“Maybe not your SUV.” She bit down on her bottom lip and nodded toward the duffel bag she’d brought in with her. “We’ll take Nessie. My keys are in the zippered compartment in the front.”

“You named your car?”

“This is not the time for judging,” she hissed. “Just get the keys.”

He retrieved the keys from the black duffel. “A Princess and the Frog keychain?” he asked.

“Again with the judging?”

“I’m not judging.” He needed to quit while he was ahead. “I’ll get the car. Give me just a minute.”

He had to adjust the seat before he could get in. He slipped behind the wheel of her little Nissan Sentra, but when he tried to close the door, he grabbed nothing but air.

“Where’s the door handle?”

Jamar had to stop himself from immediately calling his favorite auto dealership. It was not his place to buy her a new car, no matter how much she desperately needed one.

He brought the car around and found Taylor waiting for him at the entrance, assisted by the gym attendant. Together they guided her into the car’s back seat. Jamar wadded up a jacket and placed her swelling ankle on it to keep it elevated.

“I have a friend who works at Travis County Hospital,” she said. “I’m texting her now.”

When they arrived, a woman Jamar immediately recognized from that viral video was waiting outside the ER. She ran to the car and opened the back door before he could get to it.

She briefly glanced Jamar’s way. “What happened here?”

“I was showing off,” Taylor said from inside the car. “Jamar, this is London. London, Jamar. And despite whatever he says, this was my fault. I tried to do a fancy kickboxing move and fell on my ass. I’m really hoping it isn’t broken—not my ass, my ankle.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t break your head,” London said.

“That’s too hard to break.” Taylor laughed, then winced as they helped her into a wheelchair. “I really can’t afford a broken ankle.”

“I told you—” Jamar said.

“I’m not talking about the bill. I’m talking about not being able to work.”

“Let radiology have a look at it,” London told her. “It’ll be okay.”

Jamar watched as Taylor was wheeled past the waiting area and through double doors. He slumped into a hard plastic seat, rested his elbows on his knees, and covered his face with his hands.

“If you’re embarking on a guilt trip, don’t.”

He looked up at her friend standing over him. “It’s pretty hard not to feel guilty,” Jamar said.

“Look, I’ve only known that chick for a few months,” she said, pointing toward the door where they’d taken Taylor. “And I know how impulsive she can be. You didn’t do that. She did that.”

“Only because I pushed her,” Jamar said.