“This is ridiculous. Let me take you to the ER, Taylor.”
“Okay, I know this concept may be a little hard for you to grasp as a super-rich football player, but it costs money to go to the hospital. And, yes, I have Obamacare, but the deductible is sky-high. I’m not wasting money on an ER visit just so some doctor can tell me to put an ice pack on my ankle and pop a couple of Aleve!”
Jamar closed his eyes. Damn, but she was stubborn. “I’ll pay the bill. The only reason you hurt yourself is because I goaded you.”
“You have a point,” she groused. “This is your fault.”
“And I take full responsibility. Now let me make up for it by taking you to the hospital.” He went to stroke her ankle, but she flinched before he could touch it.
“I guess I should say yes since I’m about to burst into tears from the pain.”
Jamar cursed under his breath. “Do you think you can get in my SUV, or should I call for an ambulance?”
“Maybe not your SUV.” She bit down on her bottom lip and nodded toward the duffel bag she’d brought in with her. “We’ll take Nessie. My keys are in the zippered compartment in the front.”
“You named your car?”
“This is not the time for judging,” she hissed. “Just get the keys.”
He retrieved the keys from the black duffel. “A Princess and the Frog keychain?” he asked.
“Again with the judging?”
“I’m not judging.” He needed to quit while he was ahead. “I’ll get the car. Give me just a minute.”
He had to adjust the seat before he could get in. He slipped behind the wheel of her little Nissan Sentra, but when he tried to close the door, he grabbed nothing but air.
“Where’s the door handle?”
Jamar had to stop himself from immediately calling his favorite auto dealership. It was not his place to buy her a new car, no matter how much she desperately needed one.
He brought the car around and found Taylor waiting for him at the entrance, assisted by the gym attendant. Together they guided her into the car’s back seat. Jamar wadded up a jacket and placed her swelling ankle on it to keep it elevated.
“I have a friend who works at Travis County Hospital,” she said. “I’m texting her now.”
When they arrived, a woman Jamar immediately recognized from that viral video was waiting outside the ER. She ran to the car and opened the back door before he could get to it.
She briefly glanced Jamar’s way. “What happened here?”
“I was showing off,” Taylor said from inside the car. “Jamar, this is London. London, Jamar. And despite whatever he says, this was my fault. I tried to do a fancy kickboxing move and fell on my ass. I’m really hoping it isn’t broken—not my ass, my ankle.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t break your head,” London said.
“That’s too hard to break.” Taylor laughed, then winced as they helped her into a wheelchair. “I really can’t afford a broken ankle.”
“I told you—” Jamar said.
“I’m not talking about the bill. I’m talking about not being able to work.”
“Let radiology have a look at it,” London told her. “It’ll be okay.”
Jamar watched as Taylor was wheeled past the waiting area and through double doors. He slumped into a hard plastic seat, rested his elbows on his knees, and covered his face with his hands.
“If you’re embarking on a guilt trip, don’t.”
He looked up at her friend standing over him. “It’s pretty hard not to feel guilty,” Jamar said.
“Look, I’ve only known that chick for a few months,” she said, pointing toward the door where they’d taken Taylor. “And I know how impulsive she can be. You didn’t do that. She did that.”
“Only because I pushed her,” Jamar said.
“Or because she’s strong-willed, hardheaded, and takes unnecessary risks,” London retorted. She pulled a phone from the pocket of her long white lab coat. “I need to let Samiah know what’s going on.”
As she walked away with the phone to her ear, Jamar remained in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, suffocating under the guilt weighing down on him. He’d known the more he pushed Taylor, the more she would push right back. Until she pushed too far.
He didn’t even consider what effect this could have on her work until Taylor mentioned it. He could pay her hospital bill, but what if she’d permanently damaged her ankle? If there was one thing he knew about, it was career-ending injuries.
If she couldn’t work, what would she do?
He could ask that same question of himself. What would happen if he took a blow to the knee that permanently knocked him out of commission? How would he support his family or Silas’s family? What kind of spokesperson would he be for Taylor’d Conditioning?
If there even was a Taylor’d Conditioning after those doctors got through with her back there.
Jamar squeezed his eyes shut.
He had to figure out a way to make this up to Taylor. Although he had no idea how.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Taylor swiped through the selfies she’d forced Jamar to take with her before leaving the hospital three days ago, and posted another to her Instagram account. Just because she was laid up with a bum ankle didn’t mean their fake relationship had to suffer.
She set the phone on the coffee table and went back to her comic book. As she flipped through the latest in the Nisekoi: False Love series—big ups to London for scoring her a copy—she absently reached for the bottle of kombucha Samiah had placed on the coffee table before she left to run errands. Her pull on the straw was met with nothing but air.
“Well, shit,” Taylor said, squinting at the empty bottle.
She gingerly shifted her propped foot on the pillow, trying to decide if it was worth the trouble to hobble to the refrigerator on those stupid crutches.
Her ankle had turned from a bluish red to a deep, dark purple, but at least it was no longer the size of a cantaloupe. Now it was only a grapefruit. And the persistent throb had lessened to an on-again/off-again ache, so yay her.
Taylor cut her eyes to the vial of prescription pain pills the ER doctor had prescribed and pointed her middle finger at it. Every single pill was still in the bottle. She’d popped a couple of the ibuprofen she kept in her purse for cramps—because there wasn’t a person out there tough enough to handle cramps—but that was the extent of her medicating. A measly little ankle sprain wasn’t enough to keep her down.
She repositioned her leg and winced.
“Dammit,” she hissed. Mental toughness only went so far. Three days later and this still hurt like a bitch.
After being fitted with a plastic ankle brace in the ER, she had insisted that she was capable of taking care of herself, but neither Samiah nor London would hear of it. Instead of driving Taylor to her apartment, Samiah had brought her to her condo.
Thank goodness for stubborn friends. Samiah’s help had been a godsend over these last few days. Of course, it didn’t matter where Taylor was physically—whether holed up in this apartment or her own, she still had far too much time to dwell on the seriousness of what she now faced.
She had banked her entire future on being able to make a living teaching people how to live healthy, fulfilling lives. She had never, not once, anticipated what would happen if she couldn’t do this job.
She hadn’t considered herself lucky as she rolled around in pain on that rubber floor, but Taylor now recognized just how fortunate she’d been to have only suffered a grade 1 sprain. She could have easily broken her ankle and been dealt a prognosis a million times worse than simply staying off her feet for the next couple of weeks. Her injury had forced her to ask a question she had only allowed to live in the very far-off corners of her mind.
How would she support herself if she could not work as a fitness instructor?
“Stop being an ableist dick,” Taylor muttered.
There were double-amputee fitness
instructors who could kick her ass in the gym. She could still do this job even if her ankle never healed, but this still brought home the danger of having all her eggs in one basket.
Taylor’s breath hitched, panic overwhelming her as she accepted that she had no plan. She had zero fallback options. The few things she’d done in the past, like driving for ride-share services or scoring the occasional meal prep job, weren’t enough to sustain her. Her recent brush with the possibility of having to sleep in her car was suddenly all too real.
She swiped at the stupid tear that rolled down her cheek.
God, she hated this crushing sense of helplessness. She wasn’t helpless, dammit. She had options; she was just too damn afraid to explore the one alternative that was a surefire way to improve her prospects.
“Shit,” Taylor cursed, angrily wiping her cheeks.
If there was one thing the Colonel had taught his children, it was that you never allowed fear to get the best of you. But fear had made Taylor its bitch these past few months. Even now, the thought of taking the college entrance exam stole the breath from her lungs. Yet, it was nothing compared to the sheer terror of finding herself without a viable way to make a living.
This sprained ankle had done so much more than just sideline her for a few weeks. It had put her future in stark relief. She could not count on pop-up fitness classes or the hope that views of her YouTube videos would provide enough income to live on. As of yesterday, she couldn’t even count on earning money from her clients, because she no longer had a client.
The decision to end their working relationship had not been a mutual one. Jamar contended that she could coach him via FaceTime or Zoom, but Taylor didn’t feel right continuing as his fitness instructor when she could no longer be there to provide adequate, one-on-one training. She offered to provide ongoing guidance as a friend, but she would not work as his paid trainer.
And then he’d completely negated her attempt to do the right thing by insisting he pay the balance of her consulting fee. They went back and forth, sending and returning the payment through Apple Pay before he pulled a fast one on her. He’d sent the money to Samiah, knowing she wouldn’t allow Taylor to return it.
Taylor was grateful, of course, but it felt as if she was taking advantage of his generosity. Or, more accurately, of his guilt, since he continued to maintain that her injury was his fault.
Yet, even with that huge lump sum payment from Jamar, which had thankfully allowed her to pay off two more credit cards and stash away enough money for the next couple of months’ rent, Taylor could not ignore her current reality. Just a few days ago, she’d thought she had it made. When Jamar disclosed that he wanted her to continue as his trainer indefinitely, the pressure to go back to school had all but evaporated.
Now it was back and more suffocating than ever.
“I can’t believe it’s come to this,” she murmured.
Taylor covered her face with her hands and gave in to the tears she’d been fighting for days—for months. Fuck, for all her life! This shroud of dread had begun the day her first-grade teacher had handed her a multiple-choice test and shushed her for not reading the words silently. But it wasn’t enough for her to just see the words—she had to hear them in order to grasp the meaning.
Taylor thought back on what Jamar had said about his friend Silas. She’d skimmed books on learning disorders during past trips to the bookstore and, after some serious mental gymnastics, had grudgingly accepted that she could identify with a number of the listed common signs.
But if a learning disorder was behind the difficulties she’d faced all this time, how could she have gone through twelve years of school without being aware she had one? How had everyone missed this? Her parents? Her teachers? No one had recognized that she learned differently from other kids?
She rested her head on the sofa cushion and let the tears continue to flow.
She had no idea how much time had passed when she felt Samiah gently shaking her shoulder. She opened her eyes to find her friend staring down on her, concern etched across her face.
“Have you been crying?” There was both concern and accusation in Samiah’s voice. “Does your ankle hurt? Do you need more painkillers?” She rounded the sofa and reached for the bottle, but Taylor stopped her.
“No, I’m fine.” She lifted herself up, taking care not to jostle her ankle. “I’m just…I—” She couldn’t hold it in. Once again, the dam broke, sending tears cascading down her face.
“You are crying!” Samiah rushed to her side and perched on the arm of the sofa. “What’s going on?” she asked as she wrapped one arm around Taylor’s shoulders.
Taylor’s first instinct was to brush off her concern, but maybe talking it through with Samiah would help. She needed to talk to someone other than herself about this stuff.
“Do you promise not to judge?” Taylor asked. Samiah’s pursed lips and stiff jaw were answer enough for her. “I hate school,” she said. “I mean, I really, really hate it.”
“I’ve gathered that from past conversations,” Samiah answered.
“But what if this”—Taylor gestured to her ankle—“had turned out to be worse than a sprain? What if I couldn’t conduct classes or do one-on-one training?”
“Have you—”
“And I know I can still do a lot of things without a college degree. A degree is not an indicator of a person’s ability to be successful.”
“No, it—”
“And comparing myself to you and London has got to stop. Not everyone is destined to be a doctor or a computer brainiac. Or a lawyer or an architect like my brother and sister.”
“Who said you—”
“A person’s occupation does not define them. It’s not a measure of how good a person they are. Well, except for London’s job, but who the hell can compete with someone who saves the lives of sick kids? I can’t—”
“Taylor!” Samiah screeched.
She jumped, slapping a hand to her chest.
“Sorry for yelling,” Samiah said. “But being polite wasn’t getting me anywhere.”
“Sorry.” Taylor grimaced. “I’ve kinda been holding all of that in for a while.”
“Yeah, I could tell. You do realize this isn’t some competition, right?” She took Taylor’s hand in hers. “Your decision to go back to school shouldn’t be about competing with anyone else. You have to do it because you believe it’s what’s best for you.” Samiah pointed to her chest. “I’m ready to cheer you on, Taylor, but only if this is what you really want.”
“You will never hear me say that I actually want to go to school,” Taylor said. “But I want the things that having a degree will provide. I guess I have to decide if I’m willing to do what it takes to make that happen.”
Samiah waved her fists in the air. “This is me with my pom-poms.”
Taylor sensed her old fears and uncertainties creeping up on her, but she couldn’t deny the other feeling that began to take root. For once, the terrifying panic she experienced at the thought of going back to school had legitimate competition: hope.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
As she hoisted her foot up another step, Taylor was grateful she’d thought to watch those YouTube videos about climbing stairs with crutches. She was an asshole for ever taking for granted her ability to walk up this one flight unassisted. She’d never do it again.
But it was worth this arduous effort for the chance to sleep in her own bed. She missed her little postage stamp of an apartment.
Okay, so she would give up this apartment in a hot minute to live in Samiah’s gorgeous high-rise condo, but there was something to be said for having your own space and not feeling like a freeloader. And even though Samiah hadn’t said anything, after five days at her friend’s place, Taylor felt as if she was on the verge of outstaying her welcome.
Especially after Daniel unexpectedly returned home early from a job out of town. She refused to stick around and listen to sex noises coming from Samiah’s
bedroom. Or, even worse, prevent Samiah from being able to make any sex noises because she felt uncomfortable getting busy with her cute boyfriend while a houseguest slept in the next room.
When she finally made it to the landing, Taylor noticed a slip of paper hanging from the clip next to the door where the property manager left notes for residents. She unfolded the flyer and had to struggle not to lose the breakfast taco she’d picked up on the way home.
YOU MUST VACATE BY TOMORROW was printed in bold and all caps across the top.
“What the hell? I paid the rent!” Taylor screeched.
But as she read further, she realized this wasn’t an eviction notice. Disbelief rendered her motionless.
Toxic mold had been discovered in the HVAC systems of several buildings in the complex, including hers. By order of the county health department, all affected buildings were required to be treated. Residents must vacate their apartments for the next three weeks.
“You mean I paid rent only to have to leave this damn apartment anyway?”
According to the note, the property management company would provide a stipend to cover the cost of living at a nearby hotel. At least she would have a place to stay, but still…
She entered the apartment and made her way to the sofa. Moments after she sat, there was a knock at the door.
“Shit,” Taylor hissed underneath her breath. “One minute.”
She used a single crutch to make her way to the door. She opened it to find her downstairs neighbor, Rob, holding a foil cake pan wrapped in cellophane.
“I figured it was time I returned the favor,” he said. “It’s store-bought, but still pretty good.”
“Aw, Rob, thank you,” Taylor said. A store-bought cake wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of baking from scratch, but she appreciated the gesture.
“Did you hear about the mold?” Rob asked.
“Yeah, there was a note waiting for me when I got here. I guess I’ll see you in three weeks,” she said.
Rob brought the cake into the kitchen for her before leaving. Taylor was tempted to serve up a huge chunk but eating her feelings would do her no good right now. She had to figure out what to do about her sudden homeless state.
The Dating Playbook Page 18
