Page 38 of Catching Kyle (Football Heartthrobs #1)

Kyle Weaver

In the locker room, I’m so swarmed by the reporters that I can’t reach my stuff. Ezekiel gets some of them to back off me, but once security gets between us, I’m finally able to shed my sweaty and stained football clothes and grab some fresh ones.

They’re all calling my name, trying to talk to me about the game, how it went, how I feel about going to the playoffs. I don’t say much until I get one question in particular.

“Kyle, what would your dad think of you now?”

I sit down in my undershirt and take my cleats off. I wiggle my free toes, almost rolling my eyes in relief.

“He’d be proud,” I say.

“Do you think you’ll win the Championship Game?”

A grin forms on my face. “Let’s just say I think I’ll keep my promise I made to my dad.”

The reporters all blurt out other questions, but security manages to get them out of my face and out of the locker room, leaving me in peace with my team.

Ezekiel sits down next to me. “That was some crazy shit,” he says. “I’ve never seen you go that hard.”

I exhale sharply through my nose, taking off my pants. “Me neither.”

“I’m glad you got re-signed,” he says. “Dunno how we’d make it to the Championship Game without you. ”

I take off my undershirt and grab my towel for the shower. “It’s not just me,” I say. “It’s all of us contributing.”

“Of course,” he says, swatting his hand at me. “But you’re what’s bringing us to the top.”

“Well let’s just keep it that way,” I say, walking to the showers. “Because I only got one chance to win the Championship Game.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he says.

By the time I’m alone in the shower, there’s a bubbling or heat in my chest. I can’t really tell anymore. But I know the discomfort comes from guilt.

I can talk about the Championship Game with anyone. But once Michael wants to talk about it, I freeze up. I have to keep telling him ‘it’s too hard right now’, but I can’t do that forever.

But I don’t know if I can keep up this secret relationship forever, either.

Back in the locker rooms, I got dozens of questions about my playing, my dad, Amani. And none of them were about my sexuality. I never realized how much having a girlfriend shielded me from that sexuality shit. It’s like I’m actually normal, and I can finally focus on playing.

And I hate to admit it, but sometimes when I’m practicing, or when I’m playing in a game, I like to pretend that this is my real world—that I really have a girlfriend, and that I’m really carrying my team to the Championship Game and honoring that last promise to my father.

And I’m ashamed to admit that this means, briefly, forgetting that Michael exists.

There’s relief that comes with fitting in, with not being gay in a world that needs me to be straight.

Not to mention the guilt I feel about lying about this whole relationship.

Both Mom and Dad talked about integrity.

How honorable is it of me to hide a man that I’m fucking?

Sure, my dad would be proud of me for making it this far.

But would he be proud of me for dating a man in secret?

Would he be proud of me for dating a man at all? Abandoning the family legacy?

My chest aches badly, the guilt getting stronger. Because all this means that I’m turning my back on the kindest, smartest, and gentlest man I know.

I turn off the water, hoping my thoughts will turn off with it. They don’t, but that doesn’t matter. I gotta get dressed and meet Amani. And Michael .

When I get to our designated meeting spot, Amani emerges from a horde of people. I put on my biggest smile for the flashing cameras, and we kiss deeply.

Once we release, I spot Michael staring at me from the crowd swaddled in warm clothing.

He’s looking at me passionately, like he wishes it was him kissing me instead.

We wave to the cameras, then disappear into the crowd, led by security.

The three of us stay silent until we reach our area of the parking garage and are completely alone.

“Well you were amazing,” Amani says.

“Thank you thank you,” I say with a mock bow.

Michael smiles lukewarmly, holding himself small like he does when he’s upset. Fuck, I hate seeing him like this.

“So the usual plan?” Amani asks.

I glance at Michael. She comes to my house, drops Michael off, then goes her own way, then Michael slinks off with his car the next day. I want Michael over, but at the same time, I don’t. God, we’re only halfway through the season. Can I do this for another three months?

“Sure,” I say, looking down at the ground.

Without another word, we go our separate ways.

Once I’m on the highway, I replay the game in my head, thinking on how I can improve.

But I keep seeing Michael’s hurt face. When he’s asked what’s wrong, I’ve told him I’m not ready to talk.

Yet I can only do that for so long. Sooner or later, I’m gonna have to say something.

I just have no idea what I want to say. I can’t give up this season.

But I sure as hell don’t want to give Michael up either.

I get home, and Michael and Amani arrive shortly after. She pulls into the garage, drops him off, then slips away before anyone sees. I drop my bag in the laundry room, take his stuff, and carry it up to my room without a word.

I set everything down to the side, and Michael sits down on my bed. He looks up at me, expectantly.

“That was a fantastic game,” he says. “I was able to follow everything.”

God, I love how earnest he is.

“Yeah?” I say, unable to stop the grin forming on my face. “I’m glad you both are taking a liking to football. ”

Months ago, I would pin him down and place and start kissing him. But it feels wrong to do that tonight after all my daydreaming of living a straight life. So instead, I strip my clothes and slip into bed beside him. I open up the covers for him to join me.

He looks at me, curious as to why I’ve skipped our normal step. But he says nothing. Instead, he gets into bed and snuggles up next to me. I wrap my arms around him.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

“You just seem… distant.”

I frown. “I’m just tired,” I say. “The game took a lot out of me. My knees are sore, and I know I should be putting ice on it. I’ll have to do that tomorrow.”

“I’d stay and help,” he says. “But I have my shift at Ruckers tomorrow.”

Too tired to respond, I let my eyes drift shut. Then Michael moves, startling my eyes open. He turns around and looks at me, my nightstand lamps giving his face an orange glow.

“I should have said this sooner,” he says.

My stomach sinks to the floor. Is he breaking up with me? But if he was, that would solve all my problems. Why do I feel sick to my stomach then?

“I think the stress of the season is getting to both of us,” I say. “Maybe you and I should take a vacation. Together.”

The pain in my chest subsides. He’s not breaking up with me.

“A vacation?”

“Yeah,” he says, talking a little more excitedly. “Like between one of your games and practices. We can get away from the city for a little bit.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “It would have to be brief.”

“It doesn’t even have to be more than a day,” he says. “The holidays are coming up. I know the Tigers aren’t playing on Thanksgiving.”

I chew on my lips. “You wanna do Thanksgiving together?”

His brow curls. “Why wouldn’t I?”

More than I want to push him away, I want him to pull away himself.

I can’t bear to see him hurt, let alone be the one to hurt him.

But he knows this can’t work long term. Doesn’t he?

He has to. If I’ve learned anything playing in the NFO with a secret relationship the past sixth months, it’s that this is not sustainable.

Someone’s gonna find us out sooner or later.

“I usually spend it with my ma if I’m free,” I say.

He waits for a beat, then deflates. “I see.”

“Come on,” I say, rubbing his hand. “We can talk more about this in the morning.”

Michael turns around without saying anything.

I wrap my arms around him, but he doesn’t hold them like he usually does.

He’s even holding his body away from me, as if I’m made of thorns.

Guilt floods my chest again. I mean, I practically am made of thorns right now, aren’t I?

Making my words and demeanor all prickly like this?

Eventually, he drifts off, and the pain in my chest subsides enough to let me sleep.

My dreams are frenzied. I’m at a game. On the field. I need to score. But I also need to find Michael. Something tells me that he’s far, far away. With some guy? Probably. I run and run, but the turf just expands beneath my feet, keeping me in place.

Then I’m tackled. Another guy piles on me, then another. And suddenly, I’m swallowed up, unable to breathe. I hear my daddy’s voice. Nothing specific. Just angry. Yelling.

“Michael!” I choke out.

And then I startle awake. I’m laying on my belly, so no wonder I can’t breathe. I get back on my side and reach out for Michael.

But he’s not there.

My eyes shoot open, and I look around. Rain is falling outside, pattering against the window. I hear the sound of water trickling in the bathroom. Then it stops.

“Michael, where are you?”

I hear the toilet flush and the sink run. Then Michael comes out of the bathroom.

“Right here,” he says .

I feel my eyes heat up and my lips quiver. I open my arms. “Come get in bed.”

He comes and gets under the covers, and I wrap myself around him tightly. And I never want to let go. I thought he was gone, but I’m so happy to have him back in my arms.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, stroking my hairy arm gently.

“I’m sorry for the way I’m acting,” I say. “I don’t know how to explain it all. Neeti is trying to help, but like you said.” I pause and let some of the tears fall. “Sometimes it’s just hard.”

He turns to me and starts rubbing my chest. “I know it is,” he says. “Thanks for telling me.”