“It’s whatallthe bullshit social media accounts have to say,” he retorts. “I knew he was good. I’mgladhe’s good. I just want to make sure I still have a spot on the team when I get back.”
“Miami wantsyou,” you insist. “Your contract…”
“They’ve got Books on a rookie deal,” he interjects calmly. “Objectively, he’s a much better bargain. Especially if he keeps producing like this.”
“This is your head,” you say. “Kinda important part of your body. Are you sure that you should be rushing back to practice?”
Kai furrows his brow. “It’s not rushing back if it’s been three weeks. I’ve made it through three stages of the concussion protocol. If drills go well, they’ll get an independent physician to certify me to return to regular practice. The Association has steps for all this.”
You can’t help the fact that you make a skeptical face. Youfeelit on your expression, despite the fact that you don’t want it there and are normally very good at schooling your features.
“You don’t believe they will do their job,” he says. It’s not a question.
“No,” you admit. “I don’t. I think they have a vested interest in getting you back in the game as soon as possible.”
“Ihave a vested interest in getting back in the game as soon as possible,” he retorts.
“Well,” you say. “My vested interest is in making sure that my partner doesn’t develop CTE. I’d like to be able to hold an intelligent conversation with you in the future after you’re done playing football.”
He looks pained, but you know that your words hit the mark. Chronic traumatic encephalopathy related to repeated head injuries is every professional athlete’s worst nightmare, and you know enough about the Association by now to realize that it’s a PR nightmare for them. Being an old hand in all matters related to PR nightmares, you get it.
“So, I can book the neurologist?” you say tentatively. “Maybe in the next few days?”
He looks skeptical. “You don’t even have my insurance information or any of that. And since when do you make appointments yourself?”
“Just because I don’t, doesn’t mean I don’t know how,” you say seriously. “And I don’t need your insurance. I’m going to pay out-of-pocket so we can go after hours and make sure nobody sees us going in.”
You don’t miss the way that his fingers tighten incrementally around the mug. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”
“It’s actually not about me,” you say truthfully. “It’s about you. It’s nobody’s business what doctors you go to see when you aren’t representing the Cyclones.”
Kai doesn’t agree, but he also doesn’t explicitly tell you off. That’s all the agreement you need.
***
@dettweiler_kurt:Just heard that the Train (@k.reinhart) will be missing at least one additional week on the field. Sending prayers up for my friend and teammate, who God is testing with so many struggles as of late. Sometimes His plans for us include trials meant to make us consider the wages of asinful lifestyle. Let’s uphold Kaius Reinhart in Christ’s love and pray mindfully that his choices lead him closer to God’s perfect and most holy Word. Romans 1:26-27, 1 Corinthians 6:9-10 #lovethyneighbor #kingdomwarriors #Godisgood
***
Kai technically clears concussion protocol on Monday of Week 4, well before that weekend’s game against the Tennessee Goliaths. In another timeline, one where he didn’t re-sign with Miami and took Tennessee’s generous contract offer, he probably wouldn’t have gotten hurt. You would have helped him shop for a new home in Nashville, as opposed to you buying one (okay, two) in Miami. Would he be suiting up for a revenge game against his former team this week? If GoGo hadn’t gotten cut, would you be in your current predicament? Thewhat-ifsswirl around your head like a waterspout in the aftermath of Kai’s neurology consult.
You like Dr. Glazer. She’s thorough and attentive, giving you guys almost an hour of her time. Granted, you are paying her a stupid high per diem rate to see you at 6 PM, after the office has closed, and give her normal nighttime rounds to another physician. That doesn’t mean that you don’t appreciate her good attitude. She reviewed Kai’s files before the appointment so that she knew what she was getting into. She checks him out in her private office, not an exam room. There’s a picture window overlooking Murray Hill. The building is a few blocks from the United Nations and, beyond that, the East River. With Dr. Glazer’s credentials, she’s earned the great view.
The neurological exam seems a lot like the ones that you watched on YouTube when Kai was already asleep the night before, a lot of balance checks and tests of hand-eyecoordination. She spends a long time asking him about his lifestyle since the injury.
“In my line of work, Mister Reinhart, you can probably guess I’m not the biggest fan of gridiron football,” she says wryly. This happens after the testing, when she is back facing you two on the opposite side of her vast desk. “With that said, I consult with a lot of athletic associations. I appreciate you wanting concrete answers before you get back on the field.”
Beside you, Kai is a quiet mountain, hands clasped over his trim waist. He doesn’t offer up the fact that the consult wasn’t his idea, and you don’t insert it into the conversation. You are actually making an effort to say as little as possible.
“I see that you cleared the five stages of the NFA concussion protocol,” she says. “Do you mind telling me the independent physician who signed off?”
“His name was Dr. Vargas,” Kai says. “I think his first name started with a P.”
“Patricio Vargas,” she nods. “Excellent doctor. And Dr. Nicolau is the Cyclones’ physician?” She checks the tablet in front of her, seeming to confirm her own words. “Your scans look good. No scarring, no micro-hemorrhagic activity, no evidence of altered activity. This was your first concussion that you know of?”
“Second,” Kai says. “The first one happened my sophomore year at Bama.”
This, you did not know, and the knowledge piques you. Dr. Glazer looks up from her tablet.
