“Yeah,” he says. “I’m not leaving until after breakfast.”
You were going to let that be the end of the conversation, but his voice rises once more out of the dark. He sounds sleepy. Knowing how quickly Kai tends to nod off, it’s truly a miracle of perseverance that you’re having this conversation in bed, and he’s still awake for it.
“Ster? I love you.”
You don’t know whether you want to roll closer to him or give in to the sob threatening to choke you out.
“Love you too,” you reply.
It takes a long time before you fall asleep.
part iii: but not for me
Chapter Fourteen
SPORTSLINE:Hugely disappointing Week 7 loss by the Miami Cyclones. After winning their first five games, the Cyclones hit back-to-back roadblocks against Jax and Houston, exposing some holes in Miami’s normally bulletproof defense. We hate to put all the blame on the Train, but there’s no denying the fact that #99 did not look 100% on his first two outings after suffering a significant head injury in the last week of preseason. We’re used to seeing that unrelenting pressure and verve that gave Kaius Reinhart his nickname. Instead, we’re seeing a lot of sluggishness off the line, missed tackles, and uncharacteristic pancake plays. He’s not the only defensive weapon struggling right now, but definitely the most visible one.
The legion of Miami doubters—and there are plenty of them to go around—are pushing the narrative that Reinhart is washed, that his much-publicized contract extension was bad money, that he wasted too much of his recuperation spending time with Sterling Grayson, and that the Cyclones should bench him in favor of promising rookie James Wainwright III. We dislike that kind of reactionary talk. The season is young, the Beausoleil-coached Cyclones are historic contenders, and maybe Reinhart just needs a few weeks to get his feet back under himself. Miami has a bye week next week. Let’s see howReinhart looks on the other side of it. If he’s not back to making tracks by Thanksgiving, maybe we’ll sing a different tune.
***
With October comes Halloween decorations and cooler weather, two things that you normally appreciate. It turns out that crêpe paper ghosts and carved pumpkins can’t distract you from the absolute shitstorm that the month brings along with it.
Kai’s first game back on the field is an occasion that has your heart in your throat for four straight quarters. Several members of his huge, supportive family are in attendance as a sign of support; you buy out a box at the Hard Rock to celebrate. There are far too many Reinharts to fit in one suite, leading you to wonder if they drew straws on who got to attend. Mrs. Reinhart is there, of course. When she sees you, she kisses your face and tells you that you did a good job. Kai’s dad, who you have only met perhaps twice, is also there. Like Kai and his oldest brother Roman, Donald Reinhart is a man of few words. August and Aquila make up for it, filling the space with noise and a bevy of really cute children kitted out in Cyclones gear. His grandma is even in attendance: at age 82, she’s pushing a walker and wearing an oversized t-shirt with Kai’s face emblazoned on it. Kai’s aunt is there, along with her granddaughter: a young teenager who approaches you shyly a few minutes after you sit down.
“Hi?” she says, staring at the toes of her Converse. She has the same exact accent as Kai. “I’m Chanel? I don’t know if Kai told you about me?”
It takes a moment of carding through the files in your brain labeled KAI’S FAMILY AND LOVED ONES before it hits you, and you thank the almighty for your good memory.
“His goddaughter,” you say, smiling big to try and set her at ease. “You got him that amazing custom Goalposts Tour Pop figure. I told him that I’m going to steal that thing one of these days.”
“And you sent me a bunch of stuff,” she says, blushing. “Merch and a signed poster. I wanted to say thank you. I never thought I’d meet you in person.”
You didn’t know that you still had it in you to be charmed by a fan interaction; you assumed you were too jaded for that. But seeing Chanel’s eyes light up is maybe the highlight of your whole month. You pat the seat beside you.
“You are very welcome. Will you sit with me for a while?” you ask. “I’m really nervous about Kai getting back on the field, and I’d love some company.”
Chanel plops down beside you cautiously. She’s tall for her age… 13 or 14? All the Reinhart clan are tall people, minus Kai’s mom. It takes maybe three minutes—you wish you had timed it—for her star-struck awkwardness to evaporate and for her to start chatting your ear off. She’s starting high school in the fall, she tells you. Her dad, Damian, is Kai’s cousin, and broke his leg playing football with him in the backyard when they were teenagers. She loves, in no particular order, a boy at school named Ocean, her puppy, named Goldie, her dance lessons, and old episodes ofThe Vampire Diaries. And shehatesGabrielle Rose.
“Don’t tell my grandma I said this,” she whispers, sotto voce. “But she’s the biggestbitchfor what she’s doing to you and Kai. I blocked her new single on Spotify.”
This snaps you out of the sweet, comfy lull that you were in and shoots your anxiety straight to a 10. The Cyclones are alsotaking the field. It’s a combination of stimuli that you can barely handle.
“Did you know,” you motormouth out of nowhere, “that I keep every costume I’ve ever worn in a temperature-controlled vault?”
It’s a total non sequitur, but Chanel is also an enormous Grayling. You can almost see her ears prick up in curiosity.
“Allof them?” she drawls slowly.
The way you nod your head is still probably frantic. You will your racing heart to calm down. To ignore the whooping of your suitemates when Kai runs out onto the turf with his teammates, a fist raised in triumph.
“All of them,” you echo. “Nobody knows where it is, for security reasons. I can tell you that it’s underground. There’s a massive battery backup to keep the fabric cool and dry in case the power ever goes out. I pay for an armed guard ‘round the clock.”
Chanel’s eyes are the size of saucers. “Is the Mugler illusion-net bodysuit from theStargazertour in there?”
Goddamn, this girl is hardcore. You feel yourself blink in astonishment.
“Sure is,” you say, dropping your voice to a confidential level. “There are two of them, actually. I had to keep an extra on standby because that mesh was always ripping on stage, and I needed one to wear while the other was getting mended.”
