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 classroom. 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.
What if he slipped while running the forty-yard dash or that tricky shuttle run? Those short sprints between the orange cones were hell on the knees.
It was his knee. He’d made his choice. It was no longer her concern.
It would be great if she could communicate those sentiments to the ball of trepidation rolling around in her stomach.
Her phone rang. She flipped it over to find London’s picture staring back at her. As she answered the call, there was a simultaneous knock on the door.
“It’s us. Open up,” she heard London say both through the phone and the front door.
What are they doing here in the middle of the day?
Taylor flung her head back and sighed up at the ceiling. She should have anticipated this after sending that vague text yesterday, telling them that she would be skipping tonight’s girls’ night out. Especially after avoiding all their other texts this week.
“Come on, Taylor! It’s freezing out here!”
She pushed herself up from the sofa and made it to the door.
“Why aren’t you both at work?” Taylor asked by way of greeting.
“Hello to you too,” London said. “Are you going to let us in? That cold front moved in this morning and now my ass is literally frozen.”
“Do I have to let you in?” Taylor asked.
London and Samiah both gave her that look—the one that said she had two seconds to start acting right before she got her butt handed to her.
Taylor stepped out of the doorway and flung her hand out. “Fine. Come in,” she said.
They both entered, making her tiny studio feel that much smaller. London held a cloth shopping bag and Samiah had a tray of something.
“Sorry I haven’t replied to the group texts lately. I haven’t been in the mood to talk,” Taylor said. “Or to do anything social, to be honest.”
“Yeah, we gathered that,” London said. She pulled a paper sack from the bag. “Thus the wine.”
“And the charcuterie board,” Samiah said, holding out a platter with artfully arranged fruit, crackers, cheese, meats, and olives. She brushed past Taylor and went into the living room. “Oh, we’re watching . . . cartoons,” she said as she set the platter on the coffee table. “I guess that’s”—she looked to London, concern creasing her forehead—“good?”
“Don’t read too much into it. I watch this movie at least once a week,” Taylor said. She picked up the remote and turned off the TV.
“So where are we in the breakup process?” London asked. “Are we wallowing, or are we still in the angry, ‘fuck that guy and the horse he rode in on’ stage?”
“I hope we’re in the eat our feelings stage, because I skipped breakfast,” Samiah said, removing the plastic lid from the platter.
“I’m not in any of those stages,” Taylor said as she grabbed paper cups and napkins from the kitchen and brought them over to the coffee table. She pointed to the literature from the assessment center. “I’m moving forward and looking toward the future.”
“Ooooh, you had your evaluation.” Samiah lifted one of the pamphlets from the coffee table. “How did it go?”
“It’ll be another week before the diagnostician provides the formal report, but I already feel more confident after talking with her. I can do this,” Taylor said, unable to squelch her excitement now that she had people to share it with.
That’s what these two did for her. They were her sounding board, her support system; they would never understand just how much they’d come to mean to her.
“Ah, I get it. You’re in the ‘all right nah, look at you’ stage,” London said with a finger snap. “It’s what we’re all striving for, girl. Good for you.”
Taylor lowered herself to the floor and sat cross-legged on the side of the coffee table opposite the sofa. She helped herself to cheese, crackers, and a cup of wine. If someone told her just an hour ago that she would be anything but pissed at such an interruption, Taylor would have called them a liar. But this is exactly what she’d needed today.
“Hey, did either of you see the trailer for the new Beyoncé special on Netflix?” Samiah asked. She picked up her phone and swiped across the screen. “It dropped on Twitter earlier today.”
Taylor shook her head. “I’m avoiding social media. I haven’t looked at Twitter or Instagram since yesterday. I was forced to go on Facebook to post about my pop-up yoga class tomorrow morning. I can use some students. Hint, hint.”
London stared directly at her as she bit into a green olive. Based on that raised eyebrow, Taylor figured she shouldn’t count on her friend to show up tomorrow.
“Turn it to ESPN,” Samiah said, still looking at her phone. She pointed at the television. “Turn it on now!”
“No.” Taylor shook her head. “I’m avoiding TV too. Especially ESPN.”
“Jamar canceled his workout. He’s giving a press conference right now.”
“What!” Taylor picked up the remote and stabbed at the power button. “What channel is ESPN?”
“I don’t know!” both London and Samiah screeched.
As she scrolled through the channel guide, stark terror seized her chest. God, had he been hurt? Is that why he’d called it off?
“Is there anything explaining why he canceled it?” Taylor asked.
“No, just a tweet from that Alec Mooney guy. He posted a picture of the empty parking lot at the UT practice facility. It says ‘Micah Hill of Hill Sports Management announced that Jamar Dixon’s scheduled tryout event would no longer take place.’ His follow-up tweet says that Jamar will be making a statement instead.”
What could have caused him to call it off at the last minute like this?
After what seemed like endless scrolling, Taylor finally found ESPN. She involuntarily flinched at the sight of Jamar sitting at a white folding table; various pieces of football equipment were assembled behind him. He was reading from his phone.
“—wasn’t the easiest decision, but it was the right one to make. Going through with this workout would have put me at risk for an even more substantial injury. I decided it wasn’t worth it. I now know that I don’t have anything to prove to anyone. Including myself.”
A rueful smile crossed his lips. “To say my professional football career didn’t last as long as I wanted it to last is the ultimate understatement, but I will eventually learn to live with that. Millions of young men who strap on their shoulder pads on Friday nights would give anything to experience what I did for those few short months with the Chicago Bears. I will always be grateful and count myself as one of the lucky ones.
“But today is about more than my football career. This is about the future. As many of you know, I lost my best friend, Silas Cannon III, during our senior year at Katy High School. If he’d had the chance, I have no doubt that Silas would have made it all the way to Canton, Ohio, and the football Hall of Fame. Even though the game meant a lot to him, Silas’s family meant more. Helping people—especially those who just couldn’t seem to get a fair shake in life—meant more to him.”
Jamar folded his hands on the table.
“Today, as I announce my official retirement from professional football, I want to also announce my plans to launch the Silas Cannon III Foundation, which will focus on supporting kids with incarcerated parents. I know this is a cause that my best friend would approve of.
“As I bring this statement to a close, I want to take a minute to thank everyone who had a hand in bringing me to this point in my life. My parents, my agent, my coaches and former teammates, the physicians and specialists who took care of me, the Cannon family, and Taylor Powell of Taylor’d Conditioning Fitness Consulting.”
“Oh, shit,” London gasped.
“Shhh . . .” Samiah whispered.
Jamar looked up from his phone and stared directly at the camera.
“My biggest regret in not being able to work out for you all today is that I won’t be able to showcase the strides I’ve made in my recovery thanks to Taylor’d Conditioning. Its owner is one of the toughest, most talented, and most qualified fitness professionals I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. If I had made it back into the League, any success I enjoyed would be thanks to her.
“Taylor’d Conditioning has my wholehearted endorsement.” He paused for a moment, then said, “And Taylor Powell has my whole heart.” He stood. “Thank you for your time today,” he finished, and then he walked out of the camera frame.
None of them said anything. They all just continued to stare at the television until London broke the silence with a low whistle.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to marry his ass,” London said.
“What do I do?” Taylor asked. “Do I call him? Do I wait for him to call me?”
Samiah hunched her shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe wait?”
“But what if he doesn’t call?”
“Of course he’ll call,” London said. “The man just told the entire world that you have his whole heart. That’s the sweetest thing I’ve seen since this one’s boyfriend had us tacking sticky notes all around the botanical gardens. I hate both of you right now.”
“Save your hate,” Taylor said. “At least until Jamar calls.”
A niggling trace of uncertainty lingered, preventing her from fully giving in to the hope that had bloomed like wild-flowers within her chest.
“If he calls,” she amended.