As always, Pete still struggled a bit with his, but he managed to get his food in. “How long are they telling you for the ankle to get better?” he asked.
“Four or five more months. I start therapy next week.”
“That’s fast. Do they expect you to be ready before training camp?”
“I don’t know. I know I expect me to be ready,” I said. “Let’s change the subject. What’s next for you after you go to the halfway house?”
“I have to get a job and work, or I could go to like trade school for something. I don’t have any skills. Trade is kinda interesting, but I still have to work to keep a roof over my head.”
“You can do anything you set your mind to,” my father interjected. “And you know you’re welcome to stay with us.”
Pete nodded at my dad. “I’m willing to do anything honest.” Pete gave my father a nervous look. It was then that I knew this visit was not just to check on me.
“What do you need, Pete?” I asked sticking a large piece of Mongolian beef into my mouth before pushing my plate away.
Pete looked from my dad to me like he wanted my father to answer the question. He swallowed his fear before saying, “A job. I was thinking since you can’t get yourself around that maybe I could be your driver.”
“You were?”
“I’ve kept my license clean. I’ve never gotten any kind of traffic violation or anything when I was high, so I’m good to drive.”
I glanced at my father. I could see a hopeful look on his face, but I couldn’t give him what he wanted. “I don’t know.”
“Why not?” Pete pressed. “I mean you’ve forgiven me. That’s what you said.”
“I’ve forgiven you.” I thought about the video of Tamar and myself that Pete had uploaded to YouTube. The video that caused Tamar and I so much pain and separation. What might my life have been like if that video hadn’t happened?
Tamar and I both would have gone to college, stayed a couple until graduation and then gotten married before I went to the NFL. We’d have a home and children. We’d have years of good memories instead of this mess we had right now.
I shook my head. I shouldn’t have blamed her for the accident. It wasn’t her fault. But our broken relationship was Pete’s.
“Stephen.” Pete called me from my thoughts.
“Forgiving isn’t forgetting,” I said coming from my fantasies about Tamar. “You being my driver is a lot of time together.”
“I know, but I’d be good at it, and I’ll mind my business.”
I reached for my water bottle, finished it and tossed the empty container at the garbage pail. I missed. I’d been missing for weeks.
Pete walked to the trash can, picked up my bottle and threw it away before sitting back down. “How are things with you and Tamar?”
I chuckled. “You don’t even have the job yet, and you’re not minding your business.”
“I was just asking. I don’t know what’s up.”
“Tamar and I split before I got hurt.”
Pete’s eyes widened. “For real? Man, I didn’t know. I saw you propose so I thought you were cool.”
“It’s not big news to anyone except…I guess me. The dumped fiancé.”
Pete nodded. “You can fix this, though.”
I stifled a groan. “I’ve got enough to fix without chasing after a woman who claims she doesn’t want to be caught.”
Pete nodded, ate for a moment and then said, “Look, I’m still being nosy here, but you got hurt in February. You didn’t even see Tamar until right before Christmas. That was a quick proposal.”
“I’m not like you, Pete. I’m a man who knows what he wants.”
“Son,” my father interrupted. He gave me a stern eye. “Enough.”
I sighed. I was being nasty. I knew that. Pete had it coming. I knew that, too. I was paying for his rehab – again. Did I have to be nice to the man who had trashed my love life, too?
“You probably scared her,” Pete offered. “Maybe if you slowed things down.”
“Are you seriously giving me relationship advice right now?”
Pete shrugged. “I’m sorry. I know how you feel about her is all.”
“I looked for Tamar because I wanted to know how she was. I wanted to apologize to her. I found that out, and I got to say I was sorry. I was obviously expecting too much.”
“Give her time, man. What I saw between you two looked like love.”
“It’s the Debra mess,” I rested a fist on my chin. “I feel like Tay should have hung in there with me. She should have given me the benefit of the doubt.”
“You have to admit, the Debra mess is a mess,” my father chimed in. He shook his head and frowned like he’d eaten something bad. “The TV show…”
“She said the issue was she didn’t want to live a public life. She didn’t want reporters and paparazzi around.” I got angry all over again as I thought about it. “This stuff dies down.”
“Tamar is not going to respond to this kind of thing the way most women might. Some women would love the attention, but you’re talking about someone wounded. She hid for twelve years, son. Changed her name. Cut off her family.”
I still didn’t think it was enough to break up over. “Look, I don’t want to talk about Tamar. I’m in enough pain right now.”
“I promise to not bring her up again.” Pete threw up his hands. “So, can I have the job or what?”
I wanted to say yes. I wanted to help him, but I wasn’t going to say yes today. “I need to think about it. I can’t take any more pain or disappointment right now and you and I—” I didn’t want to use anymore harsh words. “Give me a minute to think about it.”
Pete nodded. “You take all the minutes you need.”
My father and he exchanged a look. I know my dad was rooting for his nephew, but I had to be sure before I let Pete back into my world like that. The last time he’d had access to me and my things, he’d destroyed everything and lied for years to keep his secret.
***
I made him sweat it out, but I did hire Pete. I did in-home therapy for three weeks, during which time I didn’t leave my house much, so I didn’t need a driver, then. But once I was in good enough shape to go to the Giant’s training center, I did need someone. I lived twenty-five minutes away. Pete was more convenient than a car service, and my cousin did need a job.
We pulled in front of the Giant’s Zone, officially called the Quest Diagnostics Training Center. Coming here always made my adrenaline rush. But today, it was a different kind of rush. These days, I experienced more anxiety than excitement, and I hated that. I hated the undercurrent of fear coursing through my blood. I’d never been afraid of anything in my life, but I was afraid of this injury.
What if I can’t play anymore? What do I have outside of football?
I had been thinking about those questions for weeks. The answer that kept ringing in my head was nothing. Nothing that would be enough to make up for playing the game.
Pete opened my door. I pushed my cane out in front of me. I hated this thing, too. I knew I was being immature about it, but it made me feel weak and feeble, like an old man.
“You want to come in? We have a cafeteria.”
“No, I’m going to wait out here. I have a few things downloaded from Netflix.”
I nodded. “I’ll be at least an hour. Text me if you change your mind, and I’ll call the desk to get you in.”
Pete nodded and pushed my door closed.
I took the steps up to the entrance.
Pete called my name. I did a half turn in his direction. “Good luck, right?”
Luck wasn’t something I was accustomed to thinking about. I wasn’t lucky. I was blessed. At this minute, I didn’t feel like I was either. I nodded and walked through the doors.
I already knew my therapists, Kevin and Kaci. They were the same brother-sister team that had been coming to the house. He was
the expert on upper body work and she, the ankle and foot injuries. Both were there to greet me.
“Good to be back in the Zone, huh?” Kevin’s energy was high. He gave me a heavy pound on the fist. “How you feeling, man?”
I took a deep breath and gave him the most upbeat answer I could come up with. “It was nice to take this drive again.”
“You’re doing good with the cane,” Kaci added, joining us. “We’ll have you off of it in no time.”
Kaci and Kevin worked my upper body for forty minutes and then put me on ice therapy. As I sat there for the last twenty minutes, I visited my social media. Fans on my IG page were looking for me. I had thousands of comments asking me for an update on my last post from nearly a month ago which simply read:
Down but not out. Pray, friends. #comingback
I owed them something. I opened the camera app. Extended my arm and snapped a selfie, and then took a pic of my leg, and the machines in the training area. I uploaded all three and posted the caption:
Unbreakable #YourRunningBack
I wanted to write more. I wanted to write something inspiring and spiritual. I was a leader to so many of the young guys in the league and in college and high school. My fans always commented and liked my inspirational messages more than any others, but I didn’t have it in me. Not right now.
Maybe tomorrow.
That’s what I’d told myself yesterday and the day before that. Who was I without football if I couldn’t even write an inspirational message? I didn’t know. I hoped I didn’t have to find out.
Chapter 16
I was living in constant fear of being discovered. I hated it. And because of my fear, I imagined I was being watched. Every time I left the house, I found myself looking over my shoulder. It reminded me of my time in college when I was stalked about the video and the questions:
How does it feel to be a celebrity?
Did you know you were being taped?
Who was the young man in the video?
You’re a preacher’s kid. Was this an act of rebellion against the church?
Can you confirm Stephen Pierce was your lover?
They never ran out of questions. Early in my first semester at Penn State, I realized I was pregnant. I thought the entire world was looking at me. I was afraid to answer unknown telephone numbers, and I hated to open emails.
Stephen had a breakout freshman year on the field, so predictions about who he was going to be after college were already happening before he even finished his first season. For that reason, the video controversy wouldn’t die down.
As a result of the never-ending attention, I developed such bad anxiety that I was on my way to having a nervous breakdown. Dropping out of school was my only option. Plus, I needed to hide until I had the baby. The last thing I wanted nosy reporters to know was that I was pregnant. That would get back to my father and Stephen.
I closed my eyes against the memory. “I had no other choice,” I whispered. Everything seemed so clear back then. But today, twelve years later, it did not. Was there something else I could have done? Could I have told Stephen? What would he have done?
I shook my head. “You made the best decision you could at the time.”
“Ma’am, were you talking to me?”
I looked into the face of the cashier. She held my latte in her hand.
“I’m sorry. How much?” I asked, reaching into my wallet.
She repeated my total, I paid, and took a seat.
I was back in Atlanta. Eva insisted I figure out a way to attend a mandatory work conference. She was guilty of breaking all the family medical leave laws, but I couldn’t be mad at her. Intermittent leave was keeping my bills paid.
Kim stopped by my apartment from time to time to water my plants. I had a lot of them. Gratefully, most were hardy, so her weekly visits kept them alive. I was looking forward to watering them myself. I was also looking forward to sleeping in my own bed for the next couple of nights.
I knew not being seen around the city was a good thing. Most of the media probably assumed I was in New Jersey with Stephen. He hadn’t said anything on social media about our breakup. He hadn’t said anything at all, until yesterday when he’d posted the pics from his therapy session.
It was a good picture of him. I was grateful for it, since the last time I’d seen him, he was in the hospital. I pulled out my phone and went to his Instagram page. He hadn’t posted a new picture, but he had responded to a few of the comments. He had thousands of them. His fans wished him well, told him they were praying for him, asked him about me. He didn’t respond to any of those.
The same way he hadn’t responded to my phone call last month or the card and the note I sent him a week after the call. I’d been right and Kim was wrong. He did blame me for the accident. He couldn’t even make himself return my phone call or respond to a letter.
I finished my drink and left the coffee shop. I made my way out into the freezing cold. This weather was not unheard of, but it was definitely uncharacteristic for early April in Atlanta.
A light snow had fallen last night and because it was so cold, it stuck. Snow was a nuisance in this city. Most people couldn’t drive in it and once it warmed up, if the temperature dropped again, we had black ice.
Usually our rare snows made me feel nostalgic. Having grown up in Pine, I was used to snow from November to end of April, but today I couldn’t shake the feeling that my past was coming back to haunt me. The snow added to the foreboding anxiety that simmered in my emotions.
I slid my dark shades on, checked the surrounding area to make sure no one was watching me. I told myself I was being cautious, but in truth, I was getting paranoid. I promised myself I’d never let myself get that crazy again. But now that I had a job at a magazine with reporters, I knew the ins and outs of the business.
Everyone was looking for the story that would make them hot. Bylines built resumes and resumes made careers and money. As much as I wanted to be nobody, I was, technically, Stephen Pierce’s fiancé. People wanted updates on his rehab. They wanted updates on our romance. Reporters wanted to be the ones to share it.
I was out of time. My paranoia was a clear sign of that. I had to tell Stephen about Isaiah and since he wasn’t talking to me, I’d have to pop up on him at home.
“Tamar Johnson.” My name slipped off a male tongue.
I turned.
“I’m Roy Cray with The City Standard. Can we talk for a few minutes?”
I hesitated. “About what?” I removed my sunglasses.
He smiled a little. It was slight, but cocky. “A story I’ve developed. A story about you.”
My stomach dropped. I was too late.
Chapter 17
Run.
The temptation to get on a plane and fly somewhere on the other side of the world coursed through my veins. I’d run before. I’d run from school to Aunt Joe’s and then back to school and then changed schools again and again and finally South Africa. I knew how to run. It had been a long time, but I had been good at it.
I closed my eyes to the temptation. I couldn’t run anymore. I had people now. People who depended on me, and I was out of time. I had to answer for my past. I had to fix this mess before it exploded in my face.
I called off the work meeting and took a plane to Yancy.
“You have 24 hours,” Roy Cray had said.
I sighed. At least I had that. It was enough time to tell Isaiah and then get to New Jersey to talk to Stephen. God, how I dreaded both.
I’d called ahead so Aunt Joe was expecting me. I entered the house. She was standing in the kitchen looking lost and thin. So very thin.
I’d been protecting her. I was right to protect her.
“What can I get for you, Auntie?” I asked, putting down my bag.
“I don’t remember what I came in here for,” she said.
I washed my hands and opened the refrigerator. “How about some Jello?”<
br />
Aunt Joe nodded and accepted the small cup from me. I handed her a spoon, too. “Where’s the aide?”
“The supermarket,” she said, frowning at the little cup as she stabbed the gelatin with the spoon.
“Getting what? I made sure you had everything before I left yesterday.”
Aunt Joe continued to examine her snack. “I want some cornbread. I woke up with a taste for it.”
And I had forgotten to add the meal to the list yesterday. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, or I would have gone back. I didn’t like her being alone.
“Is Isaiah coming straight home from school today?”
She finally put a small amount of Jello on her tongue. She had sores in her mouth, so eating was hard. “He’ll be here soon.” She swallowed, wincing from the pain, and put the cup down. “You weren’t followed, were you?”
I reached into the freezer for a pan of chicken casserole I’d made before I left. I placed it on the counter so it could begin to thaw. The home-health aide was supposed to warm up meals, but I intended to send her home as soon as she returned. “I made sure he wasn’t on the plane.”
We walked into the living room. I slid off my jacket and sat down. I observed her some more. She was weak.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I have cancer,” she rasped. “And that feels like the end of your life.”
“I’m sorry I left.”
“You hadn’t been gone but a day. I know you have a job. I’ve got my aide and my church family. Everything here is fine.”
I didn’t sit. I stood behind the loveseat opposite Aunt Joe and pushed my nervous energy into a throw pillow I’d picked up.
“So, what does the reporter know?”
I was reminded of my warning. 24 hours. “He knows I had a baby.”
“You had him in this house. There aren’t any hospital records.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask him anything because I wasn’t trying to confirm the story, but he’ll find the birth record. He’s probably looking for Johnsons. That will take a minute, but it won’t be long before he starts looking for Fergusons. Everybody knows my pen name and Mama’s maiden name isn’t hard to find.” I started pacing.
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