Page 16 of Catching Kyle (Football Heartthrobs #1)

Michael Cunningham

After an Al-Anon meeting, my sponsor, Susan, and I agree to eat at a nearby pizza place. Ever since my argument with Kyle, I’ve gone to at least two meetings a day. I’ve felt off since seeing David at the bar, and I’m trying to get my serenity back. But it’s eluded me.

On the drive there, I bite on my knuckles.

Susan will probably think that I was an idiot for going to a place I suspected David might be.

Or she’ll criticize me for staying and talking with David, or for leaving Amani behind.

I know she’ll definitely have something to say about how I reacted to Kyle.

Kyle . The gorgeous man I’ve been keeping a secret from everyone, including my sponsor. He’s said to tell no one that we’re meeting regularly, but I need to get what I’ve done to him off my chest. I guess I just have to speak in broad terms or anonymize him.

By the time I reach the pizza place, I’m simultaneously relieved and frightened. I no longer have to keep this all my head, but that means someone else will hear about what happened. Susan has yet to judge me harshly, but I always fear that this will be the time that I finally break her.

We take our seats and order our drinks.

“How was your week?” she asks, chipper.

I sigh. “Is it okay if I say it was bad?”

“Of course it is,” she says after a sip of water. “That’s how you feel. What’s going on? ”

My heart racing, I take a deep breath, and I spill what happened: drinks with Amani, running into David.

Of course, with my luck, the waiter comes to take my order just as I’m describing how I had sex with Greg.

I had to stop just before he arrived so he wouldn’t hear the details.

And, of course, I describe how I exploded on my anonymous friend—Kyle—for saying I’m a bad romance writer because I’m incapable of loving correctly.

“Oof,” she says. “Sounds like you had a rough week.”

I sigh. “Tell me about it.”

A year ago, I chose Susan to be my sponsor.

I heard her speak in a meeting, and despite what a harrowing childhood and life she had with her first husband, she smiled and laughed.

She had a peace that I wanted, and since she agreed to help me work through the twelve steps, she and I have grown close.

I now see her as one of my closest friends.

Our pizzas arrive—meat lovers for me, margherita for her—and I immediately dig in. Even the act of just saying all that out loud has taken a burden off my shoulders, but the effort alone left me famished. I just hope that Susan takes pity on me and isn’t too harsh.

“So,” she says after taking a couple bites from her pizza. “What really bothered you about seeing David last week?”

I shrug, still hungry after gobbling down two slices. I pick up my third. “It was like, shouldn’t I be better than this by now? Shouldn’t I not be so swayed by my ex? I should be over him right now.”

She clears her throat, and I’m worried she’s about to answer in the affirmative to all my questions.

“Stop ‘shoulding’ on yourself,” she says, the ‘should’ sounding like ‘shit’. “There’s nothing you ‘should’ be doing at all.”

Tension melts from my shoulders, and I lean back into my chair. “You’re right,” I admit. And, as usual, what she actually says is far kinder than what I anticipated.

“But you say you ‘shouldn’t have feelings for David’,” she says. “ Do you still have feelings for him?”

I furrow my brow as I chew on my pizza.

When we first broke up two years ago, I missed him often, jerking off to photos him for months on end. But then one day, attraction for him just faded away. And after that, it was easy to remember what an asshole he was. So pretty soon I didn’t miss him at all.

“No,” I answer honestly. “Not at all.”

“Interesting,” she says in her ‘we’re onto something’ tone. “Then tell me. What actually bothered you about seeing him?”

And here’s the reason why she continues to be my sponsor. She knows where to dig, like my brain is a muscle and she’s the masseuse, massaging out my poor thinking.

“I…” I picture Stephen, that ginger he cheated on me with, how jealous I was when I first discovered the affair.

I remembered how David was almost more animated around Stephen and his other friends, and how every time I tried to be a part of their group, they would deflate a little, like it was a drag to have me around.

And seeing David’s face when this happened—it was like he was embarrassed of me.

“I think… over the years, I wanted to understand why David did what he did, and eventually I just concluded it was because I wasn’t good enough for him.

But I still wanted to be good enough. I wanted to prove I was worthy enough to be dateable by winning him over.

So I think seeing him was so hard because I was hoping for him to finally see me as equal to him and his friends—to finally have this proof.

But he didn’t. I was hoping he’d have changed, but he was the same old David. ”

“Is David somebody you can change?” She asks.

I let out a heavy sigh. “No. Step One says I’m powerless over anything but myself.”

“So even if you were to change—to be this person that you think David likes—do you think David would like you?”

I play out a scenario in my head of me becoming the version of myself I think he’d respect. I can’t imagine a positive ending. I try another. The same thing. Eventually, I exhaust all possibilities.

“I don’t think he would,” I say .

She nods softly. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

There’s a weight pressing on my chest and bitter taste in my mouth. Everything feels dark all of the sudden. If I can never be good enough for someone like David, then what hope is there for me?

I grimace slightly. “I can accept this, but why does it feel so bad? I thought accepting what I can’t change was supposed to be relieving. But I feel like shit.”

“Because it’s loss, dear,” she says. “And you have to acknowledge that. You lost what you hoped to have with David. And that grief is just as real as any other.”

My eyes water, and I take a shaky breath. I grab hold of my third slice of pizza, but I’m not hungry enough to take a bite. I don’t even feel sick or anything—just numb.

For so long, I tried to ingratiate myself with David and his friends, hoping that in doing so I would finally be that ‘cool’ gay, the one that everyone hits on, that everyone wants to sleep with.

That’s how I saw them, and with David, it seemed achievable.

And once I achieved this, I would be worthy.

And the acknowledgement that this is no longer sound logic makes everything around me look ashen.

“If chasing David and his friends is no longer a viable way to feel worthy, then what is?”

Susan smiles. “What a great question. Have you ever considered that you already are worthy? That there’s nothing you need to do?”

“That’s what I keep hearing in meetings and from my therapist,” I say. “But it’s not sinking in. How do I get it to sink in?”

She thins her lips and squints down at her hands clasped on the table. She looks up at me, her curly black hair immaculate. “You’ve spent so long thinking about what David and his friends would think of you. Let them go. Focus on yourself. Ask yourself: what do you think of you?”

The question makes me want to curl into a ball. “I… I don’t know.”

She leans back and crosses her leg. “Then you have a wonderful opportunity. You get to discover yourself. ”

I try and chew on the question, ‘what do I think of myself’, but it’s as sturdy as a chicken bone.

“What if I don’t even know where to start?” I ask.

She nods slowly. “Are there people in your life that you feel you can be your complete authentic self with?”

I lean forward and start eating that third piece of pizza, my hunger steadily returning.

My mind jumps to Amani, as well as some of my other writing group friends from college. But I don’t keep much in touch with them anymore. There’s Skye, my new writing friend, and she’s awesome…and then there’s Kyle. Which doesn’t make any sense. I’m trying not to have feelings for him.

“My friends Amani and Skye,” I say. “You as well.”

The waiter comes to take our check, and Susan leans forward onto the table, nodding. “Learn from them, from me, from other people you trust. Look at how they see you. Learn to see how you’re lovable. Pretty soon their love for you will become your own.

My chest warms at her words. They feel true.

“Thanks,” I say, my mood becoming a tad brighter. “I think you’re right.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she says. “So do you still think you’re incapable of loving the right way?”

I frown, thinking. “Well, no. Because I still don’t love David. I just…wasn’t loving myself.” I’m surprised the words are coming from myself and not her.

She nods somberly. “Exactly.”

My body relaxes, and things aren’t looking so ashen anymore. I’m not cursed after all. I just had to dig deep into my feelings to discover what was really wrong.

“Is there anything else?” she asks.

I suck on my bottom lip. “I think I need to make an amends,” I say, thinking of Kyle. “To my friend I blew up at. As well as Amani.”

“I think is a kind thing to do,” she says. “And remember you are also making amends to yourself. Think about the way you’ve been treating yourself all this time, trying to be someone you’re not. That hurts. Give yourself that kindness you deserve. ”

I feel as if I’ve been swaddled in a blanket just out of the dryer. “I think I will.”

* * *

The next day, I meet up with Amani and Skye after book club for writing group.

Amani pulls me aside before I sit down. “Are you okay?” She asks me in the corner of the coffee shop.

I give her a tight hug. “I’m fine,” I say, pulling away. “Just dealing with some trauma is all.”

Her shoulders relax. “You seem better, though.”

I reflect on my conversation with Susan. “I am. I’m sorry I ran off from you that night.”

She laughs. “It’s okay. At least you got to have some fun.”

Flashes of the sex I had with Greg run through my mind. “I guess it could have been worse. But what about you? Did you and that…?”

She nods, unable to hold her grin back. “I got her number. We’re going out to dinner this weekend.”

I squeal and hug her again. “You get it, girl. I’m so happy for you.”

“Hey!” Skye says from a nearby table. “I know I haven’t known Amani long, but I wanna hear the good news, too!”

Amani and I laugh and sit down with Skye, giving her all the details.

“Sounds like your ex is a dick,” she says.

“Tell me about it,” I say.

And then we get to our critiques. Even though I blew up on Kyle on Saturday, I did take his advice to heart.

I went back and looked at my novel with a critical eye toward internal conflict.

I read up and watched a bunch of videos on it too.

And then it started to make sense. I built character profiles for my two main love interests, really digging into their internal workings, and rewrote the first two chapters of my book.

That’s what I’m sharing with Amani and Skye tonight.

I hope the romance is much more intimate now.

Amani shares some scene sketches she has for her new fantasy novel, and both Skye and I love it. We give her advice on how to weave it into her outline. Skye shares about a romance she’s writing between two transgender characters at university, and her banter is publishable quality.

And then we get to me.

As I read a portion of my first chapter out loud while the others read along, my nerves overwhelm me. What if this is somehow worse than before? What if I have to scrap this whole idea? Or worse: what if my writing is somehow worse, negating everything I learned yesterday with my sponsor?

“Holy shit,” Amani says when I finish.

“Yeah,” Skye says, nodding, twirling her blonde hair with her finger. “You hit with this one.”

I lean back. “Really?”

“Really,” Amani says, looking at me above her glasses.

“It’s just so much more compelling than what you’ve brought in before,” Skye says. “Like I’m so invested in your main character. I need to know what happens next.”

My chest lights up with excitement. “Oh, my god. Thank you.”

“Where did this come from?” Amani asks. “This is the zest I was talking about. It’s finally here.”

I remember Kyle’s genuine advice before I fled to the bathroom. “My other critique partner,” I say. “I got this comment from him.”

“Oooo,” Amani says, winking to Skye. “His ‘other’ critique partner.”

“He’s gonna run us out of business with the advice that he’s giving,” Skye says.

And as they give the rest of their feedback, I try to really internalize all the kind things they say about me, just as Susan instructed. It’s uncomfortable at first, because for so long, I’ve been attaching strings to my worth. As long as I do x, I will be worthy.

But this is different. This is me just learning that I am worthy—that I am good, learning through how others see me. It’s crazy that there’s really nothing I need to ‘do’. I just need to be.

And what’s even more wild is that if it weren’t for Kyle, I wouldn’t have gotten all these praises tonight.

Not that Skye and Amani needed a specific reason to say good things about me, but applying Kyle’s advice definitely brought out genuine adulation.

I’m a little nervous that he’ll be upset with me after what I did to him last week, but more than anything I’m just excited to see him.

As it turns out, I’m not fundamentally incapable of writing good romance.

I know he didn’t say that, but I projected my insecurities onto him.

So, tomorrow, I’ll apologize. And I can’t wait.