Page 45 of Breakaway

“Good to have you back, Anderson,” Coach Forrester called, as Travis climbed back onto the bench.

Out of breath, all he could do was nod. But it was good to be back home.

After the final buzzer, the Falcons had won 4–2.

After the media had spoken about the game to players in the locker room, one of the scouts passed Travis in the hall.

“Good game, Anderson! It was good to see you steppin’ up on guys like that. Keep that shit up!”

Travis was proud of his game and obviously it showed. Any team out there would be thrilled to take a guy with speed, scoring ability, and grit. And he was lucky to have all three.

Improving his game—check.

“Hey, Anderson!” JJ called. “You coming? We’re all going over to Redd’s Bar.”

Travis looked at JJ and the group of players walking with him. The next thing on his to-do list was to be a better man, someone Morgan could be proud of, and someone Morris would see as responsible.

“Nah, not tonight. I think I’m just going to head on home. But nice game, you guys!” he called with a smile.

Be a better man—check.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Morgan

Morgan stood at her chest of drawers. In the top drawer, hidden under a pile of clothes, was her mom’s wooden jewelry box. She pulled it out and opened it. This jewelry box was one of Morgan’s favorite things of her mom’s. As a child she would ask to play with it. She’d sit at her mom’s vanity and take each piece of jewelry out of the box to try on, admire it in the mirror, and then carefully put each back where she found them.

Inside the wooden heirloom box sat an envelope. She added cash to the envelope. It seemed old school to be saving cash in an envelope, but this was how her mom taught her to save for something she really wanted. This way, the cash was home in a drawer, instead of in the bank account where it could be easily spent on a whim, with just a wave of the bank card. After all, those impulse purchases were what stores counted on.

Shutting the wooden box, she gently touched the lid and stared at it, as memories of her mom flooded her brain. Fighting back a tear, she gently returned the box to its hiding place.

A noise from the doorway startled her. She spun around to see Aunt Trina standing there with an uncomfortable expression on her face.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you, and I swear I wasn’t spying,” her aunt apologized.

Morgan shut the drawer and smiled awkwardly. “I didn’t realize anyone was home.” Had she thought someone was home, she would’ve shut her door. It was a privacy thing. The entire house was like a common area for the Morris family, but this little room was her space and hers only.

“Yeah, I apologize again for interrupting. I swear I wasn’t snooping. I heard you up here, and saw your door open, and here I am—being a terrible host. Sorry.”

“Aunt Trina, it’s fine. No apology necessary. It’s your house.”

“Oh, Morgan.” Her aunt pouted as if Morgan’s words hurt her. “It’s your house, too.”

Morgan shrugged.

“Um, so how’s that apartment fund coming?” Aunt Trina asked with a grin. “You planning on leaving Casa Morris soon?”

Taken back by the question, Morgan quickly asked, “The what?” She had thought she had the box hidden well, and she hadn’t mentioned it to her uncle at all. She knew it was time to get her own place, and the simple act of putting money in her little fund each week made her feel like she was that much closer to accomplishing a goal. Right now, being on her own in a new place, she needed to be grounded by something, and saving for her own place seemed like a good place to start. Her mom had always told her it was good to have goals. Without goals, you were just floating aimlessly through life, and spending all your hard earned money frivolously.

“You’re not going to hurt my feeling, you know.” Aunt Trina smiled. “Join me for a cup of coffee?”

“Sure.” Morgan closed her bedroom door behind her and followed her aunt to the kitchen.

They existed in silence, as a fresh pot finished brewing. Morgan fussed with the paper napkin, folding it into little triangles, making perfect creases along the way. It was true that she had known Aunt Trina since she was little, but being on opposite coasts, they hadn’t spent a lot of time one on one. Morgan stared at the door, hoping her cousins would walk in any second to break the awkward silence.

“You can stare at the door all you want. The kids aren’t coming home any time soon. They’re spending the afternoon with my friend Kat and her little boy. I’m sure by now Willow has a stage set up in the park somewhere, and she has given little Ian Lafleur a part to play in her show. Hank likes sandboxes, so I’m sure he has sat himself in the sand and has no plans of getting out any time soon. It’s just you and me,” Trina explained, as she poured them each a cup of steamy coffee. She grabbed the creamer from the refrigerator and placed it on the table, along with some cookies.

“Morgan, sweetie, I was your age once,” she said with a smile. “And living in a house with two little kids was not at the top of my to-do list.”