She dismisses you with a wave of her hand. As you leave the room, she’s behind you in hot pursuit of the linen closet in the hall.
Mrs. Reinhart wasn’t kidding about the flowers. There are six large arrangements on the handcart, which boggles your mind when you remember that Kaigave most of them away.As you are mentally deciding where you can place the vases, you peek at the cards.
There are dozens of multicolored tulips from Sandy and Jamie. Roman and August, Kai’s other two brothers, sent sunflowers and hydrangeas, respectively. The Cyclones’ front office was responsible for the massive, sprawling bouquet of goldenrod, thistle, bottlebrush, and yellow spray roses that’s taking up half the available space. Appropriately, you notice, it’s all green and yellow. Kai’s college friend Steven sent an elegant, masculine arrangement of ferns, protea, and berries. The last arrangement is small; just a modest spray of lilies and white roses. Curious about this one—which is neither as interesting to look at as the others nor, by process of elimination, a gift from his inner circle—you open the card.
Get well soon, Mr. Reinhart. We’re thinking about you and holding you up in prayer as you recover. Don’t hesitate to call if you ever need anything.
Affectionately,
Cal and the Grayson Enterprises Security Team
You can’t help the small “aww” that you breathe into the cool, linen-scented air. It’s a toss-up as to what is cuter: the thought of stoic, frowning Cal ordering pretty flowers, or Kai’s obvious delight in receiving them. He’s told you before that he thinks Cal is scary—which is kind of the point, although you yourself know that Cal isn’t scary unless he needs to be. Are you witnessing the budding of a tentative bromance between your boyfriend and your head of security? The thought puts a smile on your face for the first time in what feels like a solid week.
It takes some time to decide where to situate all the vases so that they don’t overwhelm the space. Overhead, you can hear Mrs. Reinhart bustling around. You have only just barely situated the last arrangement and swept some fallen flower petals into a dustpan when the front door opens, making you look up.
Two women in navy-blue scrubs enter the foyer backwards, one directing the other as she carefully pulls a wheelchair through the doorway. Kai is in the wheelchair. There’s a plastic hospital band on his wrist and one of those thin, picky white institutional blankets on his lap. His eyes are closed. The sight of him makes your heart jump in your chest like it’s doing a speed round on a trampoline, a frantic up-down throbbing that threatens to break your ribcage.
“Hey, you,” you say softly. You address the nurses. “Is he awake?”
A deep laugh rumbles from Kai’s chest. “Oh, I’m awake,” he mutters, without opening his eyes. “Damn sunlight is out to personally oppress me.”
Despite the implications of what he just said—that light is still giving him headaches, which you are pretty sure isn’t great—the sound of hisnormalvoice lights you up like a Christmas tree.
“Hold on a sec,” you tell the two women. Behind them, a similarly-attired man enters, carrying some of Kai’s hospital bags.
You want to yell up the stairs for Mrs. Reinhart, but you are afraid to make too much noise for Kai’s aching head. So you take the stairs two at a time and summon her as fast as you can before sprinting back down to Kai’s side. You kneel by the wheelchair and take his hand. He looks down at you and squints his eyes open a bit, his dry lips smiling.
“It sure is good to see your face,” he says.
Oh, yourheart. It hurts, but in an amazing way.
“Likewise,” you tell him.
“You were at the hospital, right?” His forehead furrows. “I was pretty out of it yesterday, but I knew I heard your voice. Where did you go?”
You roll your eyes before you realize that he may or may not see the expression. “Media bullshit.”
“Yeah.” He shakes his head. “We got hit with it coming out of the hospital. Bunch of goddamn vultures. They were definitely hoping you were there.”
“I was right here, waiting for you,” you say.
Mrs. Reinhart comes down the stairs at that moment.
“My baby’s home!” she enthuses, clasping her hands together happily. “Thank you, God. You are too good to us.”
Showing little concern for her enormous “baby’s” concussion, she grabs him by the ears and plants a resounding smack of a kiss against his forehead.
“C’mon, Mama,” Kai grumbled.
“C’mon, Mamanothing,” she retorts. “You’re lucky I don’t wear your ass out for scaring me like that.”
The male nurse, the one carrying the bags, clears his throat.
“I’m sorry to break up the family reunion,” he says, “but we have to talk to whomever is in charge of Mr. Reinhart’s care.”
“That would be me,” Mrs. Reinhart says.
“Very good, ma’am. He’s free to move around as he pleases; the wheelchair was just a requirement for safe transport. Just to recap, we’ve ruled out significant TBI, but Kaius is still dealing with considerable post-concussive symptoms. He needs a lot of rest and down-time. His athletic trainer will be getting in touch to coordinate appointments and check-ins at the Cyclones training facility, but he’s obviously on the injury roster and released from team responsibilities for the time being. Dr. Nicolau ordered him daily home health visits to help with his activities of daily living and to coordinate care with the athletic team.”
