“It’s a vintage Ford Bronco,” he says. “Looks like 1960s?”
“1969,” you confirm.
“It’s awfully pretty,” he continues. “Fully updated and restored? Painted Cyclones green? Looks like a custom job?”
“Uh-huh,” you say noncommittally.
“Would you happen to know why it was dropped off at my house? Or why there’s a huge bow on it and a fold-out visor across the windshield that says I APOLOGIZE, PLEASE GIVE ME THE CHANCE TO SAY IT OUT LOUD? You wouldn’t happen to be missing a car, would you?”
“Merry Christmas, Kai,” you say quietly.
“Jesus Christ,” he swears under his breath. “How much did that thing cost?”
“Does it matter?”
“It’s a stick shift,” he says. “I don’t even know how to drive it.”
“I know how,” you say. “My first car was a five-speed 2007 Audi A4. My parents were banking all the money I earned, and that’s what they bought me. I’ll teach you.”
“I don’t know what to say, Sterling.”
“I do,” you say, and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Kai. I hope you don’t think I’m trying to buy your forgiveness, because I’m not. I’ve had a team working on painting and updating that thing for months. It was down in Savannah, coincidentally. Original owner, less than 10,000 miles. The car isn’t important, though. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Ster…” he says. Is that softness creeping into his voice? You don’t dare to hope.
“I need to say all this,” you say, interrupting him. “Let me finish. I wish I was saying this in person, but I have to be in LA rightnow. So I’m going to say it on the phone, okay? I’m sorry, Kai. I love you. I’m so in love with you that it makes me crazy. I don’t want to live without you. I love every single part of you. Your heart, your mind, and your body. You’re my favorite person in the world. I was a self-absorbed asshole, and I apologize. Nothing else matters. Not my reputation, not what people say about me, and not my career. I was wrong about that being the most important thing. I don’t care about any of it if I can’t have you. So… yeah.” You laugh nervously, a little hysterical. “I’m done, now."
You haven’t quite dared to meet Kai’s eyes on the other side of the phone. It was too daunting to look at him when you were dumping your soul out. Saying what was on your mind. Now, you peek. He’s blinking like he can’t quite believe what you said. Incredulity is spread across his handsome face. He scrubs a hand over his forehead.
“What am I supposed to say to that, huh?” he says roughly. “Who are you, and what did you do with my boyfriend?”
That makes you snort in teary laughter. Because you are crying a little bit, even as you smile big enough to hurt. Holding the phone tight, you swipe at your damp cheeks.
“I have to apologize too,” he says. “I didn’t act right. The stress was getting to me. The concussion, you crashing and burning. I don’t like it. I don’t like how any of it went down. Sandy helped me realize that.”
“You talked to Sandy?” you ask.
“Yeah.” His eyes crinkle. “I needed someone smart to talk to.”
“I know the feeling. What else did he say?”
“He said that some groveling might be necessary. He said that’s what works with Jamie. He also told me that I majorly outkicked my coverage when it comes to you.”
You are still wiping tears off your stubborn eyes. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“It was a compliment. To you. Definitely not me.”
“No groveling necessary,” you insist. “Not from you. I accept your apology.”
“And I accept yours,” he says. “You weren’t totally wrong, you know.”
“I wasn’t?”
“I mean, you were. About a lot of things. But I need to work on the aggro. On the field, especially. That’s not how I want to be perceived or remembered. When they talk about my career. That’s not the man I am, and it ends now.” He lowers his voice. “About that. I, umm. No more rough stuff, okay? If that’s fine with you? I don’t like the way it makes me feel. If it’s something you need, we can talk about it, I guess, but I’d rather not…”
“No more rough sex,” you agree. “Nothing that doesn’t make you feel good. That’s fine.” And then, because it won’t stop nagging you: “What happened with Derrick?”
“Fucking Honeybone?” he groans. “Oh, Jesus. You saw the pictures.”
