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“No,” you reply. “I wasn’t.”

He crosses his arms. “You could probably buy me a whole new truck and have it be like dropping change on the ground!”

The gaping maw of horror in your gut widens and swirls. Please, God, don’t let this douchebag extort me. Maybe calling the police was the right idea.

Maybe he sees the concern on your face, because he frowns. “I’m not asking you for a new truck,” he says coolly. “I don’t need handouts from famous people. But I’ll definitely let you fix her up. There’s a body shop over in Norwalk that a buddy of mine used recently. You carry cash?”

You frown. “Honestly, sir, I don’t have anything on me but my phone.”

He rolls his eyes. “Bet you have some kind of assistant who pays for everything for you.”

Trying to ignore the hatred simmering in your gut, you force a smile. You’re good at that. “Kind of, yeah.”

“You got Venmo? PayPal? Zelle? CashApp?”

Honestly, you aren’t sure. There are a lot of apps on your phone, which you don’t use as an extension of yourself the way normal people do. Feeling embarrassed, feeling angry, you hit the search bar. Meanwhile, Mike is scrolling through something on his phone.

“It appears that I have Venmo,” you announce, feeling like the world’s most out-of-touch celebrity moron, which is exactly what Mike thinks you are. Your face is burning. You didn’t really dress for the weather either, and the cold is slicing at your body through your long-sleeved t-shirt.

“Good,” he says. “5k should do the trick. Just in case they need to replace the whole bumper. I want an OEM part. I still have a payment on this thing.”

He flashes you the screen of his phone, where the AI-generated report of his Google search for replacement bumper ford f150 2023 does, in fact, say that the repair ranges from $1,500-$5,000.

It takes you a few awkward minutes, but you send him the money successfully. The transaction goes through in the name of your DBA, Grayson Enterprises, and not your own name, which makes you peevishly happy.

Once he’s accepted the money, he nods in satisfaction.

“Hey!” he says. “Can I get a picture?”

Your hands are clenched at your sides. “I’d prefer not, if that’s okay.”

“Well, I’d prefer to have not been late to work because you hit my truck.” He laughs. “The least you can do is give me a picture. Jeez.”

Weighing your options, you determine that the least-bad course is giving in. You barely did more than brush your hair when you got out of bed, and you look like shit, but you let him snap a selfie, smiling big.

“Thanks,” he says congenially. “Have a good day, now. Be more careful where you’re driving.”

“Totally,” you deadpan, waving listlessly as he drives away.

It’s only then that you even take a look at the front of the Highlander. It took much more damage than the truck. The front bumper is crumpled and sagging. It’s drivable, but it looks like shit. You heave a sigh before calling your mom and Cal to come bail you out.

***

By the time you make it back home, it’s early afternoon, and you are steaming . Your first order of business is groveling to your mother, and setting up a rental for her while you get her car fixed. Immediately after, though, you return to your little escape in the backyard.

Knowing it’s a poor idea, you dial Kai on FaceTime. You aren’t sure if he will answer, but he does. It’s dim on the other end. He appears to be in his condo, on the couch, with the blinds shut. Lying down. (Does he have a headache?)

“Hey,” he says wearily.

“Hey,” you echo. “Were you just planning on ignoring me?”

He scrubs his face with his big hand. “Sorry. Yesterday was a bad day.”

It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. “Yeah. That’s an understatement.”

He ignores the dig. “You still in Connecticut?”

“Where else would I be?” you say tartly.

“You didn’t say how long you were visiting your folks,” he says. “I didn’t know if you were coming back to Florida soon.”

“Did you get suspended?” you ask, getting right to the point.

Kai heaves a sigh. “I won’t know until Saturday. They take all week to review the game film, and they hand down penalties and fines on Saturdays. My union rep tells me that I should prepare to appeal if it’s a multi-game suspension. I dunno. Just have to wait it out.”

“How are you going to appeal anything?” Even to your ears, you sound incredulous. “Are you going to try and pretend you didn’t beat him with his own helmet?”

His face is stony. “There were a lot of bodies on the field. They’re going to have a tough time getting a clear shot of the inside of the pile to determine if he hit me first.”

“Did he?”

He purses his lip. “There was a lot going on. Can’t say for sure.”

“Bullshit.” There’s your mouth working without your brain, again. You really need to work on that. But the proclamation is out, so there’s no point not following it up. “You swung first, and you know that.”

“Do you want me to get suspended?” He raises an eyebrow. “It kind of sounds like you do.”

“No!” You will yourself to take a deep breath. To try and curtail the runaway train of frustration and pent-up anger that’s threatening to speed off and drag you behind it. “I don’t want you to get suspended. That’s all we need. More bad press. Jesus Christ. I don’t know what you were thinking.”

Frowning, Kai sits up. Your view on the screen shifts drastically as he holds the phone in his hand, looking down at it.

“What I was thinking, ” he says, “is that Tamatoa asked me if getting my brains rocked had made me retarded. And asked me if my boyfriend had found a new charity to throw money at after the old one fired him for diddling hungry kids.”

Internally, you are grimacing, but you don’t let it show.

“That’s not even surprising,” you say. “It’s fucking Tamatoa. Of course he’s going to mock you. Of course he’s going to bring me up and say the most heinous thing his pea-brain can think of. He was trying to bait you, Kaius. And, of course, you fell for it.”

“Is this about the press?” he asks coolly. “Is that what’s got you upset?”

“Of course it’s about the press!” you explode.

“Come the fuck on! You know the battle we’re fighting here to get good headlines and stop the constant negativity.

My reputation is in the fucking gutter, and you decided it would be a good idea to act like a caveman on prime-time TV?

Not even thinking how that kind of behavior reflects on both of us? ”

Kai nods, although you haven’t said anything that you figured he would agree with.

He looks pensive. Pensive, and sad. The little part of you that doesn’t have steam coming out of your ears hates seeing him look like that.

It’s a tiny part, though, and it’s locked up deep under a heavy burden of overcooked irritation and held-in feelings all rushing out at once.

“You know,” he says slowly. “This isn’t easy for me, either.

You aren’t the only one with feelings, Sterling.

You aren’t the only one going through all this.

And it’s cool; I know that you are working through your shit the best you can.

But it’s not that easy playing Sterling Grayson’s Perfect Boyfriend all the time. ”

You are shocked. Nothing he’s ever said to you has surprised you more than that. Offense roars into the void in your brain, sloshing up the circuits and making your synapses light up bright red.

“Are you kidding me?” Your voice is fully raised right now. “You think I want you to play a part ? I have been hurting , Kai. Everything sucks . And you think I want something fake from you? My partner?”

“You think I don’t know that you’re hurt?” he fires back. “I do, although I must be some kinda mind reader.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You shut me out,” he says. “You refuse to talk to me, and I respect your space, and you hold even more shit inside. And then, when you can’t handle it all anymore, you use me to smack you around just so you can feel something.”

Up until now, you have been standing in the middle of your room. His words make you sink into the chair in the corner, dizzily. “That’s not fair to bring up,” you say unsteadily.

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” he demands. Kai never gets angry.

He never raises his voice, never isn’t gentle.

This feels like peering behind a mask that you only just discovered.

“You never let me in, Sterling. I’ve had to fight for every concession I’ve ever got from you.

The right to hold your hand in public. The privilege of sleeping in bed with you.

Why does it feel like I’m always having to earn your trust?

And that you just want to pull it away at any given moment? ”

You have to laugh. It sounds discordant in this, the middle of your first actual fight, but you can’t help it. You’re just that incredulous. “You don’t understand my life. Nobody does. I thought maybe you were starting to get there. You, of all people. I guess I thought…”

“Try me!” he growls, cutting you off. “You think I don’t fucking understand?

I get it just fine, Ster. You’re emotionally unavailable, and you hide it behind being the most famous person in the world.

Hi, I’m Sterling Grayson, and nobody gets to look behind the curtain.

It’s pathological, your inability to just be real. ”

“How more real can I be?” you yell. “I called you because I care, Kai! If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t bother! And you’re going to start throwing accusations about my personality? That’s not toxic at all. Totally mature. Way to support my career.”

“I have always supported your career,” he says.

“I have supported it, and understood it, and let everything between us take a back seat. You told me before we went to London that your career was always going to be your priority, and I honored that. Never questioned it. Is it so much to ask that you support my career a little bit?”

Honestly, you are stupefied. “How much more do you want me to support you?” you ask. “I showed up for games even when I was touring…”

“You don’t understand football,” he interjects. You are getting really sick of being interrupted. “Fights happen. Injuries happen. If you don’t like the reality, maybe you need to reconsider dating a professional athlete.”

Stung, you lash out without even somewhat considering your words.

“Maybe I do, Kai. I guess I just don’t get the deep and meaningful significance of oversized meatheads knocking each other over during a stupid game .

” You suck a ragged breath. “Oh, and by the way? Aggression is a sign of CTE. You know, from that head injury that you said you were good to start playing with again.”

Kai goes silent, and you realize in the span of a heartbeat that you fucked up. But it’s too far gone to fix. There’s nothing but your heartbeat in your ears, and the sick, painful feeling of being turned inside out.

“Maybe,” he says at last, “maybe aggression is just a sign of being over my boyfriend’s bullshit. I’ve got too much on my plate for your kind of games, Sterling. Maybe don’t call me for a while.”

And, just like that, he disconnects the call.