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| Hannalore "Hanni" Trapp answering the door and welcoming Kyle Edwards' guest |
November 16, 2022,
16:04 local time,
Deluxe Suite, Harbour International Hotel,
Mogadishu Capitol Area, Sultanate of Mogadishu
Kyle Edwards sat stiffly in the leather recliner, the rigid brace around his neck forcing his shoulders into an uncomfortable hunch. Even the smallest movement sent sharp twinges down into his shoulder and arm. He breathed through it in shallow, careful exhales, eyes half-lidded, jaw clenched.
Across the room, his Calcio del’Alpi–assigned
sports-medicine specialist, Hannelore “Hanni” Trapp, rummaged through
the minibar. She was a young blonde Brandenburg expat with a soothing voice,
gentle hands, and a way of filling a room with warmth without ever trying. Her
calm steadiness had pulled Kyle through the worst hours after the injury, and the
soft lilt of her accent made every reassurance feel personal.
She was supposed to be here in a strictly professional capacity- yet the
connection between them had deepened far faster, and far more intensely, than
either had expected- and she rifled through the minibar with the determination
of someone who had already fixed him several drinks today and knew exactly what
he preferred, even as the supplies ran dangerously low.
She worked as the heat in the suite had become unbearable. After hours of icing Kyle’s neck, adjusting his brace, and fighting the sluggish AC, Hanni had abandoned her uniform slacks entirely. She moved around the suite in her fitted work shirt and plain medical briefs- practical, breathable, and the only thing keeping her from overheating.
She eventually returned with a glass in hand, but Kyle wasn’t looking at her. His expression was distant, troubled, drifting somewhere far beyond the room.
Hanni noticed immediately.
She crossed the room, set the drink aside, and- with a soft sigh- eased herself gently onto his lap. Kyle didn’t protest. He couldn’t tilt his head, but his cheek found the curve of her chest instinctively as she loosened the top buttons of her blouse.
It was unusual, and they both knew it.
The first time had been nothing more than instinct- her response to a young man wracked with pain and fear. Comfort, though, had become closeness, and closeness had deepened into something neither of them had expected. Whatever tethered them now ran far beyond patient and caregiver.
Kyle didn’t stop her when her fingertips brushed the waistband of his joggers.
What stopped her was the sudden, impatient knock at the suite door.
Hanni breathed a soft laugh.
“We will pick this up later,” she murmured, kissing Kyle gently and stroking his cheek before rising. She pulled her blouse mostly closed, hastily tying together the bottom halves of her shirt and not even bothering with her pants.
The knocking came again- firmer this time.
She opened the door, still flushed and slightly breathless, blouse uneven- and Bruce McCrain stood there. His eyes took in everything in a single sweep.
He noticed. Bruce blinked, freezing in the doorway. Hanni straightened a little, suddenly aware of how she must look- not inappropriate, just… startlingly informal.
Bruce still said nothing.
Kyle was his best friend.
This was not the moment to judge.
“Hey, Brucey,” Kyle called, lifting his hand as far as the brace allowed. Bruce took it gently, then rested his other hand on Kyle’s shoulder before setting down the wine bottle he’d brought.
“You didn’t have to bring me anything,” Kyle said. “Honey over here already fixed me a killer drink. She can make you one too.”
Bruce chuckled. “It’s Sandy’s,” he said. “Their wine. Norah Anam showed it to me in Sanibel. It’s really good- you should try it.”
“Norah drinks?” Kyle blinked. “Thought she said she’d never touch alcohol. Something about avoiding stereotypes.”
“Yeah, it surprised me too,” Bruce said, “but her boss recommended Sandy’s beer to her, and now it’s the only one she’ll drink. Their winery makes this one. She got me hooked… within reason, of course.”
“Yes, yes,” Kyle said with a crooked smile. “Within reason. Always within reason.”
Hanni stepped forward, folding her hands behind her back.
“Bruce, yes? Kyle told me much about you. I am sorry about your… ‘World Series’?” She shrugged, apologetic. “Brandenburg is not big on baseball.”
“Yes, it’s the World Series,” Bruce said with a tired smile. “Thank you…but honestly, I’m more worried about my friend.”
“Is… em… not good,” Hanni said. “He has severe C5–C6 disc herniation with nerve compression and spinal canal narrowing. He is lucky- a few more millimetres and he would not be walking.”
Bruce exhaled hard. Kyle gave him a familiar smile, but it did little to ease the tension in Bruce’s chest.
“So,” Bruce said quietly, “I didn’t see the injury. I’ve only read the reports… and I’m not sure I want to see it.”
Kyle chuckled- and immediately grimaced.
“It’s OK, Brucey. It happened early. Ball in the air, routine play. I go up to win the header, chest it down, hold off the defender… but this time…”
He paused- from pain and memory.
The match- Calcio del’Alpi versus Pirates FC- had been a regular-season interleague fixture, one of those high-profile international games played before league competition resumed in January. It didn’t count toward either club’s domestic standings, but it carried enormous weight in the World Rankings. Both teams treated it as a genuine test.
“So I jump,” Kyle continued. “I’m up against Abel Iman- big guy, strong guy- but I’ve beaten him in the air plenty of times…but this time…”
His voice faltered. His eyes dimmed.
Then he saw Hanni watching him with steady warmth, and he pushed onward.
“Abel hit me harder than I’ve ever been hit,” Kyle said. “Whiplash. Cracking. Tingling. Pain like nothing I’ve ever felt. I hit the ground and couldn’t move. Not because I was paralyzed- because I was in shock.”
He swallowed.
“Ref brought the stretcher immediately. Abel got booked. Didn’t deserve it- he was just making a play. My teammates circled me…and when they lifted me, I flashed a thumbs-up. Crowd saw it… went from dead silence to applause.”
He blinked away the emotion.
“…and Abel came to the hospital afterward. Kept apologizing…and honestly? For this big, terrifying dude, he’s really just a remorseful teddy bear. Disarming as hell.”
Kyle winced again.
“So no beef with Abel. It’s Calcio management that’s annoying.”
“Oh?” Bruce asked, pulling a chair across from him. Hanni pulled up another and took Kyle’s hand gently.
“They want spinal fusion,” Kyle said flatly. “Standard procedure…but it’ll kill my movement. Hanni explained it all. I’d come back- but not as me. Not as a target man. Angela Carey won’t risk my back in aerial duels anymore. They’d stick me on the wing or something. Dude, I ain’t no winger.”
“Lots of great players are wingers,” Bruce said, “but I get it.”
Kyle hesitated.
Something heavier lay beneath his words.
“Kyle,” Bruce said softly, as Hanni squeezed his hand, “just say it. I’m right here.”
Kyle exhaled shakily.
“I know you and your dad aren’t talking anymore, but-”
“Thomas and I are talking,” Bruce interrupted. “We’re not close, but… we’re trying. Things are cordial again.”
Kyle blinked- relieved more than he expected.
“I thought about ADR,” Kyle said, nodding toward Hanni. “She keeps telling me it’s better…but… I know your dad is working on revolutionary stuff. Procedures no one else has. And… and…”
Bruce leaned in.
“…and…?”
“I want you to ask if Thomas will operate on me,” Kyle said. “Whatever he has. I just want you to ask. I’m not expecting anything else.”
Bruce inhaled sharply.
A big ask- even under perfect conditions.
“Won’t this violate your contract?” Bruce asked. “Most big clubs don’t let players choose their own treatment. And soccer has no union.”
Kyle smiled faintly.
“Yeah…but honestly? I don’t care. I’ve made four hundred million. I don’t need the club. Or soccer. If retiring gets me the right surgery- I’ll retire.”
Bruce froze.
Because Kyle’s crisis echoed his own- legacy, identity, crossroads- but with far higher stakes.
“Look, Bruce,” Kyle said softly, “all I need is information. If Thomas can fix this- great. If not, I adjust. ADR, winger life, whatever. But I need to know before I decide who I am now.”
Bruce nodded- slow, steady, certain.
“OK,” he said. “I’ll ask. Thomas hasn’t operated on a human yet, but he’s desperate to prove what he’s developed in Pickle Lake. He might say yes.”
Kyle exhaled- relief and hope lighting his eyes.
Bruce clasped his hand again, then rose.
Hanni walked him to the door.
“Thank you for coming, Bruce,” she said warmly. “You are very kind boy. Good friend.”
“…and you,” Bruce said, “seem like a good woman. Kyle’s lucky to have you.”
Hanni smiled softly. She opened her arms.
“May I give you hug? I think you carry a lot too.”
Bruce hesitated- then accepted.
Her warmth surprised him. Grounded him.
Confirmed what he already suspected:
Whatever Kyle and Hanni shared… it wasn’t just a hotel-room connection.
“Safe travels,” Hanni said as they separated, “and thank you again.”
Bruce nodded and stepped out- the weight of two futures settling on his shoulders.
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