Page 15 of Catching Kyle (Football Heartthrobs #1)

Kyle Weaver

I decide to skip unofficial practice this week and take a red-eye home again to see my mama. I needed to get away from the city—away from anything and everything that reminds me of Michael. As I load my luggage into my rental, I go over all that I said to him, cringing the entire time.

I was a fool. A damn selfish one at that.

I said I wanted to know what was bothering him, why he looked all sad in his latest video, but in reality it was just green jealousy.

I wanted to know if that man screwing him was his boyfriend, and if not, if he had one.

I didn’t like the idea of him being with another man.

So I asked him, in a roundabout way, if he had one.

And of course, that idea exploded in my face—him saying that he’s a failed writer because he doesn’t know love. And it’s all my fault.

By the time I reach my mama’s home, the Mississippi sky is bright, but my mind is dark and stormy.

Mama, tending to the garden, stands when I pull into the driveway. I roll down my window

“Now this is a mighty surprise,” she says as she’s approaching me. “What brings you home, boy?”

I tap the frame of the window. “I fucked up, ma.”

She sighs, not from exasperation I can tell but from understanding.

“Then come on in,” she says. “I’ve got some leftover stew.”

* * *

By the time I settle on her couch, clouds are already beginning to cover the sky, and they’re darkening.

A storm is on the way. My ma’s hairless cat, Miss Beautiful, prances over to the couch when she sees me.

She leaps onto my lap, purring all the way, and I have to set down my stew before she snags a piece of beef. She runs her head into my chin.

“Now tell me what’s going on,” Ma says as she sits down. She picks up her hook and begins crocheting.

I sigh. I can’t just tell her about Michael. I have to say what I’m saying to everyone else.

“There’s this girl,” I say. Miss Beautiful has nestled in between my legs.

“Okay,” she says, nodding. She’s looking at me and robotically working her needles. Impressive, I must say.

“She’s a writer, and—” I don’t know how to explain all the details while telling all these lies. “Ugh, ma, I just made her mad. I said things, and I made her mad when I was only trying to help.”

She nods, this time looking down at what she’s doing. I think she’s making some sort of hat. Outside, there’s thunder, startling Miss Beautiful. I stroke her to calm her down. She settles again.

“Are you being fully honest with this girl?” She asks.

I get that heartburn again. I would say it’s from the stew, but my ma’s cooking is impeccable. I think it’s from something else.

“I’m tryna be,” I say honestly.

“You and I know that trying and doing are two different things in this case,” she says. “Are you being honest or not?”

I rub the bridge of my nose as rain begins to fall hard outside. But I’m warm and cozy in here. I got Miss Beautiful purring in my lap. I’m here with my mama who I know loves me dearly. Dad’s gone, but I know he would be proud of my career. So why do I feel so twisted inside?

Tears wet my eyes. “I could stand to be more honest,” I say, trying to keep my quivering lip still. “It’s just so damn hard. ”

She eyes me warmly as I let my tears fall. My mama has always been the only one I could do this with. Miss Beautiful looks up at me with sleepy eyes as I sniffle.

“I know it is,” Ma says. “But you know what your father always used to say?”

I look at her all serious. She never talks about Dad unless she has to.

“He was always honest,” she says. “No matter the price. He said that integrity was the most valuable thing we had. And if people didn’t like us for that, that was on them.”

I nod. I do remember him talking about honesty a lot, especially as a little kid.

“Kyle, search for the courage to be honest—and not just with this girl. But with yourself.”

I wipe my eyes. “I’ll try.”

“Do is better.”

By now, the quick burst of rain we got has subsided, and the sun is even shining through the clouds. Miss Beautiful rises from my lap, yawns and stretches, then makes her way to a ray of light on the couch. She settles into a loaf there and closes her eyes.

The sudden sunshine has me itching to get outside.

“Thanks, ma,” I say, wiping my eyes one last time. I set the stew down and get up and stretch. “You mind if I go to town for a little bit?”

“It’s a free country.”

I can’t help but grin. That’s her favorite thing to say.

I go to the door. “Need anything while I’m out?”

She perks up. “Oh, yes. There’s a book at The Book Corner that I need picked up if you don’t mind.”

“The Book Corner?”

“It was that bookstore right next to Jimmy’s diner.”

I raise my brow. That’s the bookstore with the lesbian flag.

“Sure thing,” I say.

“Thank you kindly,” she says as I leave the house .

When I get in the car, I ponder the places I could go. This town has a ton of little touristy businesses that I could browse, but I’m not in a huge mood to be spotted in public. The lake is great, too, but this weather has me thinking that it could rain again at any moment.

I glance over at my backpack. “Shoot,” I say, remembering.

I open the small flap and pull out my copy of the Cat Sebastian book that Michael gave me.

I said I would read it on the plane, but I conked out.

On the cover, there’s some nerdy looking guy with glasses standing next to a baseball player, and their outfits look old.

A gay novel based on some time in the past, I gather.

I do need to pick up a book at The Book Corner for ma, and she said they had a little café.

Maybe I could sit there and get started on reading this book for book club.

I got nothing else to do after all. After what I said to Michael, I doubt he’ll send me more stuff to read.

God, I was so stupid. In hindsight, it woulda been less weird to just ask him if he had a boyfriend, not justify why I was asking him.

I sigh. Something tells me that bookstore might be the best place to go if I want to be in public, but discreetly—maybe besides a library. Not really my kinda fans in these places. But the closest library is at Miss U, and I’d surely be recognized there.

So the lesbian bookstore it is.

When I make it to the bookstore, the lesbian flag bats in the wind, almost like it’s drying itself off from the rain. I pull into the gravel lot, and I’m surprised it’s almost full. I manage to take the last open spot. Hopefully, with how busy it is, I still won’t be recognized.

I shove the book inside my backpack, lest someone see that I’m reading a book with gay men on the cover. And then I make my way inside.

The Book Corner has shelves lining the walls, as well as smaller shelves in the middle of the floor.

At the center of the shop, there’s a circular counter.

Behind it stands a young black woman checking out an older white woman, and there are three people standing behind her.

Next to her, there’s a red-headed woman helping her out.

To my right, a sturdy, stocky man with a mustache is manning the café. When I glance at him, his eyes widen .

“I’ll be damned,” he says. “Are you…?”

I walk up to the counter, hoping he won’t say it so loud. “It’s me,” I say. “Kyle Weaver.”

He reaches his muscular arm across the counter. I smile and shake it back.

“Your mama’s Linda Higgins, right?” he asks.

I look around. There are some people watching us, but not many. “She is.”

“Sorry to bother, but that woman’s my hero. I wondered when I’d meet her son.”

I smile a little. She had told me about a young man around my age who moved here a few years back. Rough home life, she said about him. But he’s found support here.

“She’s mine too,” I say. “You’re…?”

“Silas,” he says. “Sorry, can I get you something? Didn’t mean to fangirl.”

“All good,” I say. I glance at the food behind the glass. “How bouta blueberry muffin?”

“Sure thing,” he says. “Heated up?”

“Please.”

I stand to the side and wait. The way he talks—he’s Southern for sure, but there’s a lilt there. One only gay men have. It sounds like he wasn’t accepted back home. But my ma accepts him. That means she could accept me if I was like Silas.

“Good to meet you,” he says. “I hope to see you around.”

“Likewise,” I say, taking the muffin. I notice someone get up from the comfiest looking armchair. It faces the window, its back to everyone else. Great place to read and be undisturbed.

I make my way over, set my take off my backpack, and plop down. I dig into the muffin, marveling at the sweet, cinnamon taste. Then, knowing I’ve procrastinated it enough, I take out the book and start reading.

And ho-lee shit.

The next time I look up, I’m halfway through the book. It’s raining again, steadily tapping against the window. There are fewer customers than before, and most are different than the ones that were here when I arrived. It feels like I’ve been transported through time.

I look down at the book again, unable to believe that this random person named Cat is telling me my story.

This baseball player? He’s me. He’s struggling to keep up his reputation as a professional player, and even the conversations with his mother mirror the ones I’ve been having with my own.

There’s a reporter who both comforts him but also makes him question himself.

Every time I read in this other man’s voice, I can’t stop thinking of Michael.

I dive into the book again before I overthink it.

As their love gets stronger and stronger, I get that familiar heartburn. But I don’t stop. The more I read, the more I seem to understand: about myself, the world around me. How my whole life I’ve been living in the dark, and how this book is like a flashlight shining through the darkness.

By the time I reach the end, I’m teary-eyed, and my chest feels like it’s on fire.

For so long, I’ve attributed this sensation as something purely physical, as heartburn or sore muscles or whatever.

But this is more than that. I can’t pinpoint it exactly, but I know it has to do with the feelings I get when I think about Michael or being with a woman for the rest of the life.

For a while, it all seemed disconnected, but now I understand it all orbits around one idea.

One truth. And if I’ve learned anything today, it’s that, just as mama said, that I need to be true to myself.

I close the book and look out the window. As it would be, the rain has stopped, and light now shines through the clouds again. Like God is telling me it’s alright.

I breathe in, then breathe out.

I, Kyle Weaver, am a gay man.