Page 125 of Catching Kyle

“Thanks man,” I say. I can hear them wrapping up their questions, which means it’s my turn. My heart is already beating outside my chest. I see Ricardo hovering in the crowd of reporters, just waiting to drop some stupid bombshell question. At least this time I’m gonna use him for my own gain.

“You need a beta-blocker or something?” Ezekiel asks. “I know they can help.”

“I’ll be good,” I say, adjusting my hat. When I see the Vanguards player walk off, I stand up. It’s time.

I hold out my fist for Ezekiel to fist bump. “Thank you,” I say. Then I look up at the rest of my guys. “And thanks to all of you. For everything. You don’t have to do this. It means a lot.”

“Of course.”

“Anything for you, man.”

“Love is love.”

Ezekiel grins and bumps me back. “Like I said, I would support you no matter what.” He lowers his voice. “It doesn’t to me which way you swing. I just want you to be happy.”

“Fingers crossed that this plan works,” I say.

His grin goes wide, and he’s almost laughing. “Oh, it will.” He rubs his hands together. “I can’t wait for it.”

Galvanized by Ezekiel, I make my way over to the stand, passing Timmy along the way. He gives me a look that says ‘don’t fuck this up’, and I almost scoff. Boy is he in for a surprise. I sit myself down behind the bouquet of microphones.

Let the games begin.

The questions start out tamer than I would expect—my thoughts on Tigers’ defense, my perspective on being nearly undefeated this year, how I feel against playing against the Vanguard’s brutal offense. I even get a question about some of the weight I’ve gained as a result of my depression. But, like as they always do, the questions start to turn silly.

I’m asked whether Jessica and my ex, Amani, get along or fight over me now that Amani and I are publicly friends, to which I respond that that’s a sexist question. I see Timmy shift uncomfortably, and I almost laugh. Good. Wait ‘til he sees what’s up.

There’s the inevitable question about being Sexiest Man Alive, which I never know how to answer. Thankfully, someone asks about my charity efforts to kids with cancer, which I gladly expound upon. At least some positive news willcome out of this. Then I see Ricardo shimmy is way to the front of the reporters, and I steel myself. Here we go.

“Funny how after I ask if you’re gay, you find two girls to date,” he says.

Some reporters laugh, but I remain stone-faced.

“That’s not a question,” I say.

His looks around, his face hardening. “Some are saying that these relationships have been contrived.”

Here we go.

“So what if they are?” I respond.

Nearly all the heads whip from Ricardo to me.

“Are you saying that your relationships have been fake?” A woman asks. “Both Amani and Jessica.”

Timmy glares at me, his body rigid as a pole. Man, if looks could kill.

“I’m not saying anything,” I say. “Just wondering why it matters.”

Ricardo pushes himself to the front again. “Because the entire world wants to know if you’re gay.”

My heart is pounding in my ears, and I have to lean away from the mics so they don’t pick up my breathing. And I just know my pit stains are epic right now.

“And if I am?”

The entire crowd of reporters seems to pale a shade lighter, and I see Timmy in my periphery stomping toward me.

“Regardless of who I love, or who anybody loves, I’m here to play some football. We need to stop caring so much about what any of us do in the bedroom.”