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Where is the Train?

Where in the world is Kaius Reinhart? A better question is, why is he not in Miami with his team?

roguesgoarr: who’s checking for the train anyway, bro is a corny motherfucker

kimpassible: I’ve been looking at him sideways since he became Sterling Grayson’s wifey. Figured that football would take a backseat.

daynareeves: i knew a sista at bama who said the man was a beast in the sack

justagrrl: OOOH SHE LYIN. Everyone knew he liked dick at bama. Plus he’s always played in the snow. Couldn’t handle a Black sista OR brotha.

likeahurricane: The fuck you mean we don’t want him back??? We just paid big money for him. :( :( :(

cyclones481: y’all wild af. He’s been hurt for, like, three weeks. Cut him some fuckin slack.

amiziedrshy: I heard he slid into a MIA influencer’s DMs on Grindr. Maybe there’s trouble in paradise???

anthonyjohnson: The hatred in these comments because a talented man got his bag up are INSANE. Don’t matter what team he’s on or who he’s sleeping with. KR deserves good thoughts.

Mayatheplaya: ngl, I might dick down a famous singer if they’ll buy me some expensive shit

***

“I think it’s time for a second opinion,” you tell Kai.

When he looks at you, his eyes are weary, despite the fact that he woke up less than an hour ago.

The two of you have your phones in front of you, like you’ve been doing every morning, with the New York Times Games app open on each screen.

Today’s Connections is pretty easy, in your opinion, but Kai has been goggling at it blankly for the last five minutes.

He’s normally better than you at the logic-heavy challenges, the ones that involve seeing patterns.

You smoke him on the Mini and Wordle, but he destroys you in Sudoku.

Today, however, he’s been eyeing the four-by-four grid like the sixteen words are in a foreign language, just as if BOB-SHIRT-HIGH-PONY (words ending in “tail,” the purple answer) wasn’t staring him right in the face.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, finally breaking his concentration on the puzzle to take a long sip of his decaf coffee.

“That neurologist here in the city,” you remind him. “The famous one. I’d like to make you an appointment.”

Kai sighs. Cups his mug with both hands. “Been over this. The team’s docs are fantastic. Some of the best in Florida. There’s no reason to think that they aren’t doing everything they can. I’m starting non-contact drills this week.”

“I don’t doubt their competence,” you say carefully, knowing that you are treading on thin ice. “But the NYU neurologists are some of the best in the world. The Cyclones can’t stop you from seeking care on your own time.”

“I also just don’t see the point, babe.” He takes a meditative sip of his coffee. “I’m starting to feel better.”

Privately, you disagree with this assessment. You can’t be in his head, of course, but, to your eyes, Kai seems out-of-sorts. Draggy. Tired. This topic hasn’t gone particularly well the last few times you’ve broached it, however, so you try to pick your words with care.

“You know best, obviously,” you say. “But it seems like you are still, you know. Foggy.”

He blinks down at his phone, like he’s somehow divined that you are using it as proof against him.

“I’m worried about my job,” he says. “Got me all messed up.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you tell him. “The team can barely manage without you.”

Kai rolls his eyes. Sighs deeply, and picks up his phone to punch a few words into the search bar. An X post from someone you don’t recognize, some kind of sports analyst, stares you in the face.

@bulldawgsports: Looks like Wainwright is the real deal.

2 strip sacks against BUF? Insane. We haven’t seen raw ability like this from a defensive player since James Henry Harrison Jr. in the early 2000s.

The Cyclones are starting to realize they have a generational talent on their hands.

With Reinhart still injured, are we seeing the birth of greatness? #week3thoughts

“Who cares what one bullshit social media account has to say?” you reply.

“It’s what all the bullshit social media accounts have to say,” he retorts. “I knew he was good. I’m glad he’s good. I just want to make sure I still have a spot on the team when I get back.”

“Miami wants you ,” 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. You feel it 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.”

“ I have 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 a sinful 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?

The what-ifs swirl 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-eye coordination. 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.”