Page 81 of Catching Kyle
I put my hand on my chest. “So if I was hired, I could lead some of these book clubs?”
“Potentially yes,” she says. “We’d have to go through the interview process with the store owner just to make sure, but we know you well at this point. I think you’d be a shoo-in.”
I stand there, my hand on my chest, and a smile forms on my face.
For years, I’ve been searching for a bookish and writing community to call my own. I’ve started building that from the first day I walked into Ruckers. I met other readers, received inspiration, met Skye, got Amani back to writing, met Josue. And of course, I can’t forget this is how I met Kyle.
“I’m super down,” I say. “What do I need to do?”
“I’ll email you with some dates and times to come in for an interview,” she says. “After that, we’d be able to get you started quickly.”
I exhale, relaxing my shoulders. I didn’t realize how stressed being unemployed made me. I had some savings to live off of, but that wasn’t going to last long. Sure, I could rely on Kyle, but I want to provide for myself. But now it seems like the universe has been looking out for me the whole time.
“Wonderful,” I say. We exchange contact information, and my heart is bright and happy. I can’t wait to share the good news with Kyle. I have a job!
I pull out my phone to text him that I’m on my way and that I have some very good news to share. But there’s a text from Amani on my screen.
“Hey,” it reads. “I don’t know if Kyle told you, but he met with a reporter who interviewed him about his football career. You might want to look at this.”
My stomach plumets, turning my excitement over my potential new job into flutters of fear. Kyle did not tell me about any such reporter.
I click on the link, and it leads me to an ESB article written by a Robyn Carter. At the top is a picture of Kyle and Amani with their arms around each other. My breath quickens, and I have to remember that this whole couple situation is fake—that in fact it was me who initially set up the idea. But it still makes me uneasy to see Kyle with someone else. Even if this someone else is my best friend pretending to be his girlfriend.
I step to a lonely corner of the bookstore and quickly read through the article. She discusses her aim to interview longstanding Tigers players to paint a portrait of the time over time—to trace their journey to (hopefully) winning the Championship Game next year. She brings up various facts about Kyle that I knew before I even knew him: his philanthropic efforts, where he went to school. But toward the bottom is where it gets interesting.
She starts the paragraph about his upbringing with a caveat that not everything is as it seems, then goes into describing his home life. And my jaw drops.
Kyle’s father was… kind of a dick. She puts it nicely here, but I can pick up that he was a distant man, one who put his career over his family. It was only on his deathbed that he started reevaluating his priorities.
And this is where Kyle comes in, telling Robyn things I’ve never even known.
To win his father’s approval, he tried to be the best player he could be. I mean, how else were you supposed to get the attention of a career-obsessed football coach? And she’s a little less clear here, but I can tell that even this didn’t win him the full affection of his father. It wasn’t until his deathbed when everything came to a head.
Before Coach Brian Weaver died, he asked his son to make him a promise: to carry on his legacy. And we all know what that means: posterity, children, grandchildren.
My heart picks up speed as I read on. Did Kyle finish the story by coming out to this reporter?
But when I read his response, my chest folds in on itself.
Kyle said that after all these years, he’s just been looking for the right one. And that person is Amani.
The rest of the article just talks about her thoughts on the subject and who she plans to interview next, but I don’t read any of that. I just think about how I was right: there was so much more about the promise to his father than I thought.
And Kyle told me none of it.
“Uh oh,” Skye says, approaching me.
“You got that look again.”
“I need to go see Kyle,” I say. “Right now.”
“What’s wrong?” she asks. “Is he okay?”
I show her the article on my phone.
“So he interviewed with a reporter,” she says. “What’s the big deal?”
“Read the bottom.”
