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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 his normal voice 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, your heart . 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, Mama nothing,” 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. ”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” you hear yourself say before you can even think it through. “I’ll be staying with him.”

Mrs. Reinhart looks at you skeptically. “I can’t ask you to do that, baby. I’m waiting on my job to approve FMLA so that I can come stay down here for a few weeks. You’re busy, Sterling. I can’t impose.”

“It’s not imposing,” you say, more confidently this time, gaining momentum as the idea settles in your brain. “I don’t want you having to take leave from your job. Nothing I have going on can’t be pushed aside for a month or so. Besides, I want to be here. It’s where I belong.”

You can see the doubt on Mrs. Reinhart’s face writ large, and you don’t necessarily blame her for it.

Despite having a good rapport, you two don’t know each other very well.

It’s not hard to see things from her perspective: you’re just Kai’s very famous, very busy, very flashy boyfriend.

She has no idea what you are capable of, especially given the decidedly unsexy but very important task of nursing her youngest son back to health.

Over your shoulder, Kai grunts out a sigh. “Y’all are doing too much. I don’t need any help. I’m going to crash in bed for a few days, and the team will drive me around to whatever shi… sorry, Mama. To whatever business they need me to handle. I don’t need a babysitter.”

His mother’s eyebrows nearly hit her hairline, and her brown eyes bulge.

“Excuse me, young man, but you just had your brains scrambled like breakfast eggs. Someone will be staying with you, and, if it’s Sterling, he will be reporting back to me daily.

If I don’t like what I hear, I will be flying down from Macon and staying in your office.

Do you have any questions about any of that? ”

“No, ma’am,” Kai replies.

You’re still stuck on young man and don’t immediately realize that Mrs. Reinhart is also waiting on a response from you.

“Sterling?” she asks imperiously.

“Uh… yes, ma’am,” you echo. “I mean, no, ma’am. Absolutely. That is an excellent plan. I promise you that he will have the best care in Florida, Mrs. Reinhart. Anything that I can’t do for him personally, I can coordinate on this end.”

Bless the woman’s heart, she still doesn’t look completely sold.

“This is my boy,” she tells you, putting a hand on Kai’s shoulder protectively. “I don’t know if you know this, Sterling, but he’s very important to me.”

It’s a little bit of a warning, but it’s too sweet for you to mind.

“I know he is,” you say softly. “I don’t know if you know this, Mrs. Reinhart, but he’s very important to me as well.”

Her face softens at last.

“He’s a big guy,” the male nurse says, gesturing at Kai. “Want us to help him to bed before we go?”

“I don’t need help,” Kai begins to bristle, but you cut him off.

“His bedroom is upstairs,” you say. “It would actually be great if you’d walk with him. Just to make sure that he makes it in one piece!” you add as Kai glowers at you.

Mrs. Reinhart nods approvingly.

“That’s a real good idea. I’ll go with you guys and make sure he gets tucked in, and then y’all can get going. You folks have been a blessing.”

Kai is still mumbling under his breath about the indignity of his mother wanting to tuck him in, but he allows the man’s elbow under his shoulder when he stands from the wheelchair.

You get a little panicky when he takes his first step away from its wheels, leaning down quickly to grab the blanket before it can get tangled in his feet, but he bats you away.

He seems a lot more steady than you would have guessed, and makes it to the base of the stairs mostly under his own steam.

“Sterling, honey, don’t forget that I ordered those groceries,” Mrs. Reinhart calls. She’s in front of Kai on the steps like she’s going to coach his ascent. “I paid for a rush delivery, so they should get here soon. If you could start putting the cold items away, I would be much obliged.”

You tell her that’s no problem.

From the sounds of it, Kai makes it upstairs safely.

Relieved at that fact, you pick the blanket up off the floor and wad it on the seat of the wheelchair, which you push to the side of the living room.

Kai’s hospital bags are still by the door.

These, you carry to the foot of the stairs, deciding that you will go through them and see how much stuff you can put away without bothering Mrs. Reinhart.

You don’t get much further than unzipping his duffel, however, when there’s a crisp rap at the front door that damn-near shocks you out of your skin, despite the fact that you should have been expecting it.

You furrow your forehead, thinking that Mrs. Reinhart must have left a really generous tip, because that Instacart shopper made it over in record time.

It doesn’t even occur to you that you shouldn’t answer the door, what with being Sterling Grayson and all.

It’s a rare slip-up for you, a breach in your carefully-constructed barrier of security that you don’t fully comprehend until you see the teenaged delivery driver on the welcome mat and watch the way his eyes bug out when he realizes who he is looking at.

He’s holding an enormous bunch of tiger lilies, their vibrant orange petals nearly obscuring his torso.

“Can I help you?” you ask, having very little patience for his star-struck goggling.

“Umm…” His voice breaks. “I, uhh. I have a flower delivery? For Kaius Reinhart?”

More flowers? You wonder if you are going to spend the next few weeks organizing bouquets to the point that you both are drowning in them. “Okay. I can sign for them.”

“No signature necessary,” the kid says.

It takes you holding out your arms for him to get with the program and hand you the lilies, which you notice right away are missing a vase.

You will have to track one down, and that is frustrating.

Also frustrating is the way that the deliveryman refuses to leave, his mouth gaped slightly as he stares at you like a rare wild animal in a zoo.

Irritated, you reach into your back pocket and pull out your wallet. You withdraw the first bill that your fingers find, which turns out to be a twenty.

“I appreciate your time,” you say. “Have a good day.”

He takes the money uncertainly, like you’re transmitting a communication from an outpost on Mars. The kid is still standing there moronically when you shut the door in his face, making triple-sure that you’ve turned the lock.

You are still fuming at your own stupidity as you stomp into the kitchen.

If you were a vase, or any other receptacle that might conceivably hold flowers, you imagine that you would be in a kitchen.

Already, you have doubts about the likelihood of Kai owning such a thing.

What on earth would he use it for? You set the tiger lilies down on the island and squat down to start rummaging through his cabinets.

Not five minutes later, you are again disrupted by another knock on the door.

Luckily, the grocery delivery is no-contact, and the shopper leaves the bags in front of the door.

You make sure to wait several long minutes until you are positive that she has left, watching through the peephole the entire time.

Now, you are paranoid. You scan the hall anxiously when you open the door, making sure to pile all the bags over your arms in one trip to get safely back inside as quickly as possible.

In the quest to pick the perishables from the grocery order and get them stowed in the fridge and freezer—you are pretty convinced that Mrs. Reinhart simply ordered six of everything in the meat and produce sections—you temporarily forget about the flowers.

It takes about half an hour to put the groceries away, during which time the trio of nurses comes back downstairs and says goodbye, taking the wheelchair with them.

You have just consolidated all the shopping bags inside one another and bundled them up for recycling when Mrs. Reinhart comes into the kitchen.

“You got all the food? Good job,” she comments approvingly. “You know how to cook, Sterling?”

“Little bit. Probably not as good as you, though.”

That makes her roll her eyes. “That’s okay, baby. I had a talk with the folks who brought Kaius home, and he has a neurology check-in in two days. If everything looks good at that point, I’m going to trust you to take the reins and head back to Georgia.” She frowns a bit. “I don’t like doing it.”

“I know you don’t.”

“I’m trusting that I’m leaving him in good hands. You have a lot of help, don’t you?”

“Help?”

She makes a wide, sweeping gesture. “Help. Your security, your staff, your personal assistants…”

“Oh, yeah.” You nod. “I do have a lot of help.”

“I’m trusting that, if you get overwhelmed, you’ll deploy some of that help,” she tells you. “Anyway, I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow to get in that kitchen and do some meal-prep for you boys. If I plan it right and stay on task, I can probably get a week’s worth of food put up.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” you demur. “I’m really good at ordering delivery.”

She barks out a laugh.

“I’m sure you are, Sterling, but nothing compares to home-cooking.” Her attention falls to the lilies on the island. “Where did these come from?”

“Ugh,” you groan. “I got distracted. Those were delivered while you were upstairs.”

“Pretty,” she comments. “You have something to put them in?”

“I didn’t get that far,” you admit.

Of course, Mrs. Reinhart manages to procure a glass pitcher in no more than 90 seconds of looking.

You feel like an idiot. It’s not a vase, but it’s perfect for the flowers.

Deferring to her vastly-superior common sense and intellect, you fetch her a pair of scissors and let her get about trimming the stems and tidily arranging the flowers in the vessel.

“That’s real nice,” she declares in satisfaction. “Where do you think… oh, look, baby. The card fell.”

You completely forgot about the card. It’s wrapped in a small paper envelope embossed with the florist’s name, and it tumbled to the floor off its dinky plastic stem while Mrs. Reinhart was manipulating the flowers. Careful not to rip the envelope, you open the card and pull it out.

To our good friend the Train: wishing you God’s healing and blessings as you recover. May His light lead you to greater understanding and fulfillment. You are in our hearts, now and always.

Love,

GoGo and Gabi Heller

P.S. My jaw is feeling much better.

The room feels like it’s spinning. Your head feels hot, and your vision goes spotty. Dimly, you hear Mrs. Reinhart’s voice.

“Who are they from?” she asks.

You crumple the card in your fist. “A stupid magazine,” you lie. “Very rude of them.”

She purses her lips. “ Very rude!” she agrees. “With all the pictures that they steal of you two! That’s what I call some nerve. Ugh. People have no couth anymore. I do like tiger lilies, though. Do you think we should keep them?”

You feel like you are going to be sick. “Why don’t you take them?” you suggest faintly.

“Mmm,” she hums. “Do you think Kaius would mind?”

If Kaius finds out, he’s going to blow the fuck up, and that’s probably bad for his health.

“You should definitely take them,” you say, trying to sound as normal as possible. “He has so many nice ones already.”

“Well, twist my arm,” she says happily. She buries her face in the blooms. “Oh! I just love the scent of lilies. Smell them, baby.”

Instead of leaning in, you bodily jerk away. Blame it on allergies.