“But this is what you wanted. This was our original deal.”
“I don’t care about our original deal! What I can’t figure out is why you don’t care about yourself?”
“It’s one workout, Taylor! An hour of me going through a few drills, and I’m done.”
She paced back and forth, from the edge of his desk to the trophy display case. “All it takes is a bad landing when you perform the vertical jump, and just like that”—she snapped her fingers—“your kneecap is dust. It’s gone, Jamar. And for what? For me?”
She stopped her pacing and stood before him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Or is it to show some stupid bloggers that you’re not the washed-up athlete they say you are? To prove to yourself that you can still play? Well, guess what, youcan’t. It’s time you accept it.”
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 couldneverunderstand.
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.
