Misadventures of a College Girl (Misadventures #9)(61)

“Are you going to text her back?”

“I’ll call her in a minute. I’m in the middle of thinking brilliant thoughts over here.”

“What are you going to tell her when you call?”

I turn my head and look at Tyler, surprised he’s asking the question. “That I’m leaving the tour.”

Tyler furrows his brow. “You sure about that?”

I make a face like that’s a patently ridiculous question. “Of course.”

“Let’s talk it through. Make sure you’re making the right decision.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m not leaving you. We’re a team now.”

Tyler twists his mouth. “Zooey, my gut tells me you shouldn’t break your contract. Your word is your bond. It’s not professional to leave them hanging.”

I’m stunned. “I know, but it can’t be helped.” I motion to his knee.

“But breaking your first ever touring contract because your boyfriend hurt his knee might give you a bad rep in the industry. You don’t want to get yourself blacklisted. You might never get hired for a Broadway-quality tour like this again.”

I truly can’t believe my ears. “Tyler, this situation isn’t as simple as ‘my boyfriend hurt his knee.’ Obviously.”

“But that’s how they’ll see it. For them, this is business. You signed a contract, and you’re not honoring it because, waah, waah, your football-player boyfriend hurt his knee. They’ll think you’re unreliable and flaky and that you don’t honor your commitments.”

“I don’t care if they think I’m the world’s biggest flake. I’m not leaving you.”

He sighs and looks up at the ceiling for a moment. “You loved being on that tour.”

“Yeah, well, I love being with you more.”

“That’s what you think at twenty. But how will you feel about this decision when you’re thirty, and the window of opportunity to get a professional theater career going has closed?”

I open and close my mouth, not sure how to answer that question.

“Look, I know we’ve been going on and on about how I’m gonna stage a comeback in a year. And I appreciate your positivity. It fires me up. But nothing’s guaranteed in football. We both know that. Anything could happen. Even if I do wind up coming back better than ever at some point, I’m still looking at best-case scenario eight more years in the league. Probably much less than that, statistically.” He motions to his knee. “Or maybe, thanks to this, I’ll never play again. We just don’t know. But guess what I do know for sure? I want to be with you for the rest of my life. And the last thing I want you to do is look back when you’re thirty or forty or fifty and have any regrets about what you gave up for me at twenty.”

I sigh with frustration. “Tyler, this is a pointless conversation. I’m not leaving you to return to the tour. There will be other tours. Like you said, I’m twenty.”

“But you never know how one decision can torpedo you. My gut says breaking this contract might be a game-changer in a bad way. The thing you look back on and regret the most.”

“I’ll have to take that chance. If they think I’m a contract-breaking flake, I can’t help that. There’s no way I’m leaving you to go back on the road for three whole months. Your mental health is part of your recovery. You need companionship. Optimism. I’m not going to desert you in your time of need.” I pat his arm. “Don’t worry about me, baby. I’ve already figured out a brilliant plan for me to have my cake and eat it, too. I’m going to apply to the U of Miami. It turns out they have a great musical theater program. Who knew?”

I’m expecting Tyler’s face to light up at my idea, but he looks wary. He sighs. Furrows his brow. Looks up at the ceiling. And then his face lights up with an unmistakable epiphany. “Why don’t I come with you on tour?”

I stare at him blankly, not able to process the bizarre words that just came out of his mouth.

“Why not?” he continues, looking increasingly energized by the idea. “For the next few months, I’m on doctor’s orders to rest up. Well, shit, I can rest up in five-star hotels from Oklahoma to New Mexico just as easily as I can do it here. If I need physical therapy or whatever during that time, then I’ll hire someone to travel with me. Easy peasy. Top hotels always have pretty good fitness centers.”

I clutch my throat, flabbergasted. “You’d do that for me?”

Tyler’s eyes are positively sparkling. “Hell yeah. The more I think about it, being on tour with you would be a whole lot better for my mental health than lying around here and feeling sorry for myself. I’ll use the time to design some kick-ass T-shirts. Maybe get started on putting together that charitable foundation I’ve been thinking about starting. Maybe I’ll scope out some new real estate investments. Work out every morning in the hotel gym. Plus, I’ll get to see dazzling places like Appleton, Wisconsin, up close and personal. And best of all, I’ll get to watch my little beaver perform every evening, twice on Sundays, and then fuck the living hell out of her afterwards. Don’t let the bum knee fool you, sweetheart, I can still rock your world, one-legged.” He winks. “Honestly, it sounds like a great three-month rest and recovery plan to me. Bulletproof.”