The Journey Collection Read online

  The Journey

  Collection

  Lisa Bilbrey

  Kindle Edition

  ***

  Second Edition

  Copyright Lisa Bilbrey 2014

  The right of Lisa Bilbrey to be identified as the author of this work has

  been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000

  Kindle Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to barnesandnoble.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Lisa Bilbrey

  PO Box 22

  Clarendon, TX 79226

  Cover design by: Sydney Kalnay

  Cover image: © Yobro10 (http://www.dreamstime.com/yobro10_info) | Dreamstime.com. © Suzanne Tucker (http://www.dreamstime.com/soupstock_info) | Dreamstime.com, © Aprescindere (http://www.dreamstime.com/aprescindere_info) | Dreamstime.com/ © Rick Bolt / Dreamstime.com

  ***

  Dedication

  To Chan, Cooper, Alex, and Sophie — thank you for putting up with my silliness. Your encouragement and faith means so much to me and I feel lucky to have you.

  Mom, Danny, Kelly, Chris, and Randy — knowing that you’re behind me gives me the courage to keep trying.

  Kerry Fuglsang, Rhonda Erickson, and Leigh Warner — without you three always giving me an uplifting word of encouragement, I would have given up so many times. Thank you for always being there when I need someone to just be there.

  Elizabeth Lawrence, Serenity Jones, and Sydney Kalnay, thank you for all the hard work trying to dig through the mess I sent to you. You all are priceless, and I appreciate everything you do for me.

  ***

  Stories

  The Journey Home

  The Journey of Champions

  The Journey to Forever

  The Journey to a New Life

  ***

  The

  Journey

  Home

  ***

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  ***

  Chapter One

  The Journey Begins

  Travis McCoy sat on top of the examination table inside the trainer’s office, waiting for the man who held his future in the palm of his hands to come back in. For the last six seasons, all Travis could think about was football. That was a lie; football had been a part of him since just after his fifth birthday when his father had loaded him into the front seat of his beat-up Chevy truck and taken him to Austin, Texas. They had joined thousands of other fans in the stands at the University of Texas stadium and watched the Clarendon High School Broncos win the state championship for the first time in school history.

  He had watched the opposing teams face off on the forty yard line, listened to the echo of their helmets colliding, and the roar of the crowd when they ran into the end zone for the winning touchdown; however, Travis hadn’t understood the rules or the fundamentals of the game. From that day on, all he’d ever wanted was to be on that field and to play the game he’d fallen in love with. Now, Travis would be lucky if he ever got to step foot out there again, and all it had taken was one hard hit.

  Shaking his head, Travis sighed at the memory of that day. The receiver hadn’t been in the right spot, and Travis had turned the wrong way in his search when the left tackle on the defense planted him in the grass. A loud pop in his right shoulder was followed by searing pain that shot through his arm and into his chest. It had him in tears, though he did manage to keep them from falling down his face. Now, three days, two dozen ice packs, heating pads, and several x-rays later, he was waiting to see what kind of damage he’d suffered when the three-hundred-pound lineman had made him see stars.

  The door opened and Travis looked up to see Cal Hendricks, the head trainer for the Miami Sharks. He’d been friends with the tall, lanky, red-headed man since they’d started college together at the University of Texas. Cal had blown his knee out in the middle of their sophomore year when he’d gotten clipped from behind. With his future in the football over, he had decided to study sports medicine instead. The Sharks had hired him on as their head athletic trainer about a year after Travis had been drafted in as their star quarterback.

  Cal sighed and shifted his attention up to Travis. “I’m not gonna sugar coat this for you, Travis. You did some real damage to your shoulder this time. You have what we refer to as an AC separation, which is just my fancy way of saying you have a separated shoulder. Basically, you tore the ligaments between the clavicle and acromion bone. Now, the good news is that you don’t need surgery, but the tear is bad enough that — for now at least — we have to place you on the team’s injured reserve list for the remainder of the season.”

  Travis huffed out a heavy breath. “Wow, dude, just lay it all out there. I mean, don’t hold back or anything.”

  “Hey, don’t get mad at me,” Cal groused. “I didn’t cause this to happen. This is your third injury to the same shoulder. I told you when you hurt it last year that you needed to take some time off and rehab it properly, but you chose not to listen to me. It’s not my fault that you’re a stubborn asshole.”

  “Look, I know, okay?” Travis ran a hand over his face, through his curly chocolate-brown hair. “So, what do I do now? Rehab?”

  “You want my opinion as the team trainer or as your friend?”

  “I don’t know. Which one isn’t going to cut as deep?” Travis muttered.

  Cal pressed his lips into a thin line, offering nothing more.

  “Friend, I guess.”

  “I suggest you think real hard about whether this is what you really want from your life.” Travis started to answer, but Cal lifted his hand and stopped him. “I’m saying this because you’re my best friend, Trav. If you get hit one more time, it could end up costing you more than just your career. There’s a lot of damage in that shoulder, and your other one isn’t much better. You’ve had six years in the league. That’s not a bad record, you know.”

  “True,” he admitted. “But what else can I do? Not like I have a lot of options out there.”

  “You can always go home.” Cal shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure your dad would love to see you.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Adjusting the black, mesh fabric shoulder sling he wore, Travis said, “A lot has changed since I was last there. Not sure I’d be welcomed again.”

  “That’s the great thing about home, Travis; you’re always welcome there.” Cal placed a hand on his good shoulder. “Just think about it.”

  “Yeah, I will.” Travis sighed and climbed off the table, stifling the wince when he jarred his injury. “Thanks, Cal.”

  “You’re welcome. Take it easy.”

  Travis cleaned out his locker before he left the field house and walked back ou
t to his car: a black 2013 Hyundai Genesis Coupe. Tossing the bag in the trunk first, he climbed in behind the wheel and headed back to his apartment. Ten minutes later, he parked his car inside the garage and climbed out. He left his bag in the trunk; the dull ache in his shoulder was enough of a reminder of how much he’d lost. He didn’t need another.

  Travis stopped by the mailboxes on his way through the lobby and pulled out what looked like his cable and cell phone bills, an advertisement for one of the local car dealerships, and a letter a large maroon C and no return address in the upper-left corner. He tucked the mail under his injured arm and locked his mail box before he walked over to the elevator and pressed the up arrow. While he waited, he looked around the foyer. Mrs. Johnson was watering the plush, green plants she’d placed next to the front doors. The seventy-year-old, grey-haired woman had lived in apartment 1A for almost forty years. She’d once told him that, as long as she lived there, she’d make sure it felt like home. She was a sweet, old woman who did what she could to make everyone in the building feel at home there.

  He stepped onto the elevator, pressed the button that would take him to the tenth floor, and leaned back against the back wall. All he could think about was what Cal had said to him. Travis had known the moment he’d hurt his shoulder that his world would change. As a quarterback, he wasn’t a stranger to the feel of aches and pains in his elbow and shoulder joints, but this time was different. The pain was more intense, radiating through him like his body was burning. For the first time, Travis found himself wondering about the plan for the rest of his life. Football was all he’d ever known. What would he do now?

  The elevator doors slid open, and with a huff, Travis stepped off. The hallway toward his apartment was too cheerful for his sour mood. The walls were painted light beige, the carpet just a shade darker to offer a nice contrast. There was minimal art work on display, which is one of the reasons he had picked this place. He didn’t want someplace fancy; Travis had always thought of himself as a down-to-earth type of guy. The building also had tight security, the neighbors left him alone, and the rent wasn’t too steep.

  Travis stopped outside of apartment 10F, and pulled his keys out of his pocket while trying not to drop the stack of mail still tucked up under his arm. Unlocking the brass lock, he headed in and let the thick, wooden door close with a thud behind him. The small, two-bedroom apartment wasn’t very large, but with just him there, he didn’t really need anything bigger. Just off to the side of the door was the kitchen, fully stocked with the best appliances on the market: a stainless steel stove, a dishwasher, and a refrigerator that were surrounded by mahogany cabinets. The counter tops were made of charcoal-grey granite. Travis wasn’t much of a cook, but his mother would have adored the room.

  Tossing his keys on the small bar that separated the kitchen from the living room and kicking off his shoes, Travis settled on the black, leather sofa and turned on the television. The local news was on, and there in the middle of the screen was his picture. Travis picked up the remote and increased the volume.

  “Miami Sharks’ Star Quarterback Travis McCoy is not expected to return for the remainder of the season,” the young, perky, blond reporter stated. Tamara Roberts’ voice grated on Travis’ already-raw nerves. “With this latest in a series of injuries for the six-year veteran, one has to wonder if he’ll be able to recover in time for next year. Only time will tell.”

  Huffing, Travis turned the television off and tossed the remote onto the cushion next to him. Just want he needed: more doubt that he’d ever be able to recover. With a shake of his head, he pushed all thoughts of his dissipating career out of his mind and turned toward the stack of mail still tucked under his arm.

  “Nothing like a few bills to make the day just perfect,” he muttered, tossing the advertisement on the floor. “I don’t need that.”

  Travis made a mental note to draft payments for both bills. He was smart with his finances, and he had been careful not to spend his money on frivolous purchases. The logical part of him had always known that the day would come when he wouldn’t be able to play football anymore, and he needed to be prepared. Travis had saved and invested wisely, though even he had to admit he’d hoped his career would last longer than six years.

  Tossing the two bills on the coffee table first, Travis held up the simple white envelope without a return address. His name and address had been handwritten, though he didn’t recognize the messy scrawl. Tearing the envelope open, he pulled out a white sheet of paper and unfolded it at the crease.

  The first thing that caught his attention was the emblem at the top-center of the letter. The maroon shield with a silver C in the middle with two silver broncos on either side was the crest for his alma mater, Clarendon High School. Typed out under that was a letter addressed to him.

  Dear Mr. McCoy,

  As a graduate of Clarendon High School, we invite you to attend our week-long homecoming celebration next month. Your success here, and since you’ve left, has been an inspiration to us all. Our young people value your integrity and what you’ve managed to achieve. Not many young men make it as far as you have — which I am sure you know all too well.

  Mr. McCoy, if I may be candid here. Our football team is having the best season they have had since you left here. These are good boys; they’ve worked hard and pushed themselves to follow in your footsteps. When we began discussing what to do for homecoming, every one of them stood up and said they wanted you here. You see, they’d just started playing pee-wee football when you led our school to the win the state championship, and you started a fire burning in these young men. We’d all be honored if you could come home. If not, we’ll understand.

  I’ve enclosed a self-addressed envelope. We hope to hear back from you soon. Thank you for taking the time to read this letter and the best of luck on your upcoming season.

  Jack Garrison

  Principal

  Clarendon High School

  Travis reread the letter several times before letting it fall from his fingers. It fluttered to the ground, landing on top of his foot. Could he go home after more than a decade of being gone? After the mess he’d made, he wasn’t sure that there was anyone back in that small, Texas town who would welcome him home. Sometimes, damage was too severe to fix.

  ~*~*~*~

  A month later, Travis walked out of his apartment building and slid into the yellow taxi cab that had been waiting for him. He instructed the driver to take him to the airport and then shifted his attention out the window. Travis had finally been able to take the brace off his shoulder a couple weeks ago, but his shoulder was still stiff and ached when he used it too much. There wasn’t much mobility left in the joint, which just added to the rumors of his career being over. After a lot of thought, Travis had decided that in order to figure out his future, he needed to face his past. However, instead of replying back to Jack Garrison confirming that he was coming back to Clarendon for homecoming, Travis had merely booked a flight back to Texas.

  “Sir, we’re here,” the driver said, pulling Travis out of his inner reflections.

  “Thanks,” he replied, opening the door and climbing out. Travis dragged his suitcase from the backseat and let it flop onto the ground before he fished his wallet out of his back pocket, slipping a couple of twenties out. “This should be more than enough.”

  “Oh, well, thanks.” Hesitating for just a moment, the driver picked up his log book and flipped it to the back page. “Can I get an autograph? You know, for my son?”

  Travis laughed and took the book and pen the man had dug out of his pocket. “Sure thing. What’s his name?”

  “Harrison. He’s a huge fan of yours. Only four-years-old, and he’s already convinced that he’ll be a big star just like you.”

  “Well, good luck to him,” Travis murmured. He scribbled his name and a note that said ‘Keep dreaming’ on the log book before handing it back to the driver. “I hope he makes it.”

  The man looked down at his
book and smiled. “I just want him to be happy.”

  “Most fathers do.” Travis pushed away from the taxi and headed inside the airport.

  Half an hour later, he’d managed to check in for his flight and was sitting outside of his gate. He had on a pair of black sunglasses, and he was leaning his head against the wall behind his chair. Travis stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle, and folded his arms in front of his chest. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get his shoulders to relax.

  When Travis left, he’d crushed the one woman who’d ever cared about him: Penelope.

  She owned his heart and soul; she was the one person who’d ever believed that he’d be able to do anything he set his mind to. The day he’d left her had been the hardest moment of his life — at least until now. Going home was proving to be even harder.

  ***

  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.