Page 52

When the phone rings late on Christmas Eve night, your heart catches in your throat.

“Hi,” you say cautiously as Kai’s face fills the screen. He’s in his room in his house in Macon. You still have never been there, but you recognize it all the same.

“Sterling…” he starts. And, then, in a louder, totally different voice, “Angelika, baby, Uncle Kai’s on the phone. No more Reinhart WrestleMania. Your mama wants you to go lay down and get ready for Santa Claus.”

You wait patiently on the other end of the line, convinced that, if he doesn’t talk to you soon, you might actually die.

“Sorry,” he mutters gruffly, his eyes back on the screen.

“No problem,” you reply with a lightness you don’t feel. “You were saying?”

“I was saying ,” he says, “Sterling, there’s a damn car in my driveway. And it doesn’t belong to any of my folks.”

“Oh?” you respond, twisting the hem of your shirt restlessly around your finger.

“It’s a vintage Ford Bronco,” he says. “Looks like 1960s?”

“1969,” you confirm.

“It’s awfully pretty,” he continues. “Fully updated and restored? Painted Cyclones green? Looks like a custom job?”

“Uh-huh,” you say noncommittally.

“Would you happen to know why it was dropped off at my house? Or why there’s a huge bow on it and a fold-out visor across the windshield that says I APOLOGIZE, PLEASE GIVE ME THE CHANCE TO SAY IT OUT LOUD? You wouldn’t happen to be missing a car, would you?”

“Merry Christmas, Kai,” you say quietly.

“Jesus Christ,” he swears under his breath. “How much did that thing cost?”

“Does it matter?”

“It’s a stick shift,” he says. “I don’t even know how to drive it.”

“I know how,” you say. “My first car was a five-speed 2007 Audi A4. My parents were banking all the money I earned, and that’s what they bought me. I’ll teach you.”

“I don’t know what to say, Sterling.”

“I do,” you say, and take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Kai. I hope you don’t think I’m trying to buy your forgiveness, because I’m not.

I’ve had a team working on painting and updating that thing for months.

It was down in Savannah, coincidentally.

Original owner, less than 10,000 miles. The car isn’t important, though. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Ster…” he says. Is that softness creeping into his voice? You don’t dare to hope.

“I need to say all this,” you say, interrupting him.

“Let me finish. I wish I was saying this in person, but I have to be in LA right now. So I’m going to say it on the phone, okay?

I’m sorry, Kai. I love you. I’m so in love with you that it makes me crazy.

I don’t want to live without you. I love every single part of you.

Your heart, your mind, and your body. You’re my favorite person in the world.

I was a self-absorbed asshole, and I apologize.

Nothing else matters. Not my reputation, not what people say about me, and not my career.

I was wrong about that being the most important thing.

I don’t care about any of it if I can’t have you.

So… yeah.” You laugh nervously, a little hysterical. “I’m done, now."

You haven’t quite dared to meet Kai’s eyes on the other side of the phone.

It was too daunting to look at him when you were dumping your soul out.

Saying what was on your mind. Now, you peek.

He’s blinking like he can’t quite believe what you said.

Incredulity is spread across his handsome face. He scrubs a hand over his forehead.

“What am I supposed to say to that, huh?” he says roughly. “Who are you, and what did you do with my boyfriend?”

That makes you snort in teary laughter. Because you are crying a little bit, even as you smile big enough to hurt. Holding the phone tight, you swipe at your damp cheeks.

“I have to apologize too,” he says. “I didn’t act right. The stress was getting to me. The concussion, you crashing and burning. I don’t like it. I don’t like how any of it went down. Sandy helped me realize that.”

“You talked to Sandy?” you ask.

“Yeah.” His eyes crinkle. “I needed someone smart to talk to.”

“I know the feeling. What else did he say?”

“He said that some groveling might be necessary. He said that’s what works with Jamie. He also told me that I majorly outkicked my coverage when it comes to you.”

You are still wiping tears off your stubborn eyes. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It was a compliment. To you. Definitely not me.”

“No groveling necessary,” you insist. “Not from you. I accept your apology.”

“And I accept yours,” he says. “You weren’t totally wrong, you know.”

“I wasn’t?”

“I mean, you were. About a lot of things. But I need to work on the aggro. On the field, especially. That’s not how I want to be perceived or remembered.

When they talk about my career. That’s not the man I am, and it ends now.

” He lowers his voice. “About that. I, umm. No more rough stuff, okay? If that’s fine with you?

I don’t like the way it makes me feel. If it’s something you need, we can talk about it, I guess, but I’d rather not… ”

“No more rough sex,” you agree. “Nothing that doesn’t make you feel good. That’s fine.” And then, because it won’t stop nagging you: “What happened with Derrick?”

“Fucking Honeybone?” he groans. “Oh, Jesus. You saw the pictures.”

“ Everyone saw the pictures, Kai.”

“I would say that it wasn’t what it looked like, but it totally was,” he begins.

“Turns out that homeboy likes girls, but he likes boys, too. I got dragged to that party because it started as a fundraiser for a foundation Cordarius supports. Young men’s mental health.

It’s his first big event, and a bunch of the guys wanted to support him.

Silent auction, the whole nine. I donated some signed cleats.

Cordy gave a speech, and so did the youth advocate.

The press was there, so everyone was on their best behavior.

Around nine, the DJ started spinning and things started popping off, so I was getting ready to head out.

Derrick had been drinking, and he’s all like let’s dance, Kai; don’t leave me hanging, Kai. ”

“Oh?” you say.

“He was all over some girl at first, but he kept making eye contact. I didn’t get it, but whatever.

He was drunk, and I wasn’t overthinking it.

Like I said, I was ready to leave. Then he comes over and is dancing all up on me, and asks me flat-out if I want to party at his with him and the girl.

I tell him, hey, I don’t sleep with women.

Thanks anyway, weirdo. He’s talking about James Dean and not being inhibited by gender, or whatever.

Says that, if I want, he’ll ditch the chick and take me home.

Says that everyone knows you and me are on the outs. ”

“He said that?” you ask, horrified.

“Yeah. I asked him how he knew that, and he said that he watched Access Hollywood. I tell him not to believe everything that he hears. He proceeds to tell me how he knew when he came to Miami that he was just going to have to wait for his chance. I told him that he’s gonna be waiting a long time, and to go cruise with the other DL fellas down at the glory holes.

Then I went home. Paps had plenty of opportunity to get good shots, though. It wasn’t a short conversation.”

“I see,” you say, because you are otherwise speechless. You remember the uneasy gut feeling that you had about Derrick back in the fall, and how you dismissed it. Maybe you need to listen to your gut more.

“Ster,” Kai says warily, “I hope you know that, just because we weren’t talking, I meant what I said. I don’t believe in breaks. I’m a taken man. I didn’t forget…”

“No,” you say. “Me neither.”

“I have your Christmas present,” Kai says. “I figured I’d just hold onto it until we worked our shit out. It’s not a car, though.”

“It doesn’t have to be. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Maeve says that you’re in LA? Why aren’t you with your folks?”

“They’re out here,” you say. “I put them up in a bungalow at the Pink Palace. I have to be on the West Coast right now for something that’s a big deal.”

“What is it?” he asks, just like you knew he would. “Have you been out West all month? You hate it out there.”

“I can’t tell you,” you say. And quickly add, “but I will, really soon. Few days. Just trust me that it’s really important.”

“Say less,” he says. “If you have stayed in California for a month, it’s pretty damn important.”

“Are you still going to be my date to the Grammys?” you ask, changing the subject.

“You kidding?” he scoffs. “Someone’s gotta help you lift all those heavy trophies.”

“There’s no guarantee that I’ll win anything.”

“ Okay ,” he says, all sweet sarcasm. And, then: “I want to see you.”

“I want to see you, too,” you say. “At the risk of sounding like that stupid song, what are you doing New Year’s Eve?”

“Hopefully kissing my man at midnight,” he says softly. “I have to be in Miami, because we’re playing at home on Saturday. Last game of regular season, then it’s off to the playoffs. We’ll be either second or third seed, depending on how things shake out.”

“Then I’ll be in Miami,” you say. “It’s a date.”

“Mmm,” he hums happily, smiling big. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.”

By the time you’re done talking, it’s deep in the wee hours of Christmas morning.