Page 52 of Catching Kyle (Football Heartthrobs #1)
Kyle Weaver
“You’re gonna be fine, man,” Ezekiel says to me. “We got the plan in place. You’re not alone.” He and two other guys around him nod.
He and I sit at a table on the far side of a large conference room along with several other Tigers players.
On the other side, one of the wide receivers for the Vanguards is being interviewed.
It’s media day, the Monday before the Championship Game.
Last year, I nearly outed myself to the whole American public.
And this year, I’m fixing to do something even more insane.
“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 will come 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.”
And with that, I stand up and make my way back to my table of friends. Some reporters peel off to ask me more questions, and Timmy is struggling to break through them so he can reprimand me personally. When he finally does, he grabs my arm.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Undoing all the work I’ve done for you?”
I look down at him. My heart is racing wildly, and a year ago I would have thought I was insane for carrying out this plan.
But Neeti has been teaching me that the best way to live is to make my beliefs, thoughts, and actions all align.
And regardless of what my dad wanted from me, this is what he was really teaching me. So it’s what I’m doing.
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” I say. “And by the way, now that the season’s pretty much over, I don’t need you anymore. You’re fired.”
He scoffs and drops his jaw as reporters surround us, hurling questions at us. “I do all this work and you’re just throwing me away?”
I sigh through my nose, almost laughing, as I shake my head. “You’ve been more stress than your worth, Timmy. Have a good life. ”
And then I walk away, his jaw still agape as reporters swarm him. A life of retirement without Timmy awaits.
As I pass the table of my fellow players, most of them cheer, and Ezekiel holds up a thumbs up. “We’re here with you, Kyle,” he says.
I lift my hand to him, and one reporter makes her way to me. “Kyle, what are your plans now that you don’t have an agent?” she asks.
I stop to answer her question. “I’m doing just what my daddy wanted of me,” I say. “I’m living a life of integrity.”
By the time I make it to my car, I’m taking deep breaths to slow my heartrate.
I know I made the right decision, and everything is going according to plan, but I’m still anxious as hell for what I did.
I realize I need more than some breath exercises, so I pull out my phone.
Neeti gave me her number to call during this stressful time, so I think I’ll utilize her.
But then I see a text on my screen, and when I see who it’s from, my knees go weak just like they did when I first saw him on my doorstep.
“Hey,” Michael says. “I’d like to talk.”