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THIS CONTRACT is between KAIUS XAVIER REINHART , hereinafter “Player,” and MIAMI CYCLONES FOOTBALL CLUB, LTD.

, hereinafter “Club,” operating under the name of the MIAMI CYCLONES as a member of the National Football Association, hereinafter “Association.” In consideration of the promises made by each to the other, Player and Club agree as follows:

EMPLOYMENT AND SERVICES. Club employs Player as a skilled football player.

Player accepts such employment. He agrees to give his best efforts and loyalty to the Club, and to conduct himself on and off the field with appropriate recognition of the fact that the success of professional football depends largely on public respect for and approval of those associated with the game…

[...]

***

The camera loves Kaius.

He looks amazingly sharp heading into the team headquarters, the film crew moving backwards in front of him.

You didn’t ask her to, but you wonder if Maeve sent a wardrobe team down to Miami for the signing.

He’s wearing a taupe suit over a crisp white dress shirt and brown tie.

It’s fitted to perfection, making the delineation between his massive shoulders and fit waist look absolutely mouthwatering.

His hair is freshly buzzed, and his goatee and mustache have been trimmed tight against his handsome jaw.

A pair of dark sunglasses is his only concession to the blazing Florida sun.

It’s early summer, and you know from experience that it’s hot, but he looks cool.

Put-together. Happy. He gives fist-bumps and smiles to fans at the Family Fair on the practice field; he salutes reporters with winks and waves.

You’re watching via livestream on the team’s website.

Contracts are normally closed-door affairs and not worth a party, but it’s the Cyclones’ annual Founders’ Day celebration.

Miami won the football franchise 65 years ago, and players past and present have gathered in commemoration of the milestone anniversary.

There will be speeches, highlight reels, and three inductions into the team’s Hall of Fame.

Kai originally balked at signing his contract on Founder’s Day, but Coach Beausoliel personally insisted on it. Something else to celebrate, he said.

One thing led to another, and the press inevitably got word about Kai’s news. On the tree-lined approach to the front doors, a tenacious brunette reporter from one of the cable networks breaks free from the pack and gets in his face with a microphone.

“Morning, Kai! What can you tell us about the big deal?” she asks breathlessly, having had to trot hard in heels to get in front of him.

Stopped in his progress towards the building, Kai sticks his hands in his pockets.

“Good morning, Dayna,” he says cordially. His drawl is courteous. “There will be plenty about that later, I’m sure. Today’s not about me.”

Her laugh is tinkly and pretty. Her veneers, you think, are slightly too big for her face.

“Oh, stop! We all know how modest you are. I’d say it’s your best quality, but we’ve seen your stats for the past season.

Re-signing you is huge for this Cyclones team.

Do you think this is the year you guys make the Mega Bowl? ”

You can’t see his eyes, but you can imagine him blinking rapidly behind his sunglasses.

“I’m so grateful to the Pruitt family, and to Brett, and to Coach Beausoleil for everything they’ve put together today,” he says carefully.

“There was never any question in my mind where I wanted to end up. Locking in with Miami for another five years is a dream come true, and, uh, I’m really excited for next season. One day at a time.”

“How about those numbers!” she pushes, heedless of his obvious deflections.

“Eighty-five million! I know that I was sure you were going to Tennessee when they made you that sweetheart offer of 95. Not a lot of guys would turn down an extra $10 million out of team loyalty. Can you give us some insight into what you were thinking?”

“You’ve gotta love an industry where your salary is public knowledge,” Kai says. He chuckles, but he doesn’t really sound amused. “I really should get inside. It was good to…”

“One last thing!” Dayna is relentlessly pushing her luck, leaning hard on Kai’s legendary down-home politesse. “What did Sterling have to say about your big payday? Is he here for the celebrations?”

“Sterling’s great. He’s one of my biggest supporters. Him, and my family.” It would be hilarious how Kai is trying to edge his big body around the little reporter, were you not acutely aware of how miserable the interaction was making him.

“This situation with GoGo… it’s crazy, right? Can you tell us anything about his allegations…”

Kai’s hand shoots up. He’s the gentlest person that you know, but a thrill of horror—just something momentary and knee-jerk—suffuses your heart. He cups Dayna’s elbow as tenderly as a mother with a toddler and side-steps her deftly.

“Absolutely no comment. Y’all take care. I’ll see you inside.”

Other players, past and present, make their way into the building.

They sign autographs. They fling footballs towards waiting children in oversized Cyclones jerseys.

You see a lot of Sandy’s nameplate, Jameson’s, and, of course, Kai’s.

A handful belonging to their fanatical Christian kicker, Dettweiler, who’s built something of a cult following since last Christmas.

One or two of the kiddos are wearing the name HELLER, and it turns your stomach.

They’re just kids , you remind yourself. GoGo is their hero. They have no idea .

After some aerial shots of the facility and a bit of fluffy coverage about the family event, the cameras shift to inside coverage.

The Cyclones have a broad auditorium where they hold team meetings, and it’s absolutely packed.

People are jammed shoulder-to-shoulder behind a few semicircles of seating right in the front.

The HOF honorees and miscellaneous personnel are on stage; Kaius among them.

First, the Pruitt family steps to the mic.

Gerald, old man Pruitt, is the current owner of the Cyclones; before that, it was his father, Thomas.

His three adult children surround him, along with just a few of the grands.

There are a few introductory words: thanking everyone for coming out to Miami on such a beautiful day, a brief history of the Cyclones’ tenure in Miami and the expansion of both the team’s fortunes and those of the Pruitt family.

Gerald Pruitt calls each of the new Hall of Famers up one-by-one, and lovingly exposits the details of how they earned their place in the Cyclones’ story.

There’s a quarterback, an offensive coordinator, and the former general manager.

Once the last one has been handed a plaque and photographed, Gerald sinks back into his waiting wheelchair.

“That’s my cue,” he says. “Let’s turn things over to Brent.”

The Cyclones’ current GM approaches the podium.

He’s bald as a cue ball, but a distinguished-looking guy.

You’ve only met him a couple of times. He runs a tight ship, and you admire his business sense.

He also didn’t bring the hammer down on Kaius for Kai’s unprovoked beat-down of GoGo, which is another point in his favor, at least as far as you are concerned.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the great men who wrote the history of this franchise,” he intones.

“But we’re also here to look forward towards a very, very bright future for the Miami Cyclones and acknowledge the people who are taking us there.

To that end, I’d like to introduce the man of the hour.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Train… Kaius Reinhart! ”

In the front of the room, Kai rises from his chair, his big hand on the lapel of his jacket. He half-bows, flashing his teeth. If you didn’t know him very well—which applies to all but maybe three people in that room, basically—you’d never know how much he hates this kind of attention.

“It can’t really be overstated what the Train means to not only this organization, but the city of Miami,” Brent says.

“Re-signing him to this roster was always a priority for us, but it took his incredible generosity in giving us a hometown discount and allowing his contract to be structured favorably, with the majority of the money on the back end, keeping the door open for extension and restructuring down the line, to seal the deal.”

In the front row, Sandy whistles out loud. “Never letting my man leave!” he whoops.

“Thanks, Covelli,” Brent says dryly. “I’m not going to ask Kai to give a few words, because I can’t imagine any worse way to thank him for his service to this franchise.

The Train prefers to speak with his actions on the field.

He’s a strong and confident leader, and has become a significant part of this team’s public-facing image.

We’re so excited to sit down with him today and formally seal the deal on the next five years.

And, as per Coach Beausoleil, when he takes the field this upcoming season, he’ll do so as the sixth man on the team wearing a captain’s patch. ”

The room breaks into raucous applause as soon as Brent stops talking.

His words were unambiguously positive, but you wonder what he’s really thinking.

As GM, the final decision on signing Kai would have come down to him.

Kai’s threat—that the Cyclones either traded GoGo or let Kai go to the Goliaths—would have passed over Brent’s desk.

Powerful men, you know from experience, don’t like being told what to do.

Still, everyone is smiling and happy. Thankfully for Kai, Brent introduces the next speaker on the roster, and the crowd’s attention is diverted.

***