The Journey Collection (31 page)

Chapter Six

Pigskins and Chalk Lines

Early on the fifth of August, Travis slipped out of bed, tucking the blankets around Penelope. She moaned, reached for him, but then let her hand fall against the mattress again.

“Clean the window good, squirrel,” she mumbled in her sleep. “No, not with your tail. Use the squeegee, that’s why I bought it, silly.”

Stifling his laughter, Travis gathered his clothes and crept into the bathroom to get dressed. He didn’t want to wake his wife, in particular during what sounded like an interesting dream. Penelope had been so tired, yet, she had been struggling to sleep through the night. With the pressure of the baby on her bladder, Travis often found himself being awoken in the middle of the night by her huffing and waddling into the bathroom. And at twenty-three weeks, waddling was the best description Travis had for the way his wife moved.

Though she was just over halfway through her pregnancy, Penelope had blossomed. Her stomach had popped and she looked further along than she was. Travis loved it and often found himself mesmerized by her body. Many times he had found himself lying awake at night, just watching her. With each passing moment, he found himself falling deeper in love with the woman who had owned his heart since he was just a snot-nosed teenager.

When he thought about how much time he had missed with her and Max because of his misguided priorities, Travis cringed. He didn’t regret his life in Miami, or with the Sharks, but longed for the memories of Penelope’s pregnancy with Max, longed to have seen his son take his first steps, or even to deal with potty training. Over the past six months, he made the same vow over and over again: he wouldn’t miss any of those milestones with the new baby.

Once he was dressed, Travis tiptoed out of the bathroom and bedroom, trying to be quiet, and closed the door behind him. When he turned around, he found Max standing at the end of the hallway, wearing a pair of maroon cotton shorts, the Broncos’ playoff shirt the cheerleaders had sold the year before, and his running shoes.

“You’re up pretty early,” Travis said, walking past his son and heading into the kitchen.

Max followed. “Yep. I was thinking maybe I could go to practice with you.”

Nodding, Travis didn’t say anything as he poured himself a cup of coffee, thankful that he’d remembered to set the timer the night before. At six in the morning, he was going to need all the caffeine he could get. Today marked the start of the high school football season and the first day of practice.

Of course, because of the recent droughts and incessant heat, none of the high school football programs in the state were able to run their program the way they had in the old days. When Travis was in high school, the football players went through two-a-days. The team would start around the same time that Travis found himself up now, but instead of one long practice, they would go at it for a few hours, take a three-hour break, and then come back in the late afternoon for more. It was grueling, but Travis had loved every moment of it.

Now, however, the teams were forced to limit their practice to the mornings before the heat of the day set in. Travis understood why. The recent string of kids passing out or dying from heat exhaustion caused the state regulation committee to reevaluate what was in the best interest of the kids. Travis could respect that. After all, football was just a game and the main focus should be teaching them to have fun and to love playing. He wouldn’t put any of his players in danger just for the sake of the win.

“Did you talk to Mom about it?” Travis knew better than to even consider taking the boy along with him if Penelope had refused him.

“Last night,” Max replied.

Leaning against the counter, he stared his son down, trying to deduce whether Max was being honest. Max seldom lied, but he was like any other kid and tended to fudge the truth a bit. He’d fib about trivial things like whether he had homework or pretend that shoving everything under his bed constituted “cleaning his room.”

“Dad, please?” Max added, jutting out his bottom lip and pouting.

Travis bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep from laughing, but the sight of his thirteen-year-old son standing in front of him, begging like a two-year-old, was amusing. With a subtle shrug of his shoulders, he said, “All right, but if I find out you’re lying, you have to paint the baby’s room all by yourself.”

Max grinned. “Fine.”

“Have you eaten?”

“I had a banana and some yogurt,” he answered.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Taking one last sip of his coffee, Travis dumped the last few swigs from his cup into the sink and filled it with water, knowing better than to just leave it on the counter. Penelope had made it clear more than once that his habit of leaving his dirty dishes on the counter was not acceptable.

Travis picked up his bag from next to the door and followed Max out to the Suburban. Once they were buckled in, he pulled out of the driveway and drove to the football field. He parked next to the side entrance, noting that there were already dozens of cars parked along the street. When he and Max walked into the stadium, he was surprised to see all of this year’s sophomore, junior, and senior players already dressed and waiting under the goal post. With a respectful nod in their direction, Travis headed into his office, impressed with the leadership that his returning players were already displaying.

Dropping his bag on his desk first, he dug out the stack of physical forms that had already been turned in by his freshman and junior players. The state required that all upcoming seventh, ninth, and eleventh grade students, who were participating in any athletic activity, have a physical performed by a doctor stating that they were healthy enough to play. With the exception of a handful of freshmen who were on the fence about whether or not they wanted to play, every one of his players had already gotten their check-ups done — just another way of proving they were ready to get to work. Making a note of whose forms he still needed, Travis dropped the papers back on his desk, picked up the football that was sitting on the corner, and headed back out to the field.

The dozen freshmen who had signed up to play had joined their upperclassmen. A quick count revealed that thirty-two boys had come out for football this year; the biggest turn out they had had in the three years that Travis had been coaching the Broncos. Of course he knew they wouldn’t all stick with the program. A handful of them would either succumb to injuries or would quit outright when the workouts got hard. Then there would be the handful that wouldn’t be able to keep up their grades.

Gripping the ball with both hands, Travis stopped at the edge of the field and looked at each boy, including Max, before speaking.

“Time, passion, heart, and soul. I don’t ask for much from my players, but I do ask that you give me those. When we step out onto this field every Friday night, we do so with the expectations of an entire community resting on our shoulders. When you step up to the line, hundreds of eyes will be on you, ready to scrutinize every move you make. Sometimes, they’ll praise you for attacking the other team or for getting through their line. But other times, they will criticize you. They’ll call you lazy or soft, claiming that you don’t care or don’t want it enough. I’ll know that’s not true. I’ll know that every person who crosses the chalk line was there because they proved to me that they wanted it.

“The upperclassmen know that I will push hard. I expect one-hundred and ten percent at all times. Any less and you’re wasting both my time and yours. There is nothing I ask you to do here that I haven’t done, or that I’m not willing to do now.” Pausing, Travis released a breath of air and looked at each boy again, his eyes landing on Max last. “If you push yourselves to do the best you can, at the end of the season, we’ll be winners. It doesn’t matter what the scoreboard says, or what our win-loss ratio is. All that will matter is how much of ourselves we put into this game. I’m standing here in front of you, making the commitment to put everything I have into this team. Are you willing to do the same?”

The last word had barely left Travis’s mouth when the first of the boys stepped away from the group, moved so that he stood a few feet away from Travis, and folded him arms in front of him. It wasn’t a surprise to Travis that Aaron Johnson was the first to step up to the plate. The two-hundred and fifty pound lineman had worked harder for him than any other player. Two games into his freshman season, Aaron had broken the fifth metatarsal in his right foot, ending his season early. The break took three months to heal, and just when the boy had started to prepare for the start of the baseball season, he broke the same bone again.

Instead of treating the second break aggressively, the doctors waited four weeks before deciding to place a screw in his foot. The surgery and recovery time took another four months, wiping out Aaron’s entire freshman year. Travis saw the longing in the boy’s eyes as he was forced to stand on the sideline and watch. When Aaron’s sophomore year started, Travis was expecting the boy to need time to get back in shape, but that hadn’t been the case. Aaron stepped onto the field in better shape than many of his fellow players and with a determination to prove that he deserved to be a starting lineman. He was a natural leader and Travis knew that he would light a fire inside the underclassmen.

One by one, the rest of the team joined Aaron, though a few of the freshman seemed hesitant. Once again, Travis wasn’t surprised. He had been watching these boys play in junior high. While they had talent, they hadn’t been pushed to give the game everything they had. Either they would step up or they would quit. He wouldn’t hold it against them if they chose the latter. Putting one hundred percent of themselves into this game was a tall order, and not everyone could make that type of commitment.

“Good,” Travis said, looking over to Justin Banks, his defensive coordinator. “Get them loose.”

~*~*~*~

By the time practice was over, the boys were dripping with sweat, a few of them were limping, and handful of them had rushed over to the sidelines to rid their stomachs of their breakfasts — Max included. Travis made sure each player had a ride and a bottle of water before he and Max climbed into the Suburban and headed home.

Unlike the trip to the stadium, Max wasn’t his chatty, excitable self. Like the older boys on the team, his son had pushed himself and tried to keep up. It made Travis proud to see the commitment Max was willing to give. Max groaned when he climbed out of the car and Travis could have sworn her heard the boy mutter “fuck” before the door shut. He chose to let it go, knowing that the boy was hurting from his strenuous workout.

The boys found Penelope, sitting at the kitchen table, cutting up a watermelon. Her feet were propped up in the chair next to her. She hadn’t bothered to change out of her nightgown, but had pulled her long, blond hair into a messy bun on the top of her head. Penelope was always beautiful and the sight of her looking so relaxed now took Travis’s breath away.

“There are my guys,” she cheered when they walked in.

Max grunted and flopped into one of the seats.

Penelope laughed. “Oh, baby, are you tired?”

“Tired is an understatement, Mom.” Max pointed at his father. “He is trying to kill me.”

“Kill? Really?” Travis scoffed.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up, but then he winced and let them flop back to his side.

“Does that mean you’re not going with me in the morning?” Lifting an eyebrow, Travis waited for his son’s reply.

Snorting, Max pushed away from the table and stood up. “I’m not a quitter, Dad. I can handle it.”

Without another word, he walked out of the kitchen, leaving Penelope and Travis alone. She leaned over and laid her head on his shoulder, laughing.

“Oh, that kid,” she snickered.

“He did all right,” Travis murmured, sliding an arm around her waist. “He pushed himself to keep up with the older boys. I was impressed.”

Penelope smiled and looked up at him. “He’s his father’s son. Just make sure that he doesn’t overdo it. He is just thirteen, after all.”

“I promise.” Leaning toward her, Travis brushed his lips across hers. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I had weird dreams.” She waved a hand in the air. “Something about windows and I think there was a squirrel. I don’t know. I can’t remember anything solid, though.”

“Hmm, odd.”

Biting the inside of his lip again, Travis stifled the laughter that bubbled to the edge of his tongue. Instead, he tightened his arm around his wife, and pressed his lips to the top of her head, thankful to just be able to hold her.

***

Chapter Seven

A Peek at the Future

“Are you sure you can afford to take the day off?”

Sighing, Travis looked over his shoulder at Penelope, who was sitting on the bed with her black flip-flops in her hands. Though she had been speaking to him, her attention was focused on her feet.

“There’s no place I’d rather be than with you,” he told her for the at least the tenth time since he had returned from dropping Max off at school.

“But you’re going to miss practice,” she fretted. “And you have a big game tomorrow. You should stay here. I’ll be fine by myself.”

Travis shook his head as he turned and walked over to his wife, kneeling in front of her. They were three weeks into the school year, and he had opted to take a personal day to take Penelope to her doctor’s appointment. At twenty-seven weeks, Travis knew she would have several more appointments, but he refused to miss a single one if he could help it. Reaching out, he took her shoes from her and dropped them on the floor before grabbing Penelope’s hands.

“There is nowhere — and I do mean nowhere — I’d rather be today than with you.”

A warm, rosy blush flooded her cheeks. “Okay, if you’re sure, I’ll let it go.”

“And they say miracles don’t exist,” Travis snickered. Before Penelope let out more than a huff at his teasing remark, he leaned up and kissed her. “Come on. We don’t want to be late.”

“Help me with my shoes?”

When she batted her lashes at him, Travis knew he’d never be able to refuse her. Penelope owned him and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. With a simple nod, he picked up her flip-flops and slid them on her feet. Standing up, he pulled her off the bed and slipped his arms around her, before leading her out of their bedroom, through the house, and out to the Suburban. Once they were buckled in, he started the engine and pulled out of the driveway, making his way through town and onto the highway.

“Do you think we’ll get to learn the sex of the baby?” he asked, shifting his eyes over to his wife.

Penelope smiled. “Probably not. He or she seems to be a bit stubborn. Much like someone else I know.”

“Max?” Travis lifted an eyebrow.

“Um, yes, but I was talking about you, honey. I love you, but you are the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”

He couldn’t deny her claim. Stubbornness had always been a blessing and a curse for him. On one hand, he had never let anyone tell him that he couldn’t achieve the goals that he had set for himself. The odds of a small-town boy like him getting a full scholarship to one of the best colleges in the country had not been great, not to mention his chances of being drafted to play in the pros. His persistence had provided him a chance that most men could only dream of, but at the same time, it had almost cost him his family.

“Guess that’s true,” Travis admitted, decelerating as an eighteen-wheeler switched lanes, almost hitting them. “Son of a bitch!”

“Wow, dumbass couldn’t wait, I guess,” Penelope groused with a shake of her head.

“Yeah, no kid —” All of the sudden, the truck slowed down in front of him, causing Travis to tighten his grip on the steering wheel and jam his foot down on the brake. “Fuck!”

Turning the wheel to the left, Travis attempted to change lane to avoid a collision, but because there was a car trying to pass them both, he was forced to stay where he was. Penelope screamed, and her hand flew up to grab the handle above the door as the truck came to a near stop in the middle of the road.

“Holy shit,” Travis cursed, yanking the wheel to the right, and driving the Suburban onto the shoulder of the road. The left side of their front bumper clipped the tail end of the eighteen-wheeler, sending them spinning into the ditch on the side of the road. They skidded against the dirt gravel a few feet before jerking to a standstill.

Travis took a sharp breath and looked over at Penelope. She had tears pouring down her face. One of her hands was attached to the handle, while the other was caressing her belly.

“Baby, are you okay?” he managed to croak out, peeling his hands off the wheel.

“I — I think so,” she sobbed.

“Did you hit your head?” he asked, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door.

Without waiting for her to respond, he leapt out of the Suburban and rushed around to her side. He opened her side of the car and examined every inch of her that he could.

Penelope grabbed one of his hands and brought it up to her lips. Her face was saturated with tears. “I’m okay. Just shaken up.”

“Oh, my God, are you folks all right?” At the sound of the deep baritone voice behind him, Travis spun around and found the driver of the truck standing by the front of his now-damaged vehicle.

“No thanks to you,” Travis spat, pulling away from Penelope, despite the way she clawed at his arm to keep him there. He rushed the driver, grabbing the front of his flannel shirt and slamming him against the hood. It didn’t matter to Travis that the man was twice his size or that a small crowd had begun to gather. All he saw was the man who had put his wife in danger. “You could have killed her, you stupid son of a bitch!”

“Travis!” Penelope screamed.

His head snapped in her direction and he saw her standing next to the Suburban, one arm wrapped around her abdomen and the other hand gripping the door like her life depended on it. The look of horror and agonizing pain on Penelope’s face spurred Travis into action. Releasing his hold on the driver and almost slinging him to the ground, Travis ran back over to Penelope, enveloping her in his arms.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Pain,” she gasped, letting go of the door and grabbing the front of his shirt. “In my stomach.”

“Oh, fuck,” Travis swore, sweeping her off her feet. He shifted his eyes over to the driver, fury filling him. “You’d better hope and pray that nothing is wrong with either of them.”

Before the man could reply, two highway patrol cars pulled up on the side of the road. The cops climbed out of their cars, and made their way down to where they stood. Penelope was weeping into Travis’s chest, her fist clenching the front of his T-shirt.

“Is everyone all right?” one of the officers asked.

Travis almost scoffed, thinking that about what a stupid question that was, but knew better than to be rude. “No. My wife is pregnant and complaining of pain in her stomach. We need an ambulance here now.”

The second cop nodded his head, and brought his hand-radio up to his lips, muttering to the dispatcher. Shifting his eyes over to Travis, recognition filled his features. “You’re Travis McCoy.”

It wasn’t a question.

The first officer snapped his attention over to Travis, as did the driver of the semi and half the people who had been gawking at the group. Travis gave a silent groan. This wasn’t the time or place for him to deal with fans. His wife needed help, for Christ’s sake.

With a simple nod, he confirmed the cop’s declaration.

“I watched you play for the championship your senior year at UT,” the cop stated, acting like they were sitting in the middle of a café and drinking coffee instead of being on the side of the road. “You played quite a game. You had what? Four touchdowns and threw for over four hundred yards?”

“Yeah, well, I had a good team behind me.” Travis cleared his throat, and tightened his hold on his wife. “How long until the ambulance gets here?”

“Oh, a few minutes,” he mumbled. “What happened here?”

The driver of the semi rambled out his story, saying that he’d been having trouble staying awake and when a tumbleweed drifted into the road, it startled him and caused him to panic. It took every ounce of Travis’s limited self-control not to lash out at the man for putting not only him and Penelope in danger, but half a dozen other drivers, too. And all because of a tumbleweed.

After a handful of people, including Travis and Penelope, recounted their sides of the story, the ambulance showed up. The paramedics did a quick exam of Penelope, before strapping her down on the stretcher, much to her dismay. Once they loaded her into the back of the ambulance, Travis started to climb in, when one of the paramedics put his hand out, pushing him back.

“There isn’t enough room,” he declared.

Travis snarled, and pushed the medic’s hand off his chest. “That’s my wife, and my baby. I am going with her. End of story.”

“Sir —” he began, but clamped his lips together when Penelope called out to Travis. “Fine, but you ride in the front and if you get in the way at all, I will have the police arrest you. I don’t give a shit if you are Travis McCoy.”

“Good, because right now, I don’t either.”

Ignoring the mutters coming from the paramedic, Travis walked around to the passenger side of the ambulance and climbed in, turning in his seat and reassuring Penelope that he was right there. She attempted to reach for his hand, but the paramedic who was seated next to her, pulled her arm back. Travis clenched his jaw, and put his seatbelt on, and tried to keep calm for his wife’s sake.

The half-hour ride to the hospital felt agonizingly slow, despite how the driver was speeding. In an effort to do something, Travis called Dr. Chan and told him what had happened. Dr. Chan assured him that he would meet them in the emergency room, and urged him to stay serene for Penelope’s sake. Travis tried to focus on Penelope, doing whatever he could to keep her relaxed, but inside, he was terrified about something being wrong with the baby.

After calling the doctor, he called Russ. Travis needed him to get Max and make sure that his son was okay. He didn’t know how long they would be at the hospital, or what was going to happen and he needed his father to take care of his son. A lump formed in his throat. How would he tell Max if something had happened to Penelope or the baby?

At long last, the ambulance pulled up at the hospital. In a rush, the paramedics brought her inside a trauma room. True to his word, Dr. Chan was waiting for them, and barked out an order to get an ultrasound machine in the room right away. Travis stood next to the door, trying to stay out of the way, and kept his eyes locked on Penelope’s. He could see the terror filling her eyes, and he wanted to make it better, but couldn’t. Right now, all he could do was stand on the sidelines.

After almost an hour, Dr. Chan shooed everyone out of the room and motioned for Travis to come over to him and Penelope. He had hooked up Penelope to two different monitors, one that watched her heartbeat and the other for the baby’s. The rapid beating coming from both machines was music to Travis’s ears.

“Penelope, we’ve been monitoring you and you’re not contracting, there’s no spotting, and nothing seems broken. I believe the pain is from where the seatbelt bit into your skin. You’ve already got some bruising forming,” Dr. Chan explained and ran a hand across the back of his neck.

“Are you sure?” she whimpered, grabbing Travis’s hand and pulling it to her lips.

“Well, I still want to do an ultrasound, but I’m not seeing any indication that there’s anything wrong,” he replied with a gentle smile.

“Okay,” Penelope murmured, releasing a deep breath.

Dr. Chan nodded before he turned and reached out for the ultrasound machine, pulling it toward him. While he set it up, Travis settled on the side of the bed, tightening his hold on Penelope’s hand. His heart was still racing, but the relief that filled him at doctor’s reassuring words caused his body to relax.

“This will be cold,” Dr. Chan said, pulling Penelope’s shirt up and squirting some green gel on her swollen belly. Picking up the ultrasound wand, he pressed it against her skin and started sliding it across her skin. For several minutes he was quiet, taking a few measurements and checking every inch of Penelope’s womb. Smiling, he looked over at them. “Do you want to know the sex?”

“Um,” Penelope hummed, shifting her eyes over to Travis, “yes.”

“You sure?” Dr. Chan pressed, raising an eyebrow in her direction. “There’s something said for being surprised.”

“We’ve had enough surprises today, doc,” Travis told him. “We’d like to know if we are having a son or a daughter — not that it matters.”

“That’s right. All we care about is having a healthy baby, but if he or she is willing to let us see, we might as well know, right?” Penelope laughed for the first time since they had hit the eighteen-wheeler. “You know, so we can prepare better.”

“Hmm, okay,” Dr. Chan replied, smiling as he turned the screen toward them. “Meet your daughter.”

***