“Hey, you okay? How ya feeling?” he asks with a yawn, still half asleep. He’s wearing nothing but his black Calvin’s, his hair is disheveled, and his deliciously sculpted muscles are on full display. His tribal tattoos twist and swirl around his biceps and smaller ones caress his chest and torso. Beckoning me to touch them, run my hands over them. Not to mention, he has a semi straining against the inside of his boxers. I’m being tortured, I have to be. This is some sick sort of cruel and unusual punishment. But for what? I don’t know. I pay my taxes, I goto church.Once a year. Still, I’m not really sure what I did to deserve this.
“I think my fever is spiking.”Cough.“I’m freezing and sweaty and I feel like I can’t get warm enough,”cough. He walks over to the side of the bed resting the back of his hand on my forehead.
“You feel clammy and you’re burning up,” he observes. “Let’s get you into a nice cool bath.”
My eyes pop open. “I really don’t think that’s necessary. I’ll just stay here and shiver it out,” I object while shaking my head. “Plus, you know how I feel about baths.”
He gives me a lopsided smile. “Yes, I know. In the words of Schmidt, 'bathtubs are medieval filth cauldrons.' But you’re still taking one,” he informs me while he begins unraveling the blanket.
“How about a cold shower?” I bargain.
“Fine. I’ll go start it,” he says and makes his way down the hall. When he comes back, I’m sitting up in bed, my feet slung over the side, with my eyes closed. I’ve made no progress in the removal of my clothes.
“Part of me wishes you didn’t have to see me like this. But the delirious part of me simply doesn’t care,” I whisper.
“I want to be with you no matter how you look. I want to see you even when you’re sick or in pain or hurting,” he pauses to peel my sweaty t-shirt from my body, lifting it over my head. “And I want to be the one to take care of you, to put you back together. I love all the parts of you—not just the parts that are convenient or easy, Kendall.”
I swallow loudly and with difficulty while my heart starts galloping in my chest. I skip right over his blatant admission. He said he loves all the parts of me. Not that he lovesmeor that he’sin love with me. That’s an important distinction, I think. I can’t be sure, but my muddy swampland of a brain is screaming at me to not touch this live grenade right now.
“I know, Kai, I appreciate it,” I say while sheepishly crossing my arms over my bare chest. He moves his hands to my underwear and pulls them down delicately. His rough palms trail the back of my thighs and calves until suddenly, I’m sitting in front of him completely naked. My clothes are in a damp pile on the floor. And I think this is the most vulnerable I’ve ever been in front of him. I feel totally exposed and of course he knows, because he is always dialed into me and what I need. He scoops me up with one arm under my legs and the other bracing my back and I wrap my arms around his neck.
He kisses my temple softly as he carries me to the bathroom. “I’ve seen you sick, lonely, depressed, miserable. I’ve seen you hungover and overcome with grief. I’ve seen everything, Ken, and you have never stopped being beautiful,” he whispers into my hair. A strangled laugh escapes my throat. I’m coughing, sneezing, and sweating my way to death’s doorstep and Kai does not bat an eyelash. He doesn’t even flinch. He just does what needs to be done.
“I probably look like the grim reaper, Kai. And I’m quite positive I smell worse. I sweat the bed for Christ sake.”
“Good thing we’re showering then.”
He sets me down in the bathtub and the water is alarmingly cold at first, pricking my skin like ice. But after a few seconds, I adjust and it feels heavenly on my face and the rest of my body. This shower might actually revive me. I wait for him to make his way out but he doesn’t move. Instead, he sits down on the edge of the tub as I blink at him. “Tilt your head back,” he instructs and starts lathering my hair with shampoo. I sigh in response. After that he does my body, running a soapy washcloth over my tired, aching muscles with care and attention. He leaves almost no part of me untouched and his calloused hands caressing my skin are shockingly gentle. His touch soothes and comforts me, so much so that I let loose a strained whimper when he finishes.This is one of the most sensual experiences of my life—if only I didn’t feel like I’d been flattened by an eighteen wheeler.
“This is nice,” I mutter, resting my head on my arm and my arm against the ledge of the bath.
“It is,” he admits, kissing my forehead. He leans over me to turn the knob of the shower faucet off.
“Maybe we could do it again…when I don’t feel like absolute shit.”
“I think we can make that happen,” he replies while helping me stand up. Then he wraps me in a fluffy towel and I’m in his arms once again.
Chapter 46
Kai
AftergettingKendallinsome dry clothes and tucking her in under the covers, I let her rest for a few hours. She seems slightly better, a little more lucid than yesterday. When I first got here last night, she was in rough shape. My heart stuttered in my chest when I saw her sleeping on the couch covered in discarded tissues. She looked so small and frail. Kendall’s not good at letting people take care of her, at needing others, or relying on them. I’ve learned that lesson many times over the years.
My first instinct was to go to her but then the bird swooped overhead and my priorities shifted. I carried her to her room then I got to work on removing the wild animal.
Since then, I’ve taken care of her, cleaned and disinfected her apartment, ordered groceries, and made sure she stays hydrated and fed. I don’t have anywhere to be until my game at 7:00, so I want to help her as much as I can before that. After I cook breakfast, scroll on my phone for an hour, read the three magazines I found, and tidy Akio’s room, I’m feeling antsy.
I’m poking around her apartment in search of books, when I discover an old stack of newspapers and magazine articles. There’s a pile firmly wedged in the back of a drawer that I have to yank out. The first one by theBoston Postis dated October 14, 2016. I could never forget that date because it’s permanently seared into my brain. It’s the day I played my first professional hockey game. The headline reads“Rookie Kai Matsumoto makes waves in the Boston Bucks first game of the season.”
I remember that game, the entire day so clearly. How nervous I was, how anxious I felt. The chanting and cheering of the crowd vibrating through my body. The energy in the stands and the giant expanse of the arena was like nothing I had ever felt before. I also remember wishing she was there to experience it with me. And I guess in a way she was.
I scan the other snippets and articles she saved. They’re all about me—my performance, my games, every highlight and loss. There are articles about playoffs and exclusive features from interviews I’d given. It’s a curated catalogue of my entire athletic career so far. I can’t believe she kept all of these.
Why the fuck do I have the overwhelming urge to cry and send my fist through a wall?
At one point, I thought I was the only one of us in unbearable pain. I assumed that she eventually gave up on us and I just ceased to exist for her. That couldn’t be further from the truth.
We never stopped existing for each other.
