing. Huge, wet tears pour from her eyes as she releases her mother’s hand and runs in a dead sprint right for me.
I drop to my knees and catch her, holding her shaking body against me as she becomes completely overwhelmed by everything surrounding us. I can’t blame her. The deafening cheers and the tender embraces are enough to make even a grown man cry.
I stand up with Sophia wrapped around my hips and I’m now eye level with Sloan, who’s also a teary mess.
And possibly even more gorgeous than she was yesterday.
I cup the back of her head and press my forehead to hers. “I love you.” My words are simple because it’s all I can think to say right now. The adrenaline of the game consuming all of my good sense.
She holds my face in her hands and kisses me chastely on the lips. “I love you, too. I’m so proud of you.”
She laughs and tucks under my arm as we turn toward my family, and Vi all but assaults me with a slightly terrified Rocky in her arms.
“You brothers of mine! You crazy, insane brothers of mine!” she cries, wrapping everyone into a large group hug. “I love you all. And there’s one thing that I know for certain: Mum is smiling down at all four of you crazy, wonderful, ridiculous, and incredible Harris Brothers!”
1 Year Later
THE IMAGE OF SLOAN, SOPHIA, and our new son walking out onto the Old Trafford pitch is an image I want to remember forever. The fans’ cheers are unrelenting as I embrace my family during my final moments on this beautiful pitch.
Milo is only four weeks old, and he’s nestled into Sloan as she wraps her free arm around me. He’s kitted out in red Man U gear to match his mum and his big sister. Sloan pulls back and has tears in her eyes as I lift Sophia up into my arms and pat the Harris name on her back that belongs to her now as well.
The past year hasn’t been easy. Sloan and I were married shortly after the World Cup and were blessed with a pregnancy soon after. We thought our life was going to be full of incredible highlights until my retirement. But once we were married, Callum quit showing up for Sophia entirely. No calls, no emails. Nothing.
We tried our best to protect Sophia from that reality. We gave her excuses for Callum’s absence, but after several months, Sophia started to catch on. Then one night, while nuzzled up closely and watching a recording of Camden’s match from the night before, Sophia looked up and asked me why I couldn’t be her real dad.
I thought she was asking me about the birds and the bees since we had only recently told her about Sloan’s pregnancy. I started muttering things about love and our bodies, but she cut me off and asked why she couldn’t be a Harris. It was a simple question that inspired me to do something about it.
I discussed my thoughts with Sloan and we quickly put Santino to work to see if this could even be possible. There were a lot of talks with Callum’s lawyer. And following the exchange of some hefty funds, Callum voluntarily terminated his rights as a father to Sophia.
Four weeks later, we put pen to paper to make Sophia mine, both in heart and in surname. It was the most special day of my life.
Then Milo was born and I thought that was the most special day of my life.
But staring at them here with me on the Old Trafford pitch with seventy-five thousand fans chanting “Harris” all around us, I think this might be the most special day of my life.
I lower Sophia to the ground and press my lips to the tiny, delicate hand of our boy, Milo, who came two weeks early and had me sprinting into the hospital in my football kit to make it in time for his birth. Sophia was cross for not getting a sister, but to our delighted amusement, she informed us that we can try again next year.
Sounds like a great idea.
The rest of my family joins us on the pitch next, along with my cousin Alice Harris who’s visiting from America for the big match. Tonight was a testimonial match put on by Man U strictly to honour my service to the team, so it’s entirely a family affair.
Booker has both his one-year-old boys in his arms as Poppy trails behind him with a big smile. Rocky is running circles on the pitch, eating up the crowd’s attention. Vi has a large bouquet of white roses in her hands as she’s followed closely by Hayden, Camden, Indie, Tanner, and Belle.
I look over at my father to see how he’s holding up, amazed that he’s standing here at all. He bends down and scoops Rocky up into his arms, his eyes glossing over as he takes in the stadium and smiles with pride.
A microphone is suddenly passed over to me. The crowd instantly dies down, their voices magically muting to prepare for the words I’m about to say. Holding onto Sophia’s hand, I clear my throat and attempt to find the words I want to convey on such a special day.
“First, I’d like to thank you all for being here for my farewell to Manchester United and the sport of football.”
The crowd erupts into cheers, a faint chanting of “Harris” echoing over at the Stretford End. When they quiet down again, I continue. “Before I say anything else, I’d like to take a minute to honour a family member who isn’t here with us today.”
I turn to Vi and she nods. She pulls six long-stemmed roses out of the bouquet. Then she hands the remainder back to Hayden and passes a rose out to our three brothers, Dad, and me, and keeps one for herself.
“Our mother was taken from us far too soon, but no one was a bigger Manchester United fan than her. So, Mum, these are for you.”
I hand the microphone to Sloan, grab hold of the flower, and gently pull the petals off the stem. I hold my hand out high and slowly sprinkle them down onto the grass. My brothers and Vi move to stand beside me in a long row and do the same.
With shaky legs, Dad walks over to stand beside me and helps Rocky peel one petal off at a time. The two watch the petals sway down to the grass. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the large stadium screen filled with a close-up of the long row of white petals on top of the lush green pitch.
It’s an image I want to remember forever.
The crowd quiets for a moment of silence, and I hear Dad sniffling beside me. I wrap my arm around him and we squeeze each other for comfort. He never got his goodbye with this team, so this moment is just as much his as it is mine. I look
him in the eyes for a long while and I swear he can hear my thoughts.
We’ve both truly come a long way with each other in the past year. Becoming a father myself has shed so much light on all that he must have felt when he lost Mum. And in many ways, what Sloan and I have now is what he and my mum never had a chance to be. This moment on this pitch—this experience with our family—belongs to him.
It’s his.
It’s his and it’s ours.
It’s our family’s moment.
And I’m so proud that he has let go of the pain of the past to be in the present with us. He’s not only my father.
He’s my kindred spirit.
With a clearing of my throat, I take the mic back from Sloan and state, “Thank you.”
My siblings go back to their partners and leave me standing out in the middle of the pitch, staring up at a crowd that has watched me turn into a man on this very grass.
“Tonight I bid a fond farewell to this stadium and the wonderful game of football.” I pause, a knot forming in my throat as I fight through the emotions growing inside of me. “I’ve been playing defence for over a decade, and it’s time for me to play some other positions in life.”
The crowd cheers loudly, banging their feet on the concrete with encouragement.
“A fan, a friend, a brother, an uncle, a husband…a father.” My voice breaks and I sniff hard to fight through my words. “I’ve proudly called this pitch my home for many years, but it’s time for me to put focus on what I cherish most in life…My family.”
I look over at Sloan and she hits me with a smile that I am fully prepared to grow old with. A smile that feels true, and sincere, and honest. I’m not one to say I believe in destiny, but the fact that I needed my suit the exact same night everything fell apart in her life feels kismet. We were both free falling in life and became each other’s parachutes. We united together and all the pain in our pasts surrendered and allowed us to dominate. Together.