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.