Too bad he had a boss to deal with, he acknowledged as he spied the athletic director’s sixty-something secretary approaching him with a scolding frown on her face.

“For heaven’s sake, Lucca,” Mrs. Richie said. “Mr. Hopkins is not at all happy. He has a group of donors waiting to meet you and Jamal Norris. The AV people wanted access to the arena floor an hour ago so they could set up their microphones. I have parents who expected family time with their students before tonight’s event knocking on the door of my office. Why in the world did you hold a practice this afternoon?”

Lucca closed his eyes. He didn’t care about the AV folks, and helicopter parents made him crazy. But schmoozing with the alumni and soliciting donations was a big part his job. He could be good at it when he wanted. Today, he simply didn’t have it in him to make nice. “My team needed it.”

“Well, you are wanted in the director’s office ASAP. This practice completely disrupted our schedule.”

Mrs. Richie reminded him enough of his late, beloved grandmother that he swallowed his caustic response. “I’ll go right up.”

She nodded, then checked her watch. “And Jamal?”

Lucca had no intention of singling out his point guard that way. The press did enough of it as it was. While it was true that Norris had turned in a stellar performance in the tournament, all the attention had overinflated the young man’s opinion of himself to an extent that Lucca believed was detrimental to both Jamal and the team. He searched for a compromise.

“You can let AD Hopkins know that I’ll invite our visitors into the locker room at the end of the night. That should make everybody happy.”

Surprise widened Mrs. Richie’s eyes. Lucca never allowed visitors into the locker room. “I’ll call him and tell him you are on your way.”

Due to the mood he was in, Lucca considered the ten minutes he spent glad-handing the donors to be excruciating. He found the congratulations and back slaps annoying. When one of the donors asked him if he’d like new televisions for the team’s rec room, he almost told the man to send his money to the girls’ swim team. Those young women had heart and rode to their meets in a six-year-old van that made Lucca cringe every time he saw it parked in the lot.

He breathed a sigh of relief when the athletic director announced that the time had come to adjourn to the arena. As the men filed out of the office, an investment banker from New York stepped in front of Lucca and put a hand against his chest. “If I can have just a moment, Coach?”

Lucca sucked in a breath as the urge to slap the man’s hand away rolled over him like a tidal wave. Damn, he was on edge. He’d better get himself together or he just might do his career irreparable harm. Would that be so terrible?

The donor didn’t seem to notice Lucca’s bad attitude. He was too busy slipping something into Lucca’s jacket pocket. “Some friends and I want to make sure you know how pleased we are to have you here at Landry. You’re a great coach. You proved it last year when you motivated that ragtag group of kids at Midwest State all the way to an NCAA berth and—”

“Those kids played their hearts out,” Lucca interrupted, nausea churning in his stomach.

“Sure they did. Sure they did. But you knew how to motivate them, didn’t you? Dedicating their season to their dead teammates. That was a brilliant bit of coaching.”

Brilliant coaching, my ass. “That was the team’s idea,” Lucca said carefully. “It was a difficult time for—”

The donor talked over him. “What you did with this team this season … what can I say? Jamal Norris had no intention of attending Landry until we managed to steal you away from Midwest State, and Norris is the reason we played in Atlanta this year. If you can manage to keep him out of the NBA’s clutches for another year … a national championship is within our grasp. You’re a special coach, Lucca Romano. You’ve got a great future ahead of you, and we want to do everything in our power to make sure that future is here at Landry.”

He gave Lucca’s pocket a little pat, then stepped back. “We want you to remember our gratitude when the Dukes and Kentuckys of the world come calling. And don’t you worry, we’ll see that you get regular reminders, too. Now, we’d better hurry to catch up with the others. Don’t want the festivities to start without us, do we, Coach?”

Don’t call me Coach, Lucca wanted to say.

The donor motioned for Lucca to precede him from the office. Lucca shook his head. “You go ahead. I have to take a leak.”

The donor gave him a knowing grin, dropped his gaze to Lucca’s pocket, then winked. He obviously thought Lucca couldn’t wait to check out the “gratitude” in his pocket. The man couldn’t have been more wrong.

Lucca was battling the need to puke.

Ragtag players. Knew how to motivate.

The van sliding, rolling. The screams. Dear Lord, the screams.

“My son,” Mrs. Seidel said at the funeral, her eyes stricken, her tone broken. “Did he suffer?”

“Coach. Help me. Please, Coach.”

Bile rose in Lucca’s throat, and he headed for the lavatory connected to the athletic director’s office. He made it to the commode just in time.

Once the spasms ended, he went to the sink, turned on the water, rinsed his mouth, and then splashed his face. When he glanced at his reflection in the mirror, he wanted to vomit all over again.

Instead, he exited the bathroom and his boss’s office. Rather than following the pulse of music that now rose from the arena, he turned toward his own office, went inside, and locked the door behind him.

Then, Lucca lost it.

Breathing hard, seeing little beyond the haze of rage and heartache and guilt roaring through him, he swept his arm across his desktop, sending everything crashing to the floor. Next he eyed the trophies on the wall shelf. Crash. He picked up his notebook computer and threw it onto the floor, hard, then kicked it for good measure.

Within minutes, he’d trashed his entire office. With nothing whole left to destroy, he turned on himself, balling up his fist and punching the wall.

He was pretty sure he broke some bones. The pain felt good. It felt deserved.

Using his bloody, damaged hand, Lucca removed the folded check from his pocket and looked at it. Fifty thousand dollars. Because he’d felt sorry for a dog, killed two kids, and paralyzed another? He tossed the bloodstained check away. It floated toward the floor and landed atop shards of a shattered crystal trophy.

Lucca quit the room and the campus. Within days he’d departed the state, and by the end of the month, he’d fled the country. Lucca Ryan Romano couldn’t live with himself. He was done.

March Madness.

TWO

July


Eternity Springs, Colorado

Hope Montgomery flipped through the curriculum planner with the scheduled events for the upcoming school year. When her gaze settled on a particular date, she sucked in a sudden breath. March 15. The most horrible day of her life. The day her world changed forever.

She closed her eyes and absorbed the hurt. This was the way it happened now, five years later. Rather than being her constant companion, the pain would slither up and strike when she wasn’t prepared or braced for it.

“‘Beware the Ides of March,’” she softly quoted.

She shut her planner and set it aside, then reached for her coffee. Her hand trembled as she raised the china cup to her mouth, but she concentrated on savoring both the smell and the taste of the aromatic, full-bodied brew. Using her senses helped anchor her to the present, and besides, the coffee at Angel’s Rest Healing Center and Spa was truly sublime.

Nevertheless, she teetered on the brink of tears until Celeste Blessing swept into the old Victorian mansion’s parlor saying, “I’m so sorry I’m running late, Hope. It’s been one thing after another today. First we had a plumbing problem in the showers beside the hot springs pools, then one of our guests suffered a death in the family, the poor dear, and I helped arrange emergency transportation home. Finally, my sister phoned, and I’m afraid I lost track of time.”

Hope stood and smiled at the vital, active, older woman whom she’d come to view as the matriarch of Eternity Springs. The owner of Angel’s Rest, Celeste wore black slacks, a gold cotton blouse, and a harried smile.

“Celeste, I love your new haircut,” Hope said.

“Thank you. I do, too.” Celeste lifted a hand to fluff the short, sassy style, her blue eyes twinkling. “One of my male guests told me I look just like Judi Dench. He’s an old flirt and I think he was hoping for a discount on his bill, but I’ll accept the compliment.”

“As well you should,” Hope agreed. “He’s right.”

“Thank you, dear. I’m going to tell my sister you said that.” Celeste wrinkled her nose as she added, “She told me I was too old for this style.”

Hope couldn’t help but smile. She had met Celeste and her sister when they’d rented the South Carolina beach house next door to Hope’s vacation rental the spring before last. The sisters had caught Hope crying on the beach one March morning, and they’d offered comfort to a stranger and changed the path of Hope’s life. Like most sisters, they’d bickered, but the love they shared had been obvious. Hope could picture Desdemona making the hairstyle remark to Celeste. “How is Desi doing these days?”

“She’s well. Busy, but then, aren’t we all? She tells me she’s let her hair grow and dyed it bright red.”