Taylor layered another slice of turkey breast onto her open-face sandwich before adding a dollop of cranberry sauce on top. She wasn’t even all that hungry, but there was something about Thanksgiving that made her want to eat all the things. She sliced the sandwich down the middle and grabbed an extra fork from the drawer, hoping she could convince Jamar to help her eat it.
They originally had plans to spend Thanksgiving with London, Samiah, and Daniel, but at the last minute Samiah and Daniel decided to drive down to Houston to celebrate the holiday with her family. And London had texted that she was being called in to perform an emergency surgery.
Taylor still wasn’t sure how Jamar felt about their Thanksgiving for two, but as for her, she had much preferred today’s quiet, chill vibe over the stressful holiday she usually experienced with her family.
She’d been able to enjoy the meal they’d ordered last minute from a local grocery store—which Jamar had insisted they eat in his formal dining room because it was tradition—without that cloud of anxiety hovering in the air. And now she was looking forward to relaxing on the couch in a tryptophan-induced daze while suffering through whatever football game was on television.
She carried the turkey sandwich and two bottles of apple juice out of the kitchen. She was moving less awkwardly now that she was no longer wearing the ankle splint, but she still took care as she made it from the kitchen to the living room.
“I know we just ate like two hours ago, but Thanksgiving means turkey sandwiches,” Taylor said. She plopped down next to him on the couch and frowned at the home improvement show on the television. “Why aren’t you watching the game?”
“How do you know there’s a game on?”
“Even I know that Thanksgiving means football. My dad, brother, and brother-in-law always cram together on the couch in my dad’s man cave, screaming at the TV.” She gestured at the seventy-five-inch LCD above the fireplace. “Why don’t you have it on?”
Taylor sensed his reluctance as he switched from the home improvement show to the game.
“What’s going on here?” she asked. “For someone who’s trying so hard to get back into the NFL, you don’t seem all that interested in it.”
“It’s not the game,” he said. “It’s this game in particular that’s hard for me to watch.” He looked over at her, one corner of his mouth tilted up in a sad smile. “I was hurt in the Thanksgiving game against the Lions.”
“Oh,” was all Taylor could manage. Why hadn’t he said that before she goaded him into switching the channel? “We don’t have to watch,” she said, but he didn’t seem to hear her. He’d focused in on the television screen, and if the intensity in his eyes was anything to go on, his attention would remain there.
Taylor sat through a stretch of interminable, tension-filled silence before deciding she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she blurted.
“What? The game?” he asked, motioning to the television.
“Not this game. The other game. The one where it happened.” She gestured to his knee. “Maybe talking will help.”
He sat back on the couch and stretched his arms across the back of it.
“There’s not much to talk about,” he said. “I mean, other than the fact that watching this right now makes me want to lose my Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Jamar—”
“I’m joking,” he said. “Honestly, Taylor, I’m fine. Watching it just . . . it just brings back some not-so-good memories.”
She paused for a moment. After debating whether to say anything, she decided to go for it. “Did you see someone after you got hurt? Like a therapist?”
“The League mandates it. If he were here right now, my therapist would say that I’m still taking time to digest dealing with my injury and that it’s okay not to be okay with it just yet.
“But I am okay, Taylor. Really,” he said, which told Taylor that she wasn’t doing a good job of schooling her features. “I didn’t mean to make a big deal out of it, but this is the first time these teams have played since I got hurt and I guess I just wasn’t as prepared as I thought I’d be. It’s still so damn raw.”
“Of course it is,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want to change the channel?”
He shook his head. “I’m good.”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gathered her close. As she nestled against his chest, Taylor fully processed the surrealness of the moment. Never did she think when she’d blurted those words to Alec Mooney that just weeks later she and Jamar Dixon would be in an actual relationship.
She fought hard to keep thoughts of Chad Lewis from creeping into her head. The only thing Jamar had in common with that asshole was that they had both started out as clients. There was no rational reason for her to think that her relationship with Jamar would turn out the way things had turned out with Chad.
She returned her focus to the game, but then her stomach started to sour for a different reason. This game was violent as hell. She flinched with every noisy collision between the players.
A few minutes later, Taylor twisted around to face Jamar. “Okay, I have a question. It’s a bit intrusive, and even though you have every right to tell me that it’s none of my business, I would really appreciate an answer.”
“What do you want to know?” he asked in a strained voice, as if he would rather be in a cage with actual lions and bears instead of just watching them on TV if it meant he didn’t have to address her question.
“Why are you trying to get back into the NFL? I know you want to take care of Silas’s family, but is football really the only option? Couldn’t you maybe sell this house and move into a place with only five bedrooms and a regular-sized pool? It seems as if football has caused you nothing but pain. I don’t understand why you want to return.”
“The joy football has brought me far outweighs the hurt. Every hard hit, every bruised rib, every piece of skin I’ve left on the turf has been worth it.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because of the friendships. The camaraderie.” He pointed to the television. “Those men were my brothers. They were family. That’s why it was so hard when I lost it all.”
Jamar paused for several moments before directing his attention to the game. He pointed at the screen.
“It was fourth down and eight yards to go. Common sense says you pass the ball, but the offensive coordinator drew up a running play. Coach knew it was risky, but he had enough confidence in me to put the ball in my hands—to put the game in my hands. Everyone thought it would work.”
“But it didn’t,” she surmised.
He shook his head.
“What happened?” Taylor asked, knowing his explanation would be meaningless to her. But she sensed he needed to talk through this.
“The Lions drew up a blitz,” he said. “Somehow, they read the play. The defensive lineman—a fellow Longhorn who I played with at UT and who was one of my best friends on the team—caught me on the right side. I never saw him coming.”
His eyebrows pinched together, his grimace reflecting genuine pain. Taylor could see the effort it took for him to swallow.
“I let everyone down,” he said, his hoarse whisper sounding like two pieces of sandpaper being rubbed together. “I knew within seconds that I wasn’t walking off that field—that I would have to be carted off.” He looked over at her. The sorrow in his eyes was soul-crushing. “There were only two days in my life that have ever been harder: the day Silas died and the day we put him in the ground. It’s as if something in me died those days, as if I lost a physical piece of myself.”
“Do you think playing football again will give you back something you lost?” she asked in a quiet voice. “It won’t bring Silas back.”
“No, but it’s the thing that connected us,” he said. “But, you know, this is about more than Silas. This game has been at the center of everything for nearly all of my life. There’s a picture of me on the living room mantel as a baby. I’m dressed in a throwback Houston Oilers jersey and holding this tiny football. Then, when I was five years old, my dad signed me up for peewee football, and I’ve played every year since.”
“No wonder it’s so hard for you to walk away.”
“I just wasn’t ready.” He closed his eyes. “I can’t accept the way my football story ended, Taylor. After all those years, all the work I put into making it onto an NFL team, to have it all snatched away from me like that?” He shook his head. “I want to write my own ending. I want to go out on my terms, not because of some freak hit to my knee.
“I don’t know if I’ll last longer than a season or two, but the next time I leave football, I want to walk away standing tall. Does that make sense?”
She nodded. “It does. Have you talked to your parents about this?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Mom and Dad called before they left for their cruise. I told them about the real reason I hired you as a trainer. I can tell that my mom’s worried about me playing football again, but they both gave me their blessing. They know how much this game means to me.”
“I’ve watched you push yourself to the limit and beyond nearly every day for the past five weeks,” Taylor said. “You deserve to leave football on your own terms. I hope you get the opportunity to make that happen.”
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips. “You’ve given me the best chance. I just have to make sure I don’t mess it up.”
“Have you talked to Micah about scheduling the team workout?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I was going to wait until after the season ended, but he doesn’t think I should wait that long. If I get signed by a team, it’s likely to be one that doesn’t make the playoffs, so what’s the point in waiting. Micah suggested I do it the second week of December.”
“Wow, that soon?” She shrugged. “Well, at least I’ll be back from North Carolina by then.”
He reared back. “You’re going to North Carolina?”
“I didn’t mention that?” Taylor asked. “It’s my dad’s sixtieth birthday. Mom is throwing a huge party for him—which he will absolutely hate every minute of—but he lives to indulge her whims.” She looked up at him. “Do you want to come with me?”
Before he could answer, she shook her head and said, “You know what, forget I said that. Exposing you to my family would be cruel.”
“They can’t be that bad.”
“My brother is an asshole, Jamar. Like, his picture should be in the dictionary next to the word.”
“If that’s the case, I have to come with you. I’ve never met the textbook definition of an asshole before.”
She laughed. “You’re not missing much.”
“Let me come with you.” He ran his fingers along her cheek. “I can use the distraction.”
“Next week is the anniversary of Silas’s accident,” he said quietly. “People say it gets easier, but that’s a lie. Every day is a hard day, but there’s something about the milestones that hit differently. His birthday and the day he died are the hardest days of the year for me.”
She cupped his jaw, brushing her thumb across his cheek. “If you think it will help, then yes. I’d love for you to join me.”
He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm.
“Thank you.”