Her words ripped at the thin barrier he’d built around his pride, raking over barely healed wounds. His jaw ached with the effort it took to temper his rising anger.
“I could still play if I wanted to,” Jamar said.
“My God.” She sighed up at the ceiling. “You can’t,” she said. “I don’t care what you’ve told yourself, nothing is worth this kind of risk.”
“How the fuck do you know what’s worth it to me!” Jamar snapped.
She jumped back, her eyes wide, her mouth falling open.
Jamar ran both hands down his face. Shame over his outburst gnawed at his conscience, but she didn’t understand. She could never understand.
His shoulders slumped with the weight of despair that washed over him. “You just don’t get it,” Jamar said. “This is bigger than me.”
Her furrowed brow flattened into a thin line as awareness slowly traveled across her face.
“This isn’t about you proving anything,” she said, awe lilting her voice. “This is guilt. You still think you owe this to someone who’s been dead for eight years.”
“Don’t,” Jamar warned. “You know nothing about this, so don’t act as if you do.”
Anger and hurt flared in her eyes. Her body shook with it.
But then a calm seemed to take over her, and Jamar found that more alarming than her rage.
“You know what?” she said, her voice sharp as cut glass. “You do what the hell you want. But don’t expect me to stick around and watch.”
With that, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.
Jamar told himself to go after her. If he let her leave this house without talking this through, it would be the biggest mistake he could ever make.
But the concoction of fury, anguish, and fear flowing in his veins wouldn’t allow him to take a single step.
She was wrong. This wasn’t about guilt. It was about him doing what he had to do in order to be able to look himself in the mirror.
He would fix this with Taylor. He would figure out a way to make her see that he was doing this, in part, for her. Because he cared about her. For now, he just had to get through the damn workout.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
A crisp breeze carried the delicate scent of flowers. Several birds landed on the spindly, leafless branches of the tree overhead, their sharp chirps piercing the stillness of the afternoon.
His hands shoved deep into his pockets, Jamar squeezed his fists tight as he stared down at the charcoal-gray headstone. The sun reflected off the flecks of silver speckled throughout the polished stone, making it seem as though there were dancing lights embedded in the hard slab.
How long had it been since he’d arrived at this gravesite? An hour? Two? He’d lost track of the time, yet in all the minutes that had ticked by since he’d gotten here, Jamar still couldn’t put voice to what he wanted to say.
What words of apology would ever suffice?
He stared at the block letters and numbers etched into stone and experienced that odd feeling of disassociation that had occurred the few times he’d visited this memorial. In some ways he was still unable to accept that Silas lay here, even after eight long years. If only he could talk to him one last time. If only he could tell him how sorry he was, and beg for his forgiveness.
But that would never happen.
He would never hear I forgive you from Silas. All he could do was hold on to the belief that his best friend would extend to him the grace and compassion he’d shown so many times while he was alive. It’s the only way Jamar would gain a semblance of peace.
Shame tore through him for admitting, even to himself, that he sought forgiveness, that he wished for peace. He didn’t deserve either.
But he couldn’t go on like this. He ached for the tiniest shred of absolution from the guilt that had plagued him for so long.
“I wondered if I’d find you here.”
Jamar twisted around at the sound of Andrea’s voice. She stood several yards behind him; the carpet of mowed grass must have silenced her footsteps. She held a cellophane-wrapped bouquet in one hand and a package of Chips Ahoy! cookies in the other.
Jamar pointed to them. “His favorite.”
“Yep,” she said with a sad smile. “He ate five every night with a glass of milk.”
“With ice in it,” Jamar said.
“With ice.” She chuckled. She examined the blue package as if someone else had put it in her hand. “I used to come here once a month and eat cookies while I talk to him, but I haven’t been here since his birthday back in July. I hadn’t even realized it had been that long until this morning.”
She traveled the rest of the way to the gravesite and set the unopened cookies on top of the slab.
“I can move these,” Jamar said, reaching for the dozen white roses he’d placed in the stone vase built on top of the headstone.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll just lay these here. The roses are nice.”
Jamar swallowed and nodded. He stared at the flowers, because he didn’t know where else to look. The guilt that stuck to him like a second skin intensified. Acknowledging the misery he’d caused Silas’s family ate at his gut.
“When did you get to town?” Drea asked.
“Just before noon,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to make the trip. I hadn’t planned on it. You know I don’t really like coming to this graveyard.”
“I know,” she said. “But I’m happy you did. The anniversaries are never easy.” She tipped her head to the side and peered up at him. “So what’s this I hear about you holding some event for NFL scouts tomorrow?”
He frowned. “You know about that?”
“I don’t live under a rock,” she said. “It’s all anyone is talking about. The local newscast ran a story during their sports segment, and at least twenty people sent me the link to your agent’s tweet when he announced that you would be doing this virtual workout because you’re thinking of playing again.”
Jamar rubbed the back of his neck. “If I tell you something, do you promise to keep it to yourself until tomorrow?”
Drea nodded.
“I’m not doing this so that I can get on anyone’s team. I won’t give any of them the opportunity to even make an offer.”
“Why not?”
“Because the chances of me getting through even a single NFL season without injuring myself are slim to none,” he admitted. The words tasted like acid on his tongue.
“So why are you going through with the workout at all?”
“I need to show everyone just how far I’ve come in my recovery. You see, I made this deal with my trainer that I would endorse her fitness consulting business.”
“You mean your girlfriend,” Drea said.
“Yes, she is my girlfriend,” he conceded. Although Jamar wasn’t sure how true that was anymore. “But that’s beside the point. We made this bargain before things became serious between us. And there’s more to tomorrow’s workout than the promise I made to Taylor. I want to make this happen for Silas.
“That’s what’s so damn hard about finally accepting that I’ll never play again. It feels as if I’m letting Silas down.” He shook his head. “I didn’t want much, Drea. Maybe another year or so, something more than the half season I got to play. It just wasn’t enough time to live out that dream the two of us had.”
“You were lucky, Jamar. There are so many who would give anything for the half season you got to play professional football. And I’m not talking about Silas,” she added. “I’m talking about others who get to live long lives but never get a taste of what you had in those few games you did play in.”
“Yeah, I know that,” he said. “I just wanted a little more time. I wanted the chance to leave on my own terms.”
“I know how hard it was when you were hurt and had to leave the game.” She clamped a hand to his forearm and rubbed back and forth. Then she pinched him. “But that’s still no reason to scare me like that! What in
the hell were you thinking!”
“Ouch!” His eyes snapped to hers. “What was that for?”
“That was for you nearly giving me a heart attack,” she said. “I never liked the fact that you and Silas played football. I would sit in the stands and hold my breath through the entire game. I did that for years, Jamar. All through high school, while you were at UT, and then with the Bears. I finally get some peace and you go ahead and do this!”
“I was doing it partly for you and Big Silas,” he said.
“Why? Because of your ridiculous belief that you’re in some way responsible for taking care of us?”
“It’s not ridiculous. I am respon—”
“You’re not.”
“Yes, I am,” he said. “I owe it to Silas. Eight years ago today, I sat beside him in that hospital room and I made a promise. I told him I would take care of all of you.”
“Silas would never want you to jeopardize your own health for our sake—for anyone’s sake. And I sure as hell wouldn’t want you to do that either. Seeing you carted off a field once was more than enough for me.” She looped her arm in the crook of his elbow and leaned against his side, resting her head on his shoulder. “I much prefer you like this, living a long, safe, and healthy life.”
Guilt sat like the Rock of Gibraltar in his throat. Her brother should be living a long, safe, and healthy life too.
“It was my fault,” he whispered.
Time stood stock-still as the words hung in the air. It was his voice, but Jamar could have sworn someone else had spoken. How else could he explain what had just come forth from his mouth?
“The accident,” he clarified, now that the words were out there. “It was my fault.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Drea said.
“Yes, it was. You don’t—”
“I know, Jamar,” she said, her voice soft yet insistent. “I know.” She let go of his arm and moved a couple of steps closer to the grave. “I have Silas’s cell phone. I’ve had it since that night. It miraculously survived the crash.”
Shock siphoned the air from his lungs. Shame assaulted him—hot and burning. She’d known all this time? She’d known and had never confronted him?
“I saw all the text messages he sent you that night, and how you never replied.” She ran her fingers over the engraved letters. “I wondered if maybe you didn’t have your phone on you, or if you’d had it on silent? But when I saw how guilty you looked at the hospital that night, I realized you’d purposely ignored him.” She looked up at him. “I still don’t know why. I’ve wanted to ask you so many times over the years.”
“I’m so sorry,” Jamar whispered, his throat on fire as he tried to get the words out. “Drea…”
“I’m not asking for an explanation anymore, because it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. You were the brother he never had, Jamar. And there is nothing on this earth that you could have done that Silas wouldn’t have forgiven.” She lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “So I forgave you too. I forgave you a long time ago.”
He couldn’t speak. For the life of him, he could not utter a single word.
“You have to stop blaming yourself. He wouldn’t want that. That’s how I stopped blaming you, because I knew my brother’s heart, and I knew he would never want you to carry this guilt with you.”
“How?” Jamar had to work to clear his throat. “How can you not hate me, Drea? How can you ever stop blaming me when you know he’d be alive if not for me?”
She stalked over to him and cupped his jaw in her palm. Jamar didn’t realize he was crying until he felt her brush the tears from his cheek.
“I could never hate you. Ever.” She wiped another tear. “I don’t know whether Silas would still be alive if you’d answered his calls, and neither do you. That truck could have hit him at any time. Even if he’d left at midnight, or whenever that party ended. We will never know, and it’s not our place to question what fate had in store for Silas.”
Her words mirrored Taylor’s so closely that Jamar heard them in Taylor’s voice. But just as it had done with Taylor, his mind refused to allow those words to absolve him from his guilt.
“I stopped blaming you when I finally accepted that no amount of blame would bring Silas back. You can go on blaming yourself, but what will you gain from it, Jamar? How does it honor Silas if you spend the rest of your life punishing yourself?” She squeezed his arm. “You’re the closest thing I have to a brother, and I need you to be here for a very long time.” She gestured to the headstone. “There are better ways to honor Silas than playing football. He was more than just football, and so are you.”
His eyes roamed over her face, over those features she shared with her brother. The broad, flat nose with a smattering of freckles. Sharp, pronounced cheekbones. Deep-set brown eyes.
Eyes that held forgiveness.
“And you don’t have to worry about Big Silas,” Andrea continued. “I’ve handled everything. Between his VA benefits and supplemental insurance plan, his round-the-clock care is paid for. The only person you have to take care of is you.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “Silas would want you to be happy. You need to find what would make you happy and embrace it.”
Jamar knew what would make him happy. Or rather, who.
He closed his eyes and breathed in a heavy sigh. He’d messed up so damn badly when it came to Taylor. What was he going to do? How was he going to fix this?
He didn’t deserve her forgiveness, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to fight for it anyway. He just had to figure out how.
He had so much to figure out. About Taylor. About this workout. About everything.
“Jamar?”
He opened his eyes.
“Stop overthinking,” Andrea said. “Life isn’t as complicated as you’re making it out to be.” She pressed a finger to the center of his chest. “Let this, and only this, guide you. You got this.”
Jamar nodded, the corners of his mouth tilting up in a wan smile. “Yeah, I got this,” he said. He wrapped her up in a gentle but fierce hug and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “I couldn’t have chosen a better big sister if I tried. Love you, Drea.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Taylor increased the volume on The Princess and the Frog as Ray the firefly started to sing about Evangeline, the evening star that he was convinced was his long-lost love. This part got her every single time. Poor Ray, putting all his hopes and dreams in an unattainable object that would never be what he needed it to be.
“You and me both, Ray,” she muttered. “You and me both.”
She reached for her phone, then quickly set it back, facedown, on the sofa. She’d done so unconsciously, but she was determined to break the habit of automatically picking up her phone whenever her mind wandered. Especially on a day like today, when she was actively avoiding social media.
Despite muting everything to do with football, she’d continued to catch tidbits about the biggest story in sports. It seemed as if the entire freaking Internet had gone wild after Hill Sports Management tweeted their announcement about “some big news” regarding Jamar “Diesel” Dixon. The chatter surrounding his attempt at a comeback had reached levels that made the viral video with Craig from a few months ago seem like nothing.
Taylor refused to be a witness to any of it. If Jamar thought performing for cameras was more important than his health, well, that was his prerogative. She decided it would be better for her mental health if she stayed off social media and avoided live TV for the next twenty-four hours. She would watch Tiana, Naveen, and the rest of the bayou crew on repeat as she strategized her own future.
Taylor grabbed the packet of materials she’d received from the assessment center. For the first time in forever, her initial reaction to the thought of going back to school was not accompanied by mind-numbing dread or baking a pan of brownies. She still wasn’t all that enthusiastic about the idea—she doubted she would ever feel excited by the thought of sitting in a class
room. But there was an optimism flowing through her that she hadn’t experienced in far too long.
This was a new journey, and she was eager to take that first step.
Taylor had been all but certain before ever walking through the doors of the assessment center that she would be diagnosed with an LD, as the diagnostician had referred to it. But she hadn’t expected to get a possible ADHD diagnosis as well.
Now that she’d had a couple of days to research it, she realized that she fit the textbook definition of someone who suffered from attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. The constant restlessness, the abundance of energy, the inability to concentrate on one thing for any period of time; they were just a few of the many checkboxes she ticked off under the list of common symptoms.
During her assessment, both the diagnostician and the psychologist who sat down to discuss her diagnosis with her suspected she’d had the conditions all along. Because of the frequency with which she’d switched schools as a kid, she’d just fallen through the cracks. Her hyperactivity had been written off as her being a tomboy, and her underperformance on tests blamed on a lack of self-discipline.
It was reassuring to learn the true cause behind the issues that had plagued her for so long. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but at least she finally had a map to help navigate it.
She felt…hopeful. As horrible as these past few days had been since walking out of Jamar’s house, it had also been an awakening, giving her the motivation she needed to get serious about school. She’d started looking at area college programs again. And because karma had to prove that it was always the baddest bitch, the kinesiology program at Southwestern University in Georgetown—just minutes from Jamar’s house—seemed to be the perfect fit.
Taylor’s throat tightened as the sense of foreboding she hadn’t been able to shake flared up yet again.
She’d fought so hard to subdue all thoughts of him—a wasted effort if ever there was one. On a scale of one to five, her anxiety hovered at about one hundred.
The Dating Playbook Page 28
