The Journey Collection (2 page)

***

Chapter
Two

Revelations

Travis adjusted the carry-on bag hanging on his shoulder and followed the line of people through the tunnel into the airport. The minute the plane landed in Amarillo, he’d pulled his sunglasses back down over his crystal-blue eyes and shoved a baseball cap over his brown, curly hair. It’d already been a long day. His flight from Miami to Dallas had ended up being delayed by almost two hours. Then, he’d had to run for his connection to Amarillo, barely squeezing in before the door had closed. He had muttered his apology to the flight attendant, who’d waved him off the minute she’d realized his identity.

Throughout both flights, several people had come up to him and asked him to autograph their newspapers, magazines, and more than a few barf bags. Six years in professional football had gotten him used to admirers fawning over him. Just last season, the Sharks had been one game away from playing for the national championship, and according to the latest polls, they were the favorites to win this year — not that Travis would be able to help them. At this point, he’d be lucky if he even got to stand on the sidelines and watch as they become champions.

Travis shook those thoughts out of his head as he took the escalator down to the baggage area. He waited for his luggage to roll out on the conveyer belt — it never did. He waited for over half an hour before letting out an aggravated growl and storming over to the lost luggage office. There were a dozen people in front of him, all with similar looks of irritation on their faces. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who’d come up a little short today.

He stood in line for another twenty minutes before he was able to file his claim. The smarmy-looking kid behind the counter assured him that they’d deliver it to his father’s house within twenty-four hours, but Travis had his doubts. Muttering a thank you, he left. There was no point in taking his frustrations out on some kid fresh out of college.

Travis shuffled outside and searched for his father; he wasn’t hard to spot. Russ McCoy was what one would refer to as an old-school cowboy. Tall and muscular, he had dark, leathery skin from spending the majority of every day working out in the fields; wispy brown hair; and similar blue eyes to Travis’s. On top of his head, he wore a black, felt cowboy hat with a leather band around the top and a silver buckle on the side. Travis chuckled under his breath and walked over to him; Russ never went anywhere without that hat.

Coming to a stop a couple feet away from him, Travis nodded toward the man. “Dad.”

“That’s all you got to say?” Russ scoffed and lifted an eyebrow. “It’s been a long time, boy.”

“Yes, sir, it has,” Travis agreed. “Kind of surprised you came to pick me up.”

Russ shrugged his shoulders. “Couldn’t very well let you stand here alone, could I? Besides, I didn’t think you’d actually show up. I guess I wanted to see it for myself.”

Travis clamped his mouth shut, swallowing back the retort that begged to be uttered. Fighting with his father was the last thing he wanted to do right now. He’d spent too many years hashing out the same argument with him. Travis knew Russ had never understood why he had been so desperate to get the hell out of Clarendon. Sometimes, it was just easier to let Russ think he had been a selfish bastard rather than to tell his father the truth.

“Anyway, let’s get on the road,” Russ muttered, pushing off the side of his beat-up Chevy. “I’ve still got a lot of work to do today, and I’ve already lost half the day. Where’s the rest of your stuff?”

“Who the hell knows,” Travis groused. “They’re supposed to deliver it to me tomorrow.”

Russ laughed. “Yeah, well, good luck with that, boy.”

Travis climbed into the passenger seat and stowed his bag on the floorboard. Russ climbed in behind the wheel and started the truck. Shifting it into drive, he pulled away from the curb without another word. Five minutes later, they were headed down the highway toward Clarendon to a past that Travis wasn’t sure he could actually face.

~*~*~*~

By the time Russ pulled up in front of their house, Travis was hot, cranky, and frustrated. With each mile that passed, the awkward tension inside the cab of the black pickup had grown. It had taken all of his control not to throw the door open and jump. Travis loved his father, but the years apart and the decisions that Travis had made put a strain on their already-testy relationship.

“Well, your room is just how you left it,” Russ said, looking out the window. “I put some clean sheets on your bed, though. Can’t remember the last time I washed the old ones. Probably before you left, but who knows.”

“Oh, um, okay,” Travis mumbled.

“I’d better get to work. The fence on the west side of the creek is busted up.”

“Thought you just patched those up?” Travis asked.

Russ laughed, turning toward him. “I did, but we had pretty nasty storm a week back, the winds were pretty fierce. A branch from one of the trees around the creek bed broke and smashed my new fence to pieces. You remember Joe Johnson?”

“Yeah, he graduated a couple years before me,” Travis replied.

Russ nodded. “He runs a bit of a handyman business. Anyway, he came out and removed the limbs for me, but now I gotta get the fence fixed before any of the cattle find the gap. The market is bad enough without losing them out of laziness.”

“Oh.” Travis wasn’t sure what to say. Work on the ranch was one part of home that he hadn’t missed. When he was little, Russ would make him go out and feed the cattle, plow the fields, and help during branding season. Travis had hated every minute of it and hadn’t hidden his disgust from Russ, either.

“Yeah, so I’d better get going before I lose all my light.” Russ cleared his throat. “Bertha is in the barn, in case you wondered.”

Travis snapped his head up, his mouth gaping toward his father. “I figured you’d gotten rid of her already.”

Russ shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “She’s not mine.” He shrugged his shoulders, smiling at Travis. “Guess I hoped that you’d come back for her someday.”

Guilt crept over Travis, and he shifted his attention out of the window.

“Anyway, the door’s unlocked, so . . .” Russ trailed off.

Without another word, Travis pushed open the door and climbed out of his father’s truck. He heaved his carry-on back onto his shoulder and headed into the white, two-story farm house. The screen door slammed shut behind Travis, and he took a minute to look around. A snort escaped from between his lips. Not a damn thing had changed.

There was a small foyer carpeted in burgundy shag. Straight ahead were a set of stairs that led to the second floor. To the left of the foyer was the formal dining room, where an old, oak table and half a dozen matching chairs stood. Against the far wall, an oak cabinet displayed his parents’ wedding china, not that anyone outside of Travis had ever seen it. Russ was a private man and didn’t have people out to the house often.

To the right of the foyer was the living area. Dropping his bag on the floor, Travis walked into the sparse room. Two tan-and-blue plaid, tweed couches were arranged in front of the television, which sat inside the built-in entertainment center. Russ had spent the better part of two years building that shelving unit.

Years that should have been spent taking care of my mother
, Travis thought bitterly.

Travis closed his eyes in an effort to push back the anger bubbling to the surface. Loralie McCoy had deserved better than a husband who’d rather spend his days holed up inside his workshop than taking care of his dying wife. Travis had been nine-years-old when his mother had been diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. He’d watched as she had fought every day to climb out of bed until, eventually, she couldn’t. Travis had listened when she’d begged God to spare her — he hadn’t. After two years and numerous rounds of chemotherapy, Loralie’s body had grown too weak, and she’d passed away. Travis had been eleven when suddenly, his mother was gone.

Running an aggravated hand along his jaw, Travis turned and stomped out of the room. He snatched his bag off the floor and headed upstairs. He’d never been able to forgive his father for abandoning his mother when she’d needed him the most. Travis had done what he could for Loralie, but he had been just a kid. He hadn’t understood that his momma was sick and that she was dying. Travis never expected for his mother to fall sleep one night and not wake up the next morning.

Just like his father told him it would, Travis’ bedroom looked just like it had when he’d left a decade ago, with the exception of the layer of dust covering the shelves. His baby-blue walls were still covered in posters of various professional football teams. They’d motivated him to keep working harder and to never give up on his dream.

Scoffing, he tossed his bag on the bed and sighed. “That didn’t work out the way I expected,” he muttered.

After only a few minutes inside the house, Travis started to feel anxious. Rather than stay there waiting for his father to come back and lay into him, Travis headed back downstairs and into the kitchen, where he found the keys for Bertha. They were hanging on the same nail where he’d put them a decade ago. Twirling them around his index finger, Travis pushed open the back door and ran out to the barn, pulling open the double doors. A smile tugged against the corner of his lips. The black 1966 Pontiac GTO had been his pride and joy, the only connection he had left with his mother. It’d belonged to her, and when he’d turned fifteen, Russ had tossed him the keys and told him to be careful.

“Hey, baby, did you miss me?” Travis murmured, dragging the cover off of Bertha. Once he’d walked around the classic car, he climbed in behind the wheel. The black interior molded around him, almost welcoming him back into its comfort. “Well, let’s hope you run as good as you look.”

The engine roared to life, eliciting a moan from Travis. He shifted the car into drive and, being very careful as he pulled out of the barn, headed down the long, dirt driveway toward the highway. Travis rolled down the window; the cool breeze that flittered in let him begin to relax. There was nothing quite like a nice drive in the country. Travis’ eyes shifted to the passenger seat. He could almost picture Penelope sitting there with a huge smile on her face. She’d made everything better. Of course, then he’d ruined it all by leaving.

Travis shook any thought of her out of his head as he drove past the city limits. The town hadn’t changed much over the years. A new convenience store had taken the place of a couple of out-of-business gas stations. Clayton’s Groceries was still there, though it looked like the exterior had been revamped with a fresh coat of red paint and a new sign. Travis drove by the bank, a couple of insurance offices, and the local pharmacy; each establishment displayed their support for the local school’s football team. Travis laughed as he turned left on Main Street — not a damn thing had changed.

A few minutes later, Travis parked his car in the lot outside of the high school’s gymnasium. From his seat in his car, he could hear the band playing the fight song, the roar of the students, fans, and parents who’d come to the pep rally to cheer on the football team. He could remember every Friday afternoon that he’d spent sitting in front of their watchful gazes. He had both hated and loved every minute of it.

Travis took a deep breath and climbed out of his car, pushing the door shut with his hip. He shoved his keys into his back pocket before walking across the parking lot and into the building. He stopped in the doorway to the gym, and a smile sprang up on his face. The bleachers were packed, and there were at least another three dozen people standing against the walls. The cheerleaders were chanting, “Go, fight, win” while waving their maroon, white, and silver pompoms in the air. On the left side of the basketball court sat the members of the varsity football team; all of them wore maroon jerseys with large white numbers on their chests and backs. The walls of the gym had been covered in posters made by the student body in support of their team.

From where he was standing, Travis was able to stay hidden. The cheerleaders finished their chant and ran to the side; it was time for the homecoming queen nominees to be announced. For the next several minutes, the crowds cheered and awed as four girls from the senior class were presented. Their sashes draped over their shoulders, the girls were led over to the white, wicker arch that had been set up on the opposite side of the gym.

Finally, the band started playing the school song. Travis slipped even further into the shadows, hoping to bypass the crowd for a while longer. Right now, he needed a few minutes to come to grips with being there. He’d only been home an hour, and already he found himself second guessing his decision.

Once the band finished with the school song, they broke into another round of the fight song. Travis stayed hidden as the gym emptied, leaving only a few people piddling around. Once he felt it was clear, he stepped inside and released a heavy sigh. It’d been too long since he’d found himself here, though he could remember it like it was yesterday. The thrill when he heard everyone cheering for him, the pride he felt for being a leader — it was indescribable.

“Excuse me, Mr. McCoy. Will you sign my football?” Travis looked behind him and saw a small boy with dark, mocha eyes and shaggy, blond hair that looked like he ran his fingers through it often.

“Sure. What’s your name, little man?” Taking the brown, leather ball and black marker that the boy offered, Travis cradled it to his chest and waited for the boy to tell him what name to scribble.