The Journey Collection

by Lisa Bilbrey

  Rolling down the window, Travis allowed the early morning air to wash over him, all in an effort to keep his head clear. For two nights, he’d struggled to find the sleep his body so desperately craved, and what little he did get had been filled with dreams of Penelope and Max. Their childlike giggles echoed around him, and the sparkles of joy that filled their eyes when they smiled had him gasping for air when he woke up. For a moment, he wondered what it would have been like to have been able to help raise Max from day one. Would his first word have been “Daddy”?

  “Can’t think about the ‘what ifs,’ asshole,” Travis grumbled under his breath.

  A few minutes later, Travis found himself parked in front of Penelope’s house. Russ had explained that after her parents moved to the mountains of Colorado, Penelope had moved into their house. Turning off the engine, Travis shifted his attention up to the front door. Too many nights, he’d found himself holding her against him, kissing her sweet lips. They’d spent summer afternoons curled up together on the porch swing, with her reading while he watched her. Penelope would blush and tell him to stop, but he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her. He’d been in awe of her, but in a moment of haste, he’d thrown her away.

  “Okay, Travis, time to man up,” he muttered to himself.

  He climbed out of his car, took a deep breath, and started up the narrow, stone pathway that led to the porch. The small, two-bedroom, brick, ranch-style house had been his second home, the only other place that Travis had felt welcomed. Even though Penelope’s parents hadn’t cared for him, they’d told him on more than one occasion that he was welcome there. Travis raised his hand to knock; however, the door was pulled open before he could.

  “What are you doing here?” Penelope asked, pulling the sides of her pink terry-cloth robe together. However, she wasn’t fast enough, and he saw the white tank and maroon boxers she wore. She’d always slept in men’s boxers, claiming they were more comfortable than women’s pajamas. It would seem that nothing had changed.

  “You and I need to talk,” Travis clipped, pushing past her and walking into the house. He stifled a snort; with the exception of a dozen or so pictures littering the mantel over the stone fireplace and the top of the entertainment center, everything inside the living room looked just as it had ten years ago. The same brown, tweed sofas and burgundy recliner were arranged in front of the television. The old piano still sat in the far corner, while a wooden coat rack continued to stand just inside the door.

  “Gee, Travis, just come right on in,” Penelope replied dryly.

  He let out a humorless laugh and turned back to her. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  She sighed and shut the door. “You should have called instead of just showing up here unannounced.”

  “Hmm, well, I guess we’re both failures when it comes to picking up the phone, huh?”

  Penelope flinched, wrapping her arms around her torso. “Guess so.”

  Travis walked over to the fireplace and picked up a framed photograph of Penelope holding Max as a newborn. He looked so tiny; his face was scrunched up and red. Penelope’s blond hair was soaked and tangled. Travis’ eyes filled up with tears; he should have been there with her, holding her hand, and encouraging her to keep pushing.

  Setting the picture back in its place, he turned to Penelope. “You should have told me about Max.”

  “I know, but at the time I thought I was doing the right thing for both of us,” she muttered. “I’m gonna make some coffee.”

  Travis followed her into the kitchen, stopping in front of the white refrigerator and pulling down one of the pictures Max had drawn. He was in the middle of a large football field — the goal posts on either side made it easy to figure out. The boy in the picture was holding a football over his head, while two people stood off to the side. There were bubbles above the two stick figures, shouting encouragement to Max.

  “Who’s the guy?” Travis looked back at Penelope.

  Sighing, she turned to him. “You.”

  “Me?” he gasped. “But . . .”

  “He drew it last night,” she said, taking him from him. “All he’s done is talk about you.”

  “Oh,” Travis replied, dumbly. “I’m not sure what to say.”

  “Yeah, neither do I.” Penelope pulled two coffee cups out of the cabinet, setting them on the counter before moving to the refrigerator. “Excuse me.”

  Travis stepped out of the way. She pulled out a bottle of creamer before using her hip to shut the door. Travis leaned against the counter, watching her while she got their cups ready. He laughed when she dumped one spoonful of sugar in his, before adding the creamer into her own.

  At the sound of his laughter, she looked over her shoulder. “What’s so funny?”

  “You still remember how I take my coffee,” he explained. “Guess I’m just a little surprised.”

  “There’s a lot that I didn’t forget, Travis,” she murmured. Pouring the dark liquid into the cups, she turned and handed him his. “Like how you still don’t know how to extend your arm. You took a pretty nasty hit. How’s the shoulder?”

  “Never better,” he lied, taking a sip.

  Penelope raised an eyebrow. “If you were ‘never better’, as you put it, then you wouldn’t be here. You’d be in Denver, getting ready for your next game.”

  Travis cringed. “Yeah.”

  “So, how’s the shoulder doing?” she asked again.

  “It’s . . .” Travis exhaled. “It’s sore and tight. I don’t have much rotation left, and what little I do have, hurts like a son of a bitch.”

  “Wow, that must hurt pretty bad,” she snickered. “I mean, a son of a bitch?”

  “Oh, I’m gonna tell Max that you cursed. He’d gonna make you put a dollar in the swear jar,” Travis teased. “You and swearing? Since when is that an issue?”

  “April fifteenth, almost eleven years ago,” she said. “Three-thirteen in the morning, after nearly twenty hours of labor and an additional three of pushing, Max came into this world, screaming at the top of his lungs.”

  “I should have been there.”

  “Would you have been?” Penelope carried her coffee into the living room, sliding onto one of the sofas and tucking her legs under her.

  Travis sat at the other end. “I think I would have. But you didn’t give me that choice.”

  “No, I didn’t,” she admitted. “There’s nothing I can say that is going to excuse the fact that I kept our son a secret from you, Travis, though you should know that there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t pick up the phone or sit down to write you a letter.”

  “Yet, you didn’t,” he groused.

  Penelope sighed. “You’re right, I didn’t, but I can’t change that decision.”

  “Would you?” he asked. “If you could go back and change the course of history, would you?”

  She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and averted her eyes from his. “No.”

  “Oh.” Travis wasn’t sure what else to say.

  “Travis, if I’d told you that I was pregnant, you wouldn’t have been here. You would have given me a bunch of promises, but football would have come first. It always did.”

  Whistling under his breath, Travis pushed up off the sofa. “Oh, um, wow. Not sure what to say. I’m sorry that I was such a bastard, Penelope.”

  “That’s not what I meant. It’s just, Travis, from the time you started playing football, it was all you cared about. You lived it, breathed it. And I understood that while we were together, but it wasn’t always easy coming in second.”

  “You were never second to me,” Travis snarked

  “Yes, I was,” she argued, standing up. “When you got the offer from UT, you accepted it without even talking to me about it.”

  “They offered me a full ride,” he said. “I couldn’t turn it down!”

  “Yeah, I know, and I wouldn’t have stood in your way, but, Travis, it hurt that you couldn’t even tell me about it be
fore you accepted it. Hell, even your daddy didn’t know.”

  “So because I accepted a scholarship to one of the best schools in the state, not to mention the country, that makes me a potential deadbeat dad?”

  “No.” Penelope shook her head. “You left and never looked back, Travis. Not one phone call, not even an email. I waited, but nothing. The last thing I was going to do to you was trap you with a kid.”

  “But he’s my son.”

  “Yeah, he is, but he’s my priority, Travis. I was eighteen and pregnant. Momma and Daddy helped where they could, but I was still alone. I wasn’t going to put my son in a position where he’d get hurt. I felt enough pain for the both of us.”

  Travis closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. “I never meant to hurt you, baby.”

  She smiled. “I know you didn’t. You just had dreams that were bigger than me, bigger than Clarendon. I like this little town, you know.”

  “I can’t just move on and forget that I have a son, Penelope.”

  “No, I know you can’t.” Sighing, she sat back down on the sofa. “He doesn’t know that you’re his father, Travis. I didn’t want him hating you when he’s seen you as his hero for so long.”

  “I can’t let him go,” Travis whimpered, sliding to the floor. “Not after seeing him, talking to him. You can’t ask me to pretend that he isn’t mine.”

  “I’m not,” she assured him. “But I need you to understand that he idolizes you and that when he finds out that you’re his dad, he might not anymore.”

  “Okay, I’ll deal with that if it happens,” Travis was quick to agree.

  Penelope leaned back, folding her arms in her lap. “Max has peewee football practice tonight at five. Why don’t you come watch, and then afterwards, I’ll make dinner for all three of us? You can get to know him, and we’ll try to figure out how to tell him the truth.”

  “That sounds great.” Travis scrambled to his feet. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, Travis. Just don’t mess with him if you’re not serious about being here for him. He’s an amazing little boy who sees the good in everyone.”

  “I promise,” he vowed, shocking even himself at the sincerity he heard in the words. “I’ll guess I’ll see you at five, up by the bus barn, right?”

  “Yeah,” she whispered. Standing up, she followed him over to the door, holding it open for him. “I missed you, Travis. A lot.”

  Travis brought his hand up to her cheek, stroking his fingers up before brushing her hair behind her ear. He leaned in, pressing his lips against her creamy skin. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  With a strength that he didn’t know he had, Travis left Penelope standing there and walked down to his car. He looked back at her once before climbing in behind the wheel and returning to his father’s ranch. Maybe they hadn’t worked everything out, but it was a start. Today, he’d gotten a chance to get to know his son. Tonight, he’d do everything he could to get Penelope back.

  ***

  Chapter Seven

  A Father’s Pride

  At ten till five, Travis parked next to the curb overlooking the practice field. It wasn’t much more than a hundred yards of grass between where the school housed their buses and the First Baptist Church, but every Fall, the peewee football league would spend countless hours there, learning how to play the game. Their sweat had been seared into the earth, the sound of their laughter floating away like the sweetest of memories.

  A smile twisted on to his face. Travis had been looking forward to watching Max practice all day, a feeling that surprised him. Climbing out of his car, he walked around the chain-link fence that lined the edge of the field, which provided a barrier from the street, over to where Penelope was standing with Max. The boy turned and looked back at him, an exuberant smile creeping over his features. Once again, Travis felt himself beaming with pride when Max pulled away from his mother and ran over to him — a father’s pride.

  “What are you doing here?” he yelled.

  Travis shrugged. “Well, I thought since you’ve seen me play, that maybe I could watch you. Is that okay, little man?”

  “Um, duh,” Max scoffed. “This is so cool! Come on, you have to meet the rest of the team.”

  Travis laughed as Max grabbed his arm and pulled him over to where the rest of his team was anxiously waiting for their chance to meet him. Twenty boys between the ages of ten and eleven surrounded him, awed over the fact that the Travis McCoy was there to watch them practice. The praise had his grin growing; however, a hollow ache filled his gut. In the years since he’d left Clarendon, he’d forgotten why he had fallen in love with the game. It wasn’t about making millions of dollars a year, or even the fame that came with inching his way toward a championship. It was the joy, the pure adrenalin that filled him when his fingers touched the ball or made a perfect throw. These boys had that fire in their eyes — a flame that used to burn in his own.

  “Okay, boys,” chuckled one of the coaches, a tall, husky man with blond hair and hazel eyes. “Let’s give Mr. McCoy some room. Line up, and begin loosening up.”

  The boys muttered “okay” before getting into position. They spread out in five lines, with four boys in each one. Max stood at the head of the middle group. Crossing their legs at the ankles first, the boys bowed at the waist and reached for their toes. Together, they counted to ten before leaning to the left, one leg kept straight while the other bent at the knee under their weight.

  “Sorry about that,” the man next to him said. “They get excited. I mean, it’s not every day one of the biggest players in the professional league comes to their practice.”

  Travis laughed and waved him off. “No, I suppose it’s not. I don’t really mind, anyway. They’re the best kinds of fans. All they see is the beauty in the game, not all the politics behind it.”

  “That’s true,” he commented. “I’m Dale Morris. You probably don’t remember me; I was a freshman when you were a senior.”

  “Oh, yeah, I do. You played tight-end,” Travis replied. “Pretty good one, too, if I remember correctly.”

  “Eh, I was okay.” Dale shrugged his shoulders. “Blew my knee out in the first game of my senior year, ended up riding the bench for the rest of the season. After that, I decided that if I couldn’t play, I’d coach. Took over the peewee program during my first year of college, and never looked back.”

  “That’s nice. These kids need strong leaders like you,” Travis murmured.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Dale scoffed. “They look up to you more than me, but if I can inspire just one kid, then, well, it’s worth it.”

  Travis nodded. “I’m sure if you ask these boys, Dale, they’ll all tell you that you’ve taught them more than I have.”

  “I just teach them the basics,” Dale said. “You give them hope that their dreams can come true.”

  Before Travis could reply, Dale blew his whistle and told the kids to huddle up. Travis went over and sat next to Penelope, who’d spread a large blanket on the ground. With his knees stretched out in front of him, he watched while they worked on hitting first. Dale was patient with them, explaining why it was important that they use their shoulders and not the top of their helmets. Travis laughed when Max stepped up in front of one of the biggest boys on the team. Getting down in his stance, Travis could tell by the way his foot dug into the ground that Max was ready. Dale blew his whistle, and Max had his shoulder into the kid and his arms wrapped around his waist before Travis could even blink. The other boy stumbled over his own feet, falling to the ground, but Max never let go — not once.

  “This is his favorite part of practice,” Penelope said with a giggle. Travis tore his eyes off of Max and looked at her. “And every time he challenges Matthew — the boy he just faced off with. Even though Matthew has about two feet and a good fifty pounds on Max, he still calls him out. Do you know why?”

  “No, why?” Travis asked.

  “Because in an interview you did last se
ason, when you lost to the Lions, you said that no matter how big the other guy is, you have to keep trying.” Penelope smiled. “He wrote that out on a piece of paper and pinned it on the bulletin board in his room. Every night, he reads it.”

  “I remember that game,” Travis murmured, turning his attention back to Max. “It was so cold. It started sleeting during the second quarter and didn’t stop. We tried to stay warm, but by the middle of the third, my fingers were frozen, and I could barely feel my toes.”

  “It was probably one of your best games,” Penelope commented. “You threw for four hundred yards and had three touchdowns, one that you ran in.”

  Travis shook his head. “Wasn’t enough, though. They ended up winning at the last second by kicking a thirty-two yard field goal.”

  “It’s not always about winning, Travis,” Penelope said. “Sometimes, it’s just about having the courage to get on the field.”

  “Why’d you follow my career?” Travis asked, turning his body so that he faced her. “I was a bastard, right? Why’d you still care?”

  She shook her head. “Watching you go from being this small town kid to this all star player in college and then finally achieving your dreams by being drafted — it reminded me of why I didn’t tell you.” Penelope shifted her eyes up to Travis. “And you weren’t a bastard, Travis. I just didn’t think you were ready to be a dad.”

  “Maybe I wasn’t, but I would have liked the choice.”

  Penelope sighed. “I know, you keep telling me that.”

  “I’m sorry,” Travis muttered.

  “Don’t be, I deserve it.” Penelope smiled. “I wasn’t ready to be a mom, either. The first few months were pure hell. Max was colicky. More than once, Momma came over and held him for an hour so I could shower, maybe get a nap. Once he outgrew that, things started getting easier. A little, anyway. Momma kept him while I went to school, then work afterwards. They helped me pay my bills, but I was careful with my money. Eventually, I started writing. I got a job down at the newspaper, covering everything from the Lion’s Club dinners to the sports section. It’s not much, but Cory lets me work from home so that I’m there when Max needs me. With Momma and Daddy in Colorado now, it makes it much easier to balance everything.”