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“Patricio Vargas,” she nods. “Excellent doctor. And Dr. Nicolau is the Cyclones’ physician?

” She checks the tablet in front of her, seeming to confirm her own words.

“Your scans look good. No scarring, no micro-hemorrhagic activity, no evidence of altered activity. This was your first concussion that you know of?”

“Second,” Kai says. “The first one happened my sophomore year at Bama.”

This, you did not know, and the knowledge piques you. Dr. Glazer looks up from her tablet.

“I’m sure you know this, but every subsequent concussion after the first one increases your risk of long-term effects,” she says.

“Now, the Association has come a long way in safety practices, but it’s my professional opinion that playing football is still very risky.

Up there with ice hockey and cheerleading.

Mister Grayson said when I spoke with him on the phone that you are still having headaches? ”

Kai shakes his head. “Nothing like what I was having at first. I’m pretty sure it’s stress over wanting to get back in the game, honestly. I was upfront with Dr. Vargas, and he agreed with me. It’s nothing that some Motrin doesn’t fix.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she says. “And are you still having increased sensitivity to light and noise? Like you were right after your injury.”

“No.”

This time, you feel compelled to pipe in. “I’m not sure if that’s true,” you say diplomatically. “He was complaining just the other day that he’d been looking at his e-reader for too long. And I feel like he’s still having trouble focusing from time to time.”

“Yeah,” Kai counters. Anyone who didn’t know him well wouldn’t hear the note of annoyance in his voice, but they haven’t been the one dating him for over a year.

“Because I spend my time being active and not reading books on a Kindle all day. The last time I saw an eye doctor, like five years ago, they said I probably needed reading glasses. I’ve been handling the sunlight just fine. ”

“And the focus?” Dr. Glazer asks politely.

“Not being able to do my job has me distracted, I guess,” Kai says. “I don’t normally sit around thinking about life all day. I just go do it. Can we stop looking for excuses here?”

On that last statement, he actually raises his voice. Just a fraction, but it stuns you into silence. Dr. Glazer clears her throat tactfully.

“If you want my opinion, Mister Reinhart—and I assume that you do, because you are sitting in my office—I, personally, would not jump back into active play so quickly. Give it another couple of weeks, and see if those last lingering symptoms resolve. I understand that your team is not pressuring you to play this coming week?”

“There’s someone filling in well enough that they can spare me,” he says shortly. “They told me I can have some extra time if needed.”

“Well, I would avail myself of that grace period,” she says.

***

That night, when you lock the door of your Manhattan town house, you double-check the door. All the windows have been fixed, but the ghosts of the angry fans are chasing you. You swear that you see them from the corner of your eye when you draw the shades closed in the living room.

Kai is quiet. Kai is always quiet, but there’s a different tone to his silence.

It echoes loudly as you two eat dinner, and grows deafening when you two climb into bed around midnight.

His back is to you. The first time you kiss his bare shoulder, he doesn’t respond.

You do it again, with teeth, and press your fingertips into the meat of his hip, in a flagrant advance.

“Would you be mad if we just went to sleep?” he says, without turning over. “I’m pretty beat. I think tomorrow I’m going to fly down to Macon and visit my folks for a bit.”

This is news to you. It would sting that he doesn’t even pretend to invite you, if you weren’t already smarting over the fact that he just turned down sex. It’s a milestone in your relationship, and not one that you are happy to be passing.

“What are your plans after that?” you ask him, retreating to your own side of the bed. The sheets feel uncommonly cold, despite the fact that it’s still hot in late September.

“Heading back to Miami,” he says, giving away nothing with his tone. “I told Coach I’d start attending practice regularly at the start of next week. I’m playing Week 6.”

There it is. He made the decision. It’s one more week off the field than he planned on, but he didn’t discuss it with you. And you mention that much.

“Didn’t think you’d like it,” he says.

You wish you weren’t talking to his back. You want to physically flip him over. You wish you had his tremendous strength, the brute ability to manhandle him into the positions you want.

“Maybe there’s a reason I don’t like it,” you say. “Maybe I’m scared. Maybe it’s dangerous.”

He sighs deeply enough that you feel it across the mattress. “We have the early bye in Week 8. It will be two games, and I’ll get my feet back under me. The timing is right. No offense, but I’m not really putting this up for discussion.”

Honestly, you would rather he just punched you in the stomach.

“I’m scared ,” you repeat. “You don’t know what it was like. Watching you get hurt like that. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

For a moment, you think that he’s not going to answer. When he does, his words are audibly measured.

“My job is dangerous, Sterling. It’s always been dangerous.

It’s always going to be dangerous. You knew that when we started talking.

Maybe you just didn’t realize it. I dunno.

I made peace with this way back when I was a kid.

I can’t live in fear. Miami is paying me a lot of money to do what I love, and I’m going to do it. ”

You are acutely aware of the fact that the next words out of your mouth are going to tip the scales from a tense conversation to your first real fight.

For some reason, despite the fact that you never back down from a confrontation, you are too scared to go there with Kai.

A thousand words burn your tongue like they are hot stones in your mouth, but you swallow them down.

“Will I see you in the morning?” you ask, after what seems like an eternity of silence between your two bodies.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m not leaving until after breakfast.”

You were going to let that be the end of the conversation, but his voice rises once more out of the dark. He sounds sleepy. Knowing how quickly Kai tends to nod off, it’s truly a miracle of perseverance that you’re having this conversation in bed, and he’s still awake for it.

“Ster? I love you.”

You don’t know whether you want to roll closer to him or give in to the sob threatening to choke you out.

“Love you too,” you reply.

It takes a long time before you fall asleep.