Page 120 of Catching Kyle

“You’re joking.”

“Nope,” she says, slipping some edamame into her mouth. “He said, if anything, he’d want to see you. Even at one of his games.”

I scoff. ‘Even at one of his games’. As if it’s an honor that he’d consider inviting me.

“Do you want to go?”

I sigh. “Ams, there’s no point. I don’t want to talk to Kyle. Are you planning on going?”

“To the playoffs? Hell yeah. I don’t know about you, but I still love football after watching Kyle play for so long.”

I let out a short laugh. Truth be told, I really like it too, but it’s not worth the trouble of running into Kyle right now.

“There’s two tickets, right?” I ask. “Take Angie with you. Even if she doesn’t like football, a suite experience at a playoff game would be crazy fun.”

“Really? Alright,” she says not without disappointment. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” I say.

We finish up the rest of our food, catching up on the rest of our lives. Amani has decided to forgo traditional publication altogether and go the self-publishing route. She details the process, at least what she knows so far, and I’m already overwhelmed. If I decided to no longer try and find a literary agent, there’s no way in hell I’d have the energy to do the entire publishing process myself.

“Well, I’m glad you reached out,” Amani says after we pay our check.

“Me, too.”

“And even though I’m not going to be the mediator between you and Kyle, maybe you could give him a chance. At least unblock him. Maybe talking to him wouldn’t hurt.”

I bristle at her words. “We’ll see.”

Chapter 39

Kyle Weaver

It’sasnowydayin Seattle, but I’m unfazed. I’m in the locker room with my fellow players, stretching and getting each other hyped up. Today we face off against the Seattle Soldiers in the playoffs. And if we win, it’s onto the Championship Game.

Ever since I told Jessica, my girlfriend who is no longer really my girlfriend, everything, football’s taken on a new meaning for me. I’m no longer playing out of fear that I’ll disappoint my father. I’m finally playing it for me.

But what’s got me more excited than anything is that Michael Cunningham, the man I truly love, could be in the stadium watching me right now. After I worked with Robyn to publish an article to dismiss the lie that Amani cheated on me, Amani agreed to meet with me so I could apologize to her in person. And seeing her in the flesh did wonders on my heart. It was so nice to see her smile and laugh again, to hear about her life. And most of all, to get her forgiveness. I’m hoping that today the same can happen with Michael. I miss him so much that my body aches, and it’s definitely not just the sex I miss. I miss him—his smile, his voice, his words. He’s the best guy a man could ask for. I want him back, and I’m not going to fuck it up this time.

By the time we have to rush onto the field, my heart is racing. But I don’t know which is making me more nervous: the game, or the fact that Michael is watching and looking for me right now.

As we jog onto the field, I look up to the booth I rented out for Amani and Michael after memorizing the location like the back of my hand. Close enough to see into, I see Amani and Jessica jumping and waving. I wave back. Next to Amani, I expect to see Michael.

But he’s not there.

Maybe I’m wrong. I slow down and try to look closer. Amani is standing next to some woman I don’t recognize. She puts her arm around her, and my chest sinks to the ground. Yeah, Michael’s not here.

Someone bumps my shoulder. “Come on, man.”

It’s Ezekiel. I jog just behind him onto the field. It’s time to play one of the most important games of my career, but I couldn’t be more out of it. What’s the point, after all? Michael, the man I wanted to see the most, is not here.

* * *

When the game is over, Tigers players are hugging one another. We’re cold and tired, but we won. Next stop: the Championship Game.

But as we rush into the locker room, even the contagious post-game high can’t get my mood up. I know I should be happy. I played a game for myself and not my father this time, and we still won. I may have not played my best—no interceptions—but I played damn good defense. So if all this is true, why do I feel like shit?

I slump down in front of my locker and start taking off my clothes. I think I’m disappointed because, in my mind, this was my last chance to make things up to Michael. He’s not answering my calls or messages, so I tried to talk to him through Amani. And now that that hasn’t worked, I feel I’m out of options. I have no way else to get to Michael.