Page 45 of Catching Kyle
Chapter 18
Kyle Weaver
Bythetimethesun shines through the cloudy sky, I’m splayed out on the turf of the Tigers’ practice arena, panting like a dog. Ever since Saturday, I’ve been coming here at the crack of dawn to calm my mind. The only time I’ve felt peace lately is when I’m working out or sleeping. And I’ve been sleeping hardly at all.
I rise to my knees, and then my vision swirls. I let myself collapse back onto the turf again—I’m too tired to keep going. It starts to rain outside, and there’s a nice little patter on the roof of the metal complex.
At the time, I was annoyed that Michael rejected my advances. But now I couldn’t be more grateful. Because I’m confused as hell.
I admitted I was gay after I was idiotic enough to leak that I watched Michael’s porn. But that didn’t solve problems like I thought. It only created a bunch more. What do I do now that what everyone is saying about me is true? That I am gay? And if management finds out, they definitely won’t re-sign me. I still want to win the Championship Game. It’s what I promised Dad, and my heartburn—anxiety? I don’t know—goes crazy when I imagine ending my career so I can be someone he’d disapprove of.
I wish there was someone I could talk to, but who? Ezekiel said he wouldn’t care, but admitting to a fellow teammate that I’m gay feels like shouting it to the world, no matter how close we are. Somebody will find out. I can’t talk to Michael about it. I’d be too tempted to get between his legs, and that’d onlymake things worse. Ma maybe? She would accept me, but admitting it to her means I couldn’t take it back. I need somebody to talk to where there would be no consequences.
My eyelids grow heavier as the rain gets stronger. For the first time in the last couple days, I actually feel sleepy.
I look around for something to cover myself. There’s a pile of rope nearby. I reach for it and pull the entire coil over my body. It doesn’t do much to warm me, but the weight pressing down on me relieves my aching chest. And soon, I’m fast asleep.
I wake to the sound of my phone ringing on full blast. The sun is out, and I hear someone nearby in the locker rooms.
I throw the ropes off me and crawl over to my phone, nearly faceplanting when I trip over them. My back aches from sleeping on the hard floor, but I won’t complain. At least I slept. I reach my phone, and I check the caller ID. For a moment I’m hoping it’s Michael. But my stomach sinks when I see the name clearly.
Timmy.
“Hello?” I say, plopping down on the turf. By now, Ezekiel and a couple other guys have entered the gym. They wave, and I wave back.
“Kyle,” he says.
“Yep, that’s me,” I say, wiping my eyes. I check the time. I clonked out for a good three hours.
“A while back, I told management how you’re dating this girl.”
I’m silent. I don’t want to ask ‘who’, but for the life of me I can’t remember what I told him.
“The writer girl,” he says.
My heart starts to race. “Ah, yes,” I say, thankfully remembering. I basically described Michael to him but as a woman, and he ate it right up.
“What’s the status there? They want to know.”
I sit up straighter. “Oh, we’ll it’s going really well,” I say, wanting to sound as convincing as possible. “I’ve been helping her with her work, too. She’s really improving.”
He sighs through the phone. “Good,” he says gruffly. “Have that picture for me?”
The two protein shakes I downed this morning curdle in my stomach. “Right, the picture.”
“What?” he asks, his impatience clear. “You know you need evidence of a girlfriend before signing day. If you want to play another year at least.”
Signing day. Only two months away. But I have no pictures of this ‘girl’. All I have is a confession hanging on the tip of my tongue and the fiery lust for a certain redhead.
“She’s… private,” I say. “And we actually don’t have any pictures.”
“Kyle…” he says, annoyed. “You know how this looks. Now it just sounds like you’re lying to me.”
“Timmy, I swear it. I’m not lying.”
There’s a silence, and I can picture him rubbing his shiny forehead. “Then what are we supposed to do here? I need something to show your bosses. Or I doubt they’d even consider re-signing you.”
I’m rubbing the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache come on. I’ve had one every day for the past week. I can’t do this alone. I need someone to talk to. Support.
