A Cross-Country Christmas(35)

Even though there were bustling families, car doors opening and closing, and Christmas music echoing in the distance, everything faded from Lauren’s senses—except for one thing.

There was only Will.

“By the time Christmas of my junior year rolled around, my coach was done. Just done. I failed a drug test. He called me into his office and told me they were revoking my scholarship.” Will went still. Lauren could see he was both vulnerable and frustrated, his face drawn as he recounted the painful memory.

“I remember sitting there thinking about the way I’d acted, the person I’d become, and all at once it seemed so pointless. I begged him for one last chance, but he was adamant. He said, ‘Will, I’ve given you one too many chances already. I’m not only doing this for the team—I’m doing this for you.’”

“You lost your scholarship, but you could still play, right? Just because you didn’t have a full ride didn’t mean—”

“I got kicked off the team. I haven’t played since.” He propped his folded hands on the steering wheel. “If I’d been injured or something, maybe I’d feel different, but knowing I am the reason I lost everything is its own kind of prison.”

At that moment, she saw the pain in his eyes. Up until then, he’d remained detached telling the story, like he’d told it many times before, maybe even made his peace with it.

But for whatever reason, he’d decided to let her see how much his regret still haunted him.

In the quiet of the Jeep, Lauren’s heart sank.

He’d lost baseball, and he had no one to blame but himself.

It must have broken his heart.

“Will. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

He forced a disenchanted smile. “No one did,” he said. “Except Spencer and my family. Turns out they don’t hold press conferences when you screw up your life.”

She sat for a moment. She hated what he did to her—but deep down she cared for Will. Not just in an attracted way, but cared for him.

“It’s not ruined,” she said. “Look what you’re doing now. You’re coaching. You’re making a difference. And Jackson? You can’t pretend like what you do doesn’t matter.”

“I know,” he shrugged, “I know it’s important. It wasn’t my dream, though. I wanted more, I still do, but it’s way too late for that now. Where I am is where I deserve to be.” He stared out the window at the laughing passers-by.

He’d been punishing himself for years. And maybe she shouldn’t sympathize with him—after all, it was his own choices that cost him his dreams. Some might argue he’d gotten what he deserved. But she couldn’t help it. She wished she could take that pain and make it go away.

She supposed that’s what grace was—a second chance that isn’t deserved. Was there grace for Will too?

She willed herself to think of him as a friend—but a thought dawned on her. She began to put the timeline together. Christmas of his junior year was Christmas of her freshman year.

Christmas of his junior year was Christmas of my freshman year.

He was at the worst point in his life, and now she knew why.

“You don’t understand, Lauren,” he said. “You don’t know how much my family sacrificed for me to play. It wasn’t just a little hobby. I played year-round. They had to scrape together tournament fees and money for new uniforms and cleats. My sisters got dragged all over the state because my parents wouldn’t leave them home alone, even when they were in high school, but they both told me it was worth it if—ha, not ‘if,’ never ‘if’—when I made it to the Majors. That was always the plan.” He chuckled to himself as he added, “I think Kayla had her heart set on me buying her a flashy sports car.”

The joke eased some of the tension in the air.

“I let them down. I let them all down,” he said. “I’ll never forget my grandpa’s face when he found out I got kicked off the team. It was the worst day of my life. I’ve never been so aware that I’d disappointed,” he looked in her eyes, “someone I loved.”

Lauren tried not to let those words twist around her heart, but she failed.

“He was the reason I started playing in the first place. He was dead set on me going pro. Did you know he played?”

Lauren shook her head.

“He did. Not professionally, but he was good.” He laughed to himself. “He was the one who showed me how to throw a curve when I was twelve. Not the smartest idea, you could wreck a kid’s arm, but he knew so much about the game. I loved that.” He paused in that memory for a moment, but then his face scowled. “And I could’ve, you know? I could’ve made it. Everyone said it was just a matter of time.”

His tone heated in anger. “But I threw it all away. What an idiot!”

Lauren didn’t have the words to help. She wanted to. She wished she could.

“Your brother, man, he was the best kind of friend.” Will seemed lost in a memory. “He came home from school that Christmas break and spoke hard truth to me. Said my life was my choice, and told me it was time to grow up. He drove me to a rehab program, then visited me every day until he had to go back for the next semester.”

Lauren stilled. “He never said a word.”