Emily March - Miracle Road

Before he could retort, she went on. “There are people in this world who have lived through all nine circles of hell and are still putting one foot in front of the other. They give back. Do you know why? Because it helps. It makes you feel better. It reminds you that you’re still alive even though you might wish you were dead.”

His eyes angry, he fired his words like bullets. “Seems to me that I’ve already done my share of giving. I gave you all you could handle the other night, didn’t I? You wanted escape, and I gave you a place to go. I didn’t ask for explanations or strings, and I’m damn sure not asking for advice.” He grabbed up his jacket. “So, thanks for the sandwich. And for the screw. Beyond that, we’re done here.”

Whoa. She sucked in a breath, wounded, and watched him walk away in stunned silence.

But as he reached for the door’s handle, she found her voice and her backbone. “You ass.”

She threw down her own napkin and rose. “How dare you? You sorry, selfish, poor-pitiful-me sonofabitch. I know you feel guilty because your players died.”

He whirled to face her. “Do not dare to—”

She cut him off with a jab of her hand. “I understand that the success you had afterward didn’t rest well on your shoulders. Probably made you feel guilty as all hell to win. I get that. It’s hard to be the one left behind, Lucca. I understand that more than you probably realize. But do you know what? You just need to get over yourself and move forward, Coach. It’s not all about you.”

He stood frozen in place, as tall and stiff as the Ponderosa pine rising from the center of the courtyard. Hope was on a roll. She stepped away from the picnic table and approached him, her chin up, and her hands braced on her hips. “You have been given so much—talent and treasure and a face and body that make a woman swoon. You’re a grand-prize winner in the genetics lottery. And what are you doing with those gifts? Nothing. It’s a disgrace. You have no purpose. You could do so much good, but instead you are working as a second-rate handyman for your mother.”

His jaw was set and as hard as the granite cliffs of Murphy Mountain, his eyes as cold as its summit in January. He was a full foot taller than she was; he loomed above her. Hope didn’t give a damn. He needed that fine ass of his kicked.

She put her palm against his chest and shoved him. “You are not the only person in the world to suffer a tragedy, Lucca Romano. Other people suffer losses. But other people can’t count on their big bank account or their large, loving family for support. Do you know what it’s like to have no one? To be totally alone? No, you don’t! You are a Romano.”

“Dammit, Hope.”

“Don’t you curse at me! Other people have suffered the worst that life can throw at them and they didn’t quit. They climbed back up on their feet and they survived and they made a freaking difference. Well, guess what, mister. You could do that, too. You should do it, too. It’s tragic that your van wrecked and your players died. It’s horrible to be the one left behind who has to try to make sense of the incomprehensible. But it happens. Life happens, and life isn’t all NCAA tournaments and roses. You need to knock off the pity party and get over yourself.”

She reached past him, yanked open the door, and sailed through it, leaving him—and her lunch remains—behind. In a blind fury, she marched down the hall and around the corner until she reached the girls’ locker room. Shoving open that door, she strode inside and kicked an open locker door shut as his words echoed through her mind. Thanks for the sandwich. And the screw.

“Thanks for nothing, lawn boy.”

She took a deep, cleansing breath, then walked to her locker and changed into her athletic clothes. She had afternoon gym classes to oversee.

Not to mention the first basketball practice of the season.

With Hope’s angry accusations ringing in his mind, Lucca exited the school, his shoulders hunched against the wind’s chill. Brittle brown leaves skittered across the sidewalk as he walked beside the playground where squealing children ran for the shelter of the school.

He’d left his truck at Aspenglow, a five-minute walk from school. Halfway there, a flurry of fat snowflakes began to swirl around him. His leather coat didn’t offer much protection from the elements. Soon he was as cold on the outside as he was inside.

His refusal to coach had definitely struck a nerve, and she’d fired back hard. Of all the lousy things she’d said, calling him a quitter rankled the most. For all his life, he’d been a competitor, never a quitter. The fact that he deserved the charge made him feel like crap. The truth really did hurt; it gave him one more reason to despise himself.

Knock off the pity party and get over yourself.

“Hell, Hope. I’m trying.”

But was he, really? Had he tried to rise out of the funk he’d fallen into? He’d come to the mountains with his tail tucked between his legs and licking his wounds. He was playing handyman/gardener for his mother, scraping paint, trimming posies, and hiding from the world and from himself. Shameful.

Upon reaching his truck, he fired up the engine, pulled out onto Aspen Street, and started driving. He took the first turn that headed out of town, a little two-lane route that climbed up past the cemetery and into the mountains to the west. With no particular destination in mind, he drove, following the road wherever it led.

As the miles passed, Lucca slowly began to relax, to warm, to chip his way through the ice that had encased him since the moment Hope had asked him to coach.

Rounding a curve, he spied a scenic overlook ahead. He turned into the parking area, killed the ignition, and slipped into a jacket he’d left in the cab. He exited his truck and walked to the wooden railing at the overlook’s edge.

The snow shower had blown over, leaving sunshine in its wake. Eternity Springs sat snuggled in the valley below, pretty as a Christmas card with a dusting of new snow. Lucca gripped the railing and stared down at the little town.

Get over yourself.

One corner of Lucca’s mouth lifted in a cheerless smirk. In the past, he’d have heard that sentiment from his family, but they tiptoed around him these days. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had put him in his place that way. Leave it to a kindergarten teacher.

She really was something. Up at dawn to drive a bus. Teaching both five-year-olds and teens. And coaching, too?

Wade Mitchell needs you.

As Lucca gazed down at the town, he spied a vehicle ascending the road he’d just traveled. Chilly day to be riding a bike, he thought, before turning his focus inward. He recognized that he stood at a crossroads. He couldn’t continue this way. He’d been playing four-corner offense for two years now. He needed to stop killing time and take his shot—or else call the game and go back to booze and beaches.

And forget all about kindergarten teachers.

His family deserved better from him. They’d been patient since he took up residence next door to Hope. Maybe too patient. They assumed that given enough time, Eternity Springs would work its magic on him and cure him of what ailed him. His brother Zach was one of the most solid, down-to-earth people he knew, and Zach honestly believed that the valley below possessed a special healing energy.

Maybe there was something to it. Despite a few curious incidents involving dirty dishes and pajama days, their mother certainly appeared to be as happy as a clam, a far cry from the sad, bereaved widow she’d been before she moved to Colorado. Gabi might not know what she wanted to do career-wise, but moving here helped her get over the lowlife she had dated in Denver.

And he … well … guess that’s what he had to decide. Was he ready to get over himself?

It had been two years since the accident. He’d spent the first year and a half suppressing his memories and shutting down his emotions, and the last six months … wallowing. On the first anniversary of the wreck, he’d phoned the Seidels and the Palmers and Brandon Gates. Two of those calls had gone well. Seth Seidel’s parents … Lucca closed his eyes. That one still ate at him.

They blamed him. They’d even threatened him with a lawsuit, though the notice he’d expected never arrived. He still heard the echoes of Seth’s father’s vitriolic accusations in his dreams. He didn’t blame the man one bit.

But maybe, just maybe, he didn’t blame himself quite as much as he used to. Was it the Eternity Springs effect? Or was it Hope Montgomery?

Get over yourself.

From the corner of his eye he saw a bird—was it a hawk?—take wing from the top of a fir tree and sail out over the valley. He watched it for long minutes as it soared and circled against the blue sky. Majestic, he thought. Powerful and free.

It dove, swooped at ground level, and rose once more with what looked like a mouse wiggling in its talons.

“Okay, why do I feel like there’s a message there for me?” he muttered. A reminder that life wasn’t always pretty, perhaps? Or that death was a natural part of life?

He turned at the sound of an approaching motorcycle and recognized the bike and the rider who pulled into the overlook parking lot. Celeste Blessing killed her engine and swung her leg off her Honda Gold Wing. Removing her helmet, she tucked it into her arms and offered him a bright smile. “Well, hello, Lucca. It’s a pleasant surprise to see you here. Did you come up to enjoy the first snowfall, too?”

“I was just out for a drive.”