Years ago, I accepted that football would always be a part of my life. I just didn’t know how. When I met Wyatt Stone, I figured the game would weave its way into my young heart and become a part of my first real love. When I married him, I assumed my life would follow the same path as my mother’s—the wife of an NFL quarterback, with all the highs and lows that come along with it. But when Wyatt didn’t get picked in the draft, everything changed. And Wyatt’s light, however hard he fought to keep it alive, dimmed. Football has a funny way of operating in this family, though. It lingers, like the haze that hovers over my family’s ranch fields in the Arizona desert horizon. For my dad, the game stuck around through coaching, and Wyatt thought maybe that was enough for him too. But football had other plans. A second chance at glory. A renewed spark in his soul, calling him to give the dream one more shot. And as much as I want to keep him close, to start our family and walk a new path—one that football doesn’t get to dictate—I know that when it comes to this game, I’ve never really called the shots. I’ve merely gone along for the ride. I just hope that this time it doesn’t break my heart completely.
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