Page 18 of High Notes & Hail Marys

You tighten your grip on the steering wheel. “I don’t want that, either. I’m not sure how to stop it, though. GoGo’s the type of dude who gets what he wants.”

“Yeah. I gathered that.”

The matter is dropped when you two circle around to the front of the stadium. A crowd has amassed, lots of people with cameras and girls freaking out.

“Oh, shit,” you murmur.

But Sterling takes it in stride. He waves to everyone, wrist swiveling like he’s Miss-Fucking-America. You focus on the road. There’s a red light ahead. While you are stopped, you don’t manage to miss a knot of people off to the side, who clearly aren’t fans. They are holding signs:NO FAG ASSOCIATIONandTHE TRAIN’S GOING TO BURN IN HELL.

Defiantly, Sterling slides across the bench seat, wraps his arms around your shoulders, and kisses your cheek. The seat dips under his weight, and his lips are warm on your face. He makes heart-hands at the protesters.

The crowd screams. The protesters jeer.

The light turns green, and you and Sterling ride off down the road like a pair of prom kings. Like Sandy and Danny at the end ofGrease.

Chapter Six

CYCLONES TICKETS HIT RECORD HIGHS ON RESELLER MARKET AS “THE GRAYLING EFFECT” ROCKS THE NFA

It’s already hard to get tickets to Miami Cyclones games, thanks to the team’s unprecedented success in the last few seasons, including their recent, heartbreaking loss of the 2024 Mega Bowl.

But Cyclones tickets have become harder than ever to lay hands upon, thanks to the fans of music superstar Sterling Grayson. Ever since Grayson was spotted at the season opener at Hard Rock Stadium, decked out in Cyclones apparel and cheering for his boyfriend, Kaius “The Train” Reinhart, fans have been flooding resale sites like StubHub and SeatGeek to scoop up tickets to the Cyclones’ upcoming home matches. Not because these people love football, but because they are hoping to catch a glimpse of Sterling Grayson in a suite. The “Graylings,” as fans of Grayson have dubbed themselves, are discovering a newfound appreciation for the gridiron. And it’s angering some longtime sports fans.

“I used to be able to pick up cheap tickets in the 300s at the last minute to catch a game,” grouses Chad Nash, a 42-year-old resident of Coconut Grove. “But now the seats are flooded by f--king fifteen-year-old girls willing to drop a thousand bucks of Daddy’s money. It was bad enough dealing with all the bandwagonners since 2021, but Christ! All because some pop star decided to support his boy toy. I find it disgusting. The NFA should do something about it.”

When asked whether Nash meant that the Association should “do something” about the ongoing issues with resellers scalping tickets or Grayson himself, Nash blinks.

“Both,” he says definitively.

***

After the Bombers matchup, the Cyclones are scheduled to play Houston. Tuesday morning on the way to practice, you get a text from a number you don’t recognize. You wait until a red light to check it out.

629-555-0584:Good afternoon, Kaius! This is Francis Fraser. I’m the attorney you spoke to back in May about your Non-Disclosure Agreement (NDA) regarding Sterling Grayson. At that time, we discussed the fact that additional paperwork would be necessary if you two furthered your relationship. As it has been indicated to me that you have, first of all, congratulations! Secondly, I am attachingthe addenda to the original NDA. There are three contracts for you to read and sign. I have CC’d Mr. Muñoz with the Cyclones’ Legal Department, and I am awaiting a reply. In the meantime, please feel free to look everything over. There’s no need for you to sign until your team’s counsel has approved. After that, the DocuSign process is quick and easy. Please get in touch if you have any questions!

You can feel yourself frowning when the light turns green and traffic starts crawling forward at the snail’s pace typical for morning rush-hour. The disgruntled feeling in your gut kicks in by the second light you get stopped at, and only festers on your way to the practice facility. By the time you pull into the lot at the facility, which is across the street from the stadium, it is gnawing at your insides like a ravenous parasite.

Last night, you Facetimed with Sterling for almost two hours. You only had a team meeting, since it was the Monday after a game, and you spent most of the day relaxing and running errands. Nothing glamorous, just ordering groceries, collecting your delivery from the laundry service, calling your folks, and hitting Costco for meat, protein shakes, and crates of water. A lot of your teammates outsource all their day-to-day life stuff in the name of convenience, but you’re a lot thriftier. When you came home, you showered, popped a gummy, and sprawled on the bed with your phone. Sterling is back in New York for a few days before travelingto Boston for three shows between Thursday and Saturday. He’d been snuggled on the couch, Apollo and Artemis vying for his limited lap space. You guys had chatted about everything and nothing. Sterling was also fresh from the shower, his long curls damp and pulled back off his face in a loose bun. He joked that his hair would be all fucked up tomorrow, but you silently admired the way the light played off his cheekbones. Dissociated for a moment to the thought of what he looked like in the shower, naked and steamy.

What you twodidn’tdiscuss was him being your boyfriend, or you, his.

You are aware that the press has declared you guys official for a little while now, but the press never has (and probably never will have) any grip on reality. On what’s true. But Sterling decided something, and was resolved enough to tell his lawyer.

He didn’t feel the need to tellyou,obviously.

You compartmentalize and turn off your thoughts about Sterling while you are at practice. Football is your passion, but it is also yourjob. You can’t be stressing about your relationships—even one that you are apparently in without knowing—while you are working. Through speed rush drills, you will your mind to be clear and focused. The defense is practicing indoors, since there’s lightning that’s been spotted in the area, but foronce, you aren’t grateful for the air conditioning. You kind of want to sweat out your frustration. To exhaust yourself beneath the grueling Indian summer sun.

At twelve-thirty, everyone breaks for lunch. You’re in the back of the pack of guys heading for the dining hall. It’s like a school cafeteria, only way, way nicer: the ceiling is twenty feet high, the windows overlook manicured gardens. There are booths upholstered in muted green and long tables with chairs in a subtle gold. It’s spirited, but in a tasteful way. The hot bar offers five dishes a day (one vegetarian and one vegan), and the cold bar has sandwiches and salads.

You push a tray through the hot bar, but nothing looks good. It’s Taco Tuesday (since multi-millionaire, world-caliber athletes are still suckers for a theme), and there’s so much demand for the birria that a line has formed. The chefs are all really talented. Morosely, you wander over to the cold bar and listlessly select a Cobb wrap, a fruit-and-yogurt plate, and a couple of protein bars. You wish you could just sitalone, but the dining hall was designed to foster closeness.

The distant threat of lightning has given way to a full-blown Florida afternoon storm. Torrential rain lashes the decorative plants in the gardens and streaks the windows. Every so often, thunder rumbles and cracks across the sky.

After a few moments of deliberation, you take a seat at the far edge of a group that’s bunched around Sandy. Sandy’s always the nucleus. Not just because he’s QB #1, although that fact alone would probably be enough. But also because he’s justthattype of person, easygoing and inviting. Nobody has beef with Sandy. Even Firestone and Hank J., his back-ups, are content to float in his orbit and bask in his glow. It shouldbe easy to hate Sandy, because it’s so unfairthat the guy got blessed with generational talent, good looks,anda great personality. But you’ve always just figured that some people are God’s favorites.

Sandy looks up from his enormous plate of taco salad when you sit down. The O-line had a team lift in the gym that morning, and that always makes the guys ravenous. You’re worried for a moment that he’s going to say something, or crack a joke, but maybe he sees the broodiness writ large across your face. He just lifts his chin in greeting and goes back to shoveling food and arguing with the guys about what food group is the must-have in Houston: Tex-Mex, seafood, or barbecue.

It’s amazing how your teammates can be thinking aboutmorefood while they are actively stuffing their faces. Then again, you would probably be doing the same thing if you weren’t in a bad mood. You unwrap your sandwich from its swaddling of parchment paper. It looks distinctly unappetizing.So you turn to the fruit. It’s all seasonal produce, juicy chunks of apple and pear mixed with plump green grapes, blackberries, and pomegranate seeds, side-by-side with a bowl of vanilla Greek yogurt. You pick the blackberries out and dip them into the yogurt one-by-one, letting the tart flavor explode on your tongue. God. You are pouting like a little bitch and eating like a picky kid.Get over it, Kai.

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