by Lauren Rowe
“I’ve got to go,” he declares. “Make sure you keep your eyes glued to the TV during the first quarter. Now that I know you’ll be watching, I’ll do everything in my power to get an interception for you while you’re watching live.”
“Ooooh, Tyler Caldwell’s calling his shot,” I say. “I tell you what. Get me that interception and I’ll send you a dirty video tonight.”
“Oooooh, now there’s a girl who knows how to motivate a guy.” He chuckles. “Will this dirty video involve my beaver’s beaver, hopefully?”
I smile into the phone. If this is how we do “we’ve both agreed we’re not in a committed relationship anymore,” then we truly suck at it. “It will. My beaver will be front and center and open wide.”
“Consider that interception already in the books.”
I sigh into the phone. “Good luck. I’ll be sending you all my positive juju.”
“Good luck to you, too, baby. Or, rather, break a leg.”
“Thanks. And, please, for the love of God, don’t you do the same.”
“No worries. Tyler Caldwell is invincible.”
I chuckle. Yep, it’s definitely game day—the one day of the week Tyler talks about himself in third person.
“I’ll text you after I’ve watched the full game,” I say.
“Call me, instead. Win or lose, I’ll want to hear your voice.”
My heart skips a beat. What is this? Yet another first. “Okay. I will.”
“I’ll talk to you later, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Bye.”
“Bye, cupcake. Talk to you later.”
We hang up.
I love you, Tyler.
I text him a little football followed by a heart, and two seconds later, he replies with his usual text to me—a beaver and a heart. Well, actually, it’s not technically a beaver. It’s a squirrel. But I know exactly what Tyler means, without him needing to explain it to me. There’s no beaver on the emoji menu, so that beautiful boy is simply making do as best he can.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I lean forward toward the TV screen. We’re seven minutes into the first quarter. The Chargers’ pass was tipped at the line, and now it’s gracelessly wobbling through the air. Out of nowhere, Tyler leaps across the screen, a blur of aqua and orange.
Tyler comes down with the ball, and I squeal with glee. He’s on the run, cradling the ball in his bent arm. He dodges a running back’s sorry excuse for a tackle. And then an offensive lineman’s. Finally, he makes the quarterback look like a fool, son! And now he’s free and clear and streaking down the sideline toward the Promised Land…Touchdown!
Tyler’s teammates converge on him in the end zone. But just before they reach him, Tyler turns directly to the nearest camera, brings the football horizontally up to his facemask, and moves it back and forth across his face like he’s gnawing voraciously on it.
I clutch my heart. Oh, my God.
The TV commentator laughs uproariously. “What in the heck is Tyler Caldwell doing? Eating corn on the cob?”
“Maybe he’s telling the world he’s eating the Chargers for lunch,” the other commentator suggests.
“See, this is a perfect example of why I’m so glad they’ve relaxed the ‘no celebration’ rule in the NFL,” the first commentator says. “Football should be fun, for Pete’s sake. It’s entertainment. And nobody knows how to entertain better than Tyler Caldwell. That guy…”
I’ve stopped listening. Indeed, I’ve stopped breathing. That was it. My sign. All this time, I’ve been waiting for a sign from the universe that our time had finally arrived. That suddenly, things would click for Tyler and me and become easy. But, out of nowhere, I understand that to make this work, Tyler and I are going to have to take matters into our own hands. That it’s not going to be easy. It’s going to be hard. And that’s okay. Screw waiting for the stars to uncross themselves. Fuck the stars. Tyler and I love each other. And that’s all that matters. Easy. Hard. It doesn’t matter. We’re meant to be.
“Zooey!” my castmate calls to me, popping her head into the small sitting room. “Show time!”
I turn off the TV with a shaky hand. Yes. I’m going to go out on that stage and perform in this matinee and the minute I get offstage, I’m going to call Tyler and tell him what I’ve decided. He’s mine and I’m his, and it’s always been that way and always will be. I want him and no one else, and nothing else matters. Let the chips fall where they may. When my contract is done in three months, I’m not going to renew. I’m going to move to Miami and live with the love of my life and have faith the rest will take care of itself. New York is only a three-hour flight from Miami, for crying out loud. I don’t need to give up on my dreams to be with the man of my dreams. I just need to be willing to commute.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I practically sprint offstage after the curtain call and beeline to the dressing room. I can’t wait to call Tyler and tell him about my preshow epiphany. Before calling, though, I click into the ESPN app on my phone and check the final score of his game. Shit. The Dolphins lost in overtime by three points.
“Damn,” I whisper softly.
I click on a link to see an overview of the game highlights and gasp at the horrific words on my screen.
FS Tyler Caldwell injured 2nd quarter. Knee. Torn MCL and ACL. Confirmed out for remainder of season.
I burst into tears. “Tyler. Oh, my God, no.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I walk quietly into the hospital room, my stomach twisted into vicious knots. Tyler’s lying on top of a metal-framed bed, his muscular body splayed out. He’s got some sort of motorized contraption on his left knee. His dad and sister are sitting in a corner, looking wiped out while Tyler listens intently to some guy in a white lab coat speaking to him in hushed tones. I can only imagine what dire things the guy is saying to Tyler—from what I’ve been able to find out from Google, more often than not, Tyler’s type of knee injury is career-ending for most professional football players.
At my movement at the door, Tyler’s eyes flicker to me. Instantly, emotion washes over his face. I bolt toward him, promising myself for the hundredth time I won’t fall apart in his presence. When I reach him, I hug him fiercely, but he stiffens in my arms. I pull back, perplexed, and realize my touch has triggered a tsunami of emotion inside him—emotion he doesn’t want to release in the presence of anyone but me.
“Can Zooey and I have a minute?” Tyler chokes out.
The minute we’re alone, I hug Tyler to me and instantly, he breaks down in my arms.
I hold him as his tears flow. “If anyone can overcome this, it’s you,” I assure him as he quakes against me. “I did some research, love. This is going to be hard, but not impossible. This isn’t the end, Tyler.”
He doesn’t reply.
“I’m here, baby. I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper softly. “We’ll do this together. I’ll be with you every step of the way. I love you. Only you. Always you. Forever. You matter more to me than anything in the world. We’ll do this together.”
Tyler wipes his eyes and slowly calms down. “I’ve been missing you so much lately, baby. I was having a hard time.”
“Is that why you wanted to hear my voice today?”
He nods. “When they were carting me off the field today, I knew right then my knee was blown. And I thought, Now you don’t have football or the love of your life. Nice work, dumbfuck.”
I burst into tears. “You’ve got me, Tyler. You always have. I’ve never stopped being yours. I haven’t been with anyone else. Not once.”
He looks relieved. “I haven’t been with anyone else, either.”
Elation surges inside me. I throw myself at him again and pepper his salty cheeks with kisses. “I know it feels hopeless right now. But you’ll defy the odds.” I touch his tear-streaked face. “You’ll defy gravity, my love. You always have and always will.”
Tyler doesn’t reply. He just gazes at me, looking absolutely spent.
“Normal rules don’t apply to you,” I say softly, stroking his hair. “Yes, this injury takes some guys down for the count. But they’re not you. I researched it and there are a handful of guys who’ve come back from this exact injury, better than ever. One guy played, like, nine years after coming back. You’ll be like him.”
Tyler still doesn’t reply.
I stroke his hair. “I love you.”
He takes a deep breath. “I love you, too.”
“Good. I’m glad we’ve got that settled. Now let’s do this, okay? Positive thoughts from here on out. Failure isn’t an option.”
Tyler lets out a long, exhausted sigh. He pulls a strand of my hair taut and then watches it coil back into place upon release. “Thank you for coming, baby. I needed you.”
“Of course, love. We’re a team.”
He wipes his eyes and exhales. Clenches his jaw. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
Chapter Forty
The room is filled with the low sounds of the UCLA football game on TV and the motorized hum of the high-tech ice pack strapped to Tyler’s knee. Surgery to repair Tyler’s torn MCL three days ago went well, or so it seems. It’s too early to know for sure. And now Tyler’s on doctor’s orders to rest and recover for a few months until it’s time for a second surgery to repair his torn ACL.
I’m currently lying next to Tyler in his bed at his beachside home in Miami. My eyes are closed, but I’m not even close to falling asleep. I’m just sort of letting my mind wander, thinking about what I want to say in my admissions essay to the University of Miami. I’ve done some research, and it turns out they have a well-regarded musical theater program. Who knew? So I’m thinking I’ll go back to being a college girl, this time in Miami, while Tyler recovers and trains his ass off for his comeback, which should take place in about a year or so. Knock on wood. Of course, I’ve got to get admitted to UM for this little plan of mine to work, but the admissions numbers on their website indicate I’m a shoe-in.
I’m actually kind of excited about going back to school. Getting to watch those veteran performers every night on tour made me realize I’ve still got a whole lot to learn before I could even think about holding down the lead in a Broadway-caliber show. No matter what happens in the future, even if I wind up spending the next five years here in Miami with Tyler and never stepping foot onto a professional stage during that time, this plan will nonetheless allow me to learn and grow and better myself as a performer and person. Plus, I’ll maybe perform in some college productions, and that will help me keep my performing chops up for when I’ll hopefully grace a professional stage one day again. All things considered, I think it’s a perfect plan.
My phone pings next to me on the bed. I pick it up, look at it, and quickly put it down again.
“Who was that?” Tyler asks.
“My stage manager.”
“What did she say?”
“She was just checking in.”
“But what specifically did she say?”
“She said the policy is one week off for family emergencies, and she wants to know if I’m coming back in two days or not. If not, she said she’s sorry but she needs to fill my spot.”
“Are you going to text her back?”
“I’ll call her in a minute. I’m in the middle of thinking brilliant thoughts over here.”
“What are you going to tell her when you call?”
I turn my head and look at Tyler, surprised he’s asking the question. “That I’m leaving the tour.”
Tyler furrows his brow. “You sure about that?”
I make a face like that’s a patently ridiculous question. “Of course.”
“Let’s talk it through. Make sure you’re making the right decision.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m not leaving you. We’re a team now.”
Tyler twists his mouth. “Zooey, my gut tells me you shouldn’t break your contract. Your word is your bond. It’s not professional to leave them hanging.”
I’m stunned. “I know, but it can’t be helped.” I motion to his knee.
“But breaking your first ever touring contract because your boyfriend hurt his knee might give you a bad rep in the industry. You don’t want to get yourself blacklisted. You might never get hired for a Broadway-quality tour like this again.”
I truly can’t believe my ears. “Tyler, this situation isn’t as simple as ‘my boyfriend hurt his knee.’ Obviously.”
“But that’s how they’ll see it. For them, this is business. You signed a contract, and you’re not honoring it because, waah, waah, your football-player boyfriend hurt his knee. They’ll think you’re unreliable and flaky and that you don’t honor your commitments.”
“I don’t care if they think I’m the world’s biggest flake. I’m not leaving you.”
He sighs and looks up at the ceiling for a moment. “You loved being on that tour.”
“Yeah, well, I love being with you more.”
“That’s what you think at twenty. But how will you feel about this decision when you’re thirty, and the window of opportunity to get a professional theater career going has closed?”
I open and close my mouth, not sure how to answer that question.
“Look, I know we’ve been going on and on about how I’m gonna stage a comeback in a year. And I appreciate your positivity. It fires me up. But nothing’s guaranteed in football. We both know that. Anything could happen. Even if I do wind up coming back better than ever at some point, I’m still looking at best-case scenario eight more years in the league. Probably much less than that, statistically.” He motions to his knee. “Or maybe, thanks to this, I’ll never play again. We just don’t know. But guess what I do know for sure? I want to be with you for the rest of my life. And the last thing I want you to do is look back when you’re thirty or forty or fifty and have any regrets about what you gave up for me at twenty.”
I sigh with frustration. “Tyler, this is a pointless conversation. I’m not leaving you to return to the tour. There will be other tours. Like you said, I’m twenty.”
“But you never know how one decision can torpedo you. My gut says breaking this contract might be a game-changer in a bad way. The thing you look back on and regret the most.”
“I’ll have to take that chance. If they think I’m a contract-breaking flake, I can’t help that. There’s no way I’m leaving you to go back on the road for three whole months. Your mental health is part of your recovery. You need companionship. Optimism. I’m not going to desert you in your time of need.” I pat his arm. “Don’t worry about me, baby. I’ve already figured out a brilliant plan for me to have my cake and eat it, too. I’m going to apply to the U of Miami. It turns out they have a great musical theater program. Who knew?”
I’m expecting Tyler’s face to light up at my idea, but he looks wary. He sighs. Furrows his brow. Looks up at the ceiling. And then his face lights up with an unmistakable epiphany. “Why don’t I come with you on tour?”
I stare at him blankly, not able to process the bizarre words that just came out of his mouth.
“Why not?” he continues, looking increasingly energized by the idea. “For the next few months, I’m on doctor’s orders to rest up. Well, shit, I can rest up in five-star hotels from Oklahoma to New Mexico just as easily as I can do it here. If I need physical therapy or whatever during that time, then I’ll hire someone to travel with me. Easy peasy. Top hotels always have pretty good fitness centers.”
I clutch my throat, flabbergasted. “You’d do that for me?”
Tyler’s eyes are positively sparkling. “Hell yeah. The more I think about it, being on tour with you would be a whole lot better for my mental health than lying around here and feeling sorry for myself. I’ll use the time to design some kick-ass T-shirts. Maybe get started on putting together that charitable foundation I’ve been thinking about starting. Maybe I’ll scope out some new real estate investments. Work out every morning in the hotel gym. Plus, I’ll get to see
dazzling places like Appleton, Wisconsin, up close and personal. And best of all, I’ll get to watch my little beaver perform every evening, twice on Sundays, and then fuck the living hell out of her afterwards. Don’t let the bum knee fool you, sweetheart, I can still rock your world, one-legged.” He winks. “Honestly, it sounds like a great three-month rest and recovery plan to me. Bulletproof.”
I can’t speak. It’s too good to be true.
“Maybe you’ll even get to play Elphaba one night when I’m there, and I’ll be able to see it,” Tyler adds.
Okay, I can’t let that comment go without setting him straight. “I won’t get to play Elphaba, babe. I’m third understudy. The Apocalypse would have to happen for me to get the call.”
“You never know. One night, Elphaba might get laryngitis and the first two understudies might both inexplicably come down with a mysterious case of diarrhea on that very night.” He puts his pinky to his mouth and cocks his eyebrow like Dr. Evil.
I giggle. “Are you sure about this?”
“Absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure. The stars are perfectly aligned, baby. Let’s turn lemons into lemonade.”
I squeal with glee. “And after the tour, we’ll come back here, and I’ll start at the University of Miami. Perfect.”
He suddenly looks annoyed.
Oh. My stomach clenches. Crap. I guess I should have asked Tyler if he’s willing to foot the bill for my tuition and expenses before assuming it. “I shouldn’t have assumed you’d pay for my schooling,” I say quickly. “I’m sorry. I can totally apply for financial aid.”
Tyler rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Zooey. I’ll pay for anything and everything you want to do in life, whatever it is. You’re mine, baby. I’m gonna take care of you from now on, no matter what.”
I blush. “Thank you.”
Tyler grabs my hand. “One day, you’ll be my wife and the mother of my babies, and my money will be yours. That’s a given. Never even wonder about that.”
