Page 58 of Breakaway

Morgan still hadn’t returned his calls, not that he expected her to. He shouldn’t have gone to the bar, or at least, not have stayed until people were drunk enough to be stupid. That was his mistake, because he’d known only too well what kind of things went down on those types of outings. But he’d only gone to the bar to hang with his teammates, and that was mainly because he’d been missing Morgan and just needed something to do.

It had been bad luck that his photo had been taken with some girls and plastered on social media. It had never been his intention to hook up, nor even casually flirt with any women there. Unfortunately, Morgan didn’t know him well enough, or maybe didn’t trust him enough, to recognize that he was never the player that had been part of his image. He just didn’t know how to deal with that.

He needed advice. Picking up his phone, he dialed Grams.

“Travis?” she answered. “Hi hon.”

“Hi Grams. How are you?”

“I’m doing well. I just got home from water aerobics.” She paused, “Is everything alright? You sound down.”

“No, things aren’t good, and I need some advice.”

“Well, you came to the right place. What can I help you with?”

“I did something stupid, and I have to fix it. I just don’t know how, or if it can be fixed.”

“Oh goodness, I think I better sit down for this.” He could hear her moving around on the other end of the phone. “Okay.”

“Grams, you know me, obviously, because you raised me. But when I’m here—with the guys—I...”

“Travis, you’re twenty-four years old. I’m not naïve to think you don’t act differently when you’re with your friends. Just tell me what happened, and let’s see if we can’t fix it.”

Travis took a deep breath and told Grams all about the social media posts that looked like something they weren’t, and how they’d cost him his relationship with Morgan.

After a few moments of silence, Grams finally responded. “I assume you’ve tried to explain?”

“To no avail. She won’t answer my calls, understandably. But I need to talk to her, to explain. And I don’t want to do that by text or voicemail.”

“Hon, sounds like quite a pickle that you’re in.” She paused again. “You really like this girl, huh?”

“I really do, Grams. I think maybe I love her. And I messed up. I really messed up.”

“Travis, you need to show Morgan how much she means to you. Obviously, you can’t make her forgive you. But if she means that much to you, you need to fight for her. You can pull out all the stops while trying. And I’m not talking jewelry and flowers. You need to do better.”

“Do better?” He frowned. What was better than jewelry? “I don’t understand. It’s not like I can show up at her door. I’m four hours away, and I have morning practices.”

“I know. But anyone can buy jewelry, and some girls will just see sending gifts as you throwing money at the problem. You have to do something personal, something from the heart. I can’t tell you what to do. But think of something that is personal to her. Something not every guy would do for her.”

He was drawing a blank, but Grams had a point. “Thanks, Grams.”

“I love you, dear, and anyone who cares about you will love you for you—including your teammates.”

His talk with Grams had helped, but he now had to figure what was special to Morgan.

Not flowers? He’d just sent a dozen, but after talking with Grams, he realized they were so cliché. Knowing how Morgan currently felt about him, they had probably gone right into the garbage.

Maybe he could order cupcakes or cookies? Travis glanced around the messy apartment for inspiration.

His stomach growled.

Grabbing the container of cookies Grams sent him, he munched on a cookie.

Inspiration hit him mid-chew. He wasn’t the best baker, but maybe he could make Morgan some cookies! Grabbing his keys, he hurried off to the store for supplies, and some dinner.

TRAVIS STOOD IN HIS kitchen, flour covering every surface, including him. He wiped his forehead, proud of the two-dozen heart-shaped, cut-out cookies that he had made by hand. He hadn’t made cookies since he was small, when he had helped Grams with Christmas cookies.

It all came back to him easily, except for the mess. He didn’t remember baking causing this much of a mess. The way he’d iced the cookies was a bit clumsy, and they reminded him of those exact Christmas cookies he’d made when he was eight. Anyone could mistake his sloppy icing for a child’s.

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