Chapter 11
Kyle
What a wanker. I can’t actually believe he dived to get a penalty in the final.
I hear the ref blow the whistle. Most of my teammates surround the ref and his assistants.
He waves them off. Our manager, who is normally cool, calm, and collected, is giving him a mouthful too.
In turn, the ref gives a yellow card to everyone surrounding him.
This elicits more boos from our supports.
I look over at the opposing team. They’re all hugging the goal scorer and patting AJ on the back.
He looks sheepish. And so, he should. He plays for a team that is worth a couple of billion, and they had to pull the dirty tactics to beat us.
I applaud our fans and head back down the tunnel and into the dressing room.
I hit the showers and then get myself ready for the ceremony by putting on the club tracksuit.
I always thought it was humiliating going up those huge steps, walking past the trophy, only to be given a shitty losers’ medal as a consolation prize.
I stare at the big, glistening silver cup.
If I had scored another goal, it would have been ours.
Next season. I want retribution on AJ and his team.
He really showed his true colors today. I built up walls to protect my heart, but I never thought I’d have to build them so high to keep AJ out.
Not again. This is why I’m better off alone.
This is why I have trust issues. And I know my brain will only let me see the bad.
I can’t help that, but if that’s all there is to see, then maybe my brain is right to keep my heart closed off.
Our coach gives us a de-brief back in the dressing room, and we all huddle up and listen to his pep talk.
He reminds us that we will still be in the best league in the world next season, that we have made the team proud, and that we will be better next season.
It’s inspiring how he can rouse us from a crushing defeat to us being excited about next season with his passion and belief in us.
“Kyle, stay back a moment, will you. I have something to discuss.”
My heart leaps into my mouth. Am I being dropped? Did I not do good enough? The day seems to be getting worse.
The rest of the players leave, and he sits beside me, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“Relax. You are spiraling again.”
I try to relax, but oddly enough, my tactic isn’t working. How can I think of that tosser after what he pulled out there? I can feel my blood heating inside my body. I want to scream and break things, but I don't. Instead, I sit and listen to Coach.
“Listen. We love you at this club. I hope you know that.”
“I do, Coach. And I love it here too.” I try to sound calm, but I know where this is going.
He’s going to get rid of me. Send me down to a league or two below for the “experience.” My brain doesn’t let me consider this won’t happen even though I was the top goal-scorer.
Sometimes, coaches will send players elsewhere on loan to see how they would fare in different environments and learn different styles of play.
Of course, that seldom happens to players who’ve had a season like me, but, hello anxiety.
“But I have some news for you. And maybe you will like it? Maybe you will not? I want to let you know first-hand, though, that I had no say in this. And I wanted you to hear this from me, before you log onto social media and see for yourself.”
Oh fuck. Oooohhh fuuuuuck. They’ve found out I’m gay. I’m ruined. The room starts to spin. I can hear Coach’s voice in the distance. I can feel him shaking my arm. I come back to him, slowly, like a log being washed up on the shore.
“Kyle, did you hear me?”
“No, sorry. Please can you repeat that?”
“Union have come in with an offer for you. ￡67 million. We cannot afford to say no. You will have a medical there tomorrow morning.”
What? And I cannot stress this enough—the fuck!? Union. My hometown club, Union. Have bought me for ￡67 million. I must be dreaming.
“Am I dreaming?” I hear myself ask.
Coach laughs. “Not at all, Kyle, listen. I know you may be in shock, but this money will help us. And I know Union is your hometown club too, so this is a happy ending for all of us. You will go down as a club legend for keeping us up, I hope you know that.” There’s that phrase again.
Of course, I know. Hell, this club saved me.
I might be painted as a stubborn arsehole, but even I know that.
“Yes, Coach. I cannot thank you enough for trusting me, and for keeping faith in me.”
He pats me on the back and leaves me to my thoughts. There’s someone I need to call.
I still can’t believe it. Tomorrow morning, I’m having a medical at my hometown club.
The famous Union! I’ve read all about it on social media.
The fans are excited at the prospect, the media are already pitting AJ and me against each other next season for the “Golden Boot”, and of course, “namebunchanumbers” is calling me a queer. Great. I try to block it out.
There’s a knock at my door, and I answer it with a smile on my face, despite who it is.
“Why do you look so happy to see me?”
Trish steps in, her peroxide blonde hair tied into a high pony this evening. I know it as her relaxed look. I’ve only ever seen it once before.
“Please, take a seat,” I say, nervous about what I’m about to ask. She looks at me skeptically.
“You are freelance, right?”
Trish nods.
“Okay, cool. Cool, cool, coooool.”
“Why? What is this about?”
“Well,” I say, taking a seat opposite her on the white leather sofa I’ll never see again. There is a god.
“How would you feel about becoming my personal diatr—”
“Don’t you dare say Dietrishan, you know our rule, Kyle.” I swear. She goes to turn her hair into a bun, and I laugh.
“Okay, fine,” I say. “Anyway, I have a medical tomorrow up north.”
“Up north? Why?” Her face is a picture of puzzlement. Her ice blue eyes stare at me.
“I’ve been sold to Union. I have a medical appointment tomorrow. And I know they’ll have a fancy team at their disposal, but I would love it if you come with me.”
Trish stands up, and for a moment, I think she’s going to hit me, but instead, she hugs me tight.
“I knew you would make it. I’m so proud of you, Kyle!”
“It’s still early days, though, I could fail my medical and that would be the end of it, but I wanted someone with me, for you know, support?
” My anxiety tries to rear its ugly head at the thought of it.
I try my best to keep it at bay with happy thoughts.
It’s a shame they’re in such sparse supply right now.
Trish makes her way over to the kitchen and starts grabbing ingredients out of the fridge.
I walk over to her and see what she’s doing, and I can’t help but laugh. She places one glass in front of me and one in front of herself, raises it, and I mimic her.
“To success,” she says.
“To success,” I echo.
And we down our smoothies in unison.
We stay up most of the night, talking and watching movies.
I try not to think about AJ and the comments on social media.
I haven’t told my parents yet, and they haven’t called me, so they obviously don’t know either.
Besides, it’s all just paper talk at the minute anyway.
Some of the outlets have said I have a medical, but they don’t know when.
I’ve always dreamed of scoring goals for Union. Dreamed of stepping out onto the hallowed pitch. And soon my dreams will hopefully become a reality.
I wake up to the smell of freshly squeezed orange juice and baked goods. I jump out of bed, put some training gear on, and head into the kitchen where I see Trish with a big smile on her face. She hands me a glass of orange goodness and a croissant.
“Good morning, sleep okay?” I ask, as I take a seat at the breakfast bar.
“No complaints. I woke up at five, went for a run, stopped off to get some oranges for the juicer, and thought I should treat us to some bakery goods.”
“I really did make the right decision hiring you, didn’t I?”
She smirks at me, “As long as you know you’re only hiring my assistance and not my—”
“ASSistance?” I helpfully interject.
“Yeah. That,” she says flatly.
A thought gnaws at the back of my mind, I bite my lip and let my truth speak, “Can I tell you something, um, something private, about me?”
Trish shifts in her seat, her eyes turn soft and takes my hand in her own. “Of course, what’s up?”
“I, um, just want you to know, you don’t have to worry about me leering at you or hiring you for the wrong reasons.
Not because you’re unattractive, smart, kind, funny…
and a brutal taskmaster, but because, well, the thing is, I’m gay.
” The words fly out, and I feel free. The rope around my neck loosens.
The doctor was right—it does feel good to tell people. Trish squeezes my shoulder.
“Oh, Kyle, thank you for trusting me and for speaking your truth.” Her eyes dart down then upward at me again.
“And if we’re telling truths, well, I think you should know, I’m gay too.
I’ve been in a relationship with my, well, she’s my fiancée now, for the past eight years.
” She pulls up a picture of her and her fiancée on her phone, “This is Mel.
We met at college and we've been together ever since.”
My smile stretches from ear to ear. “I’m so happy for you, but wait, are you not scared of the media attention and backroom staff taking jibes at you?”
“Let them try to take jibes at me. They’ll only ever do it once, as it’s extremely hard to do that with a broken jaw and missing teeth.
” Her tone is light, but her face is serious.
“And besides, I know it is much harder for you—an international football star and all, about to play for the biggest club in the world.”
I blush.
“Is there anyone that has taken my little Kyle’s heart?”
I blush harder.
“Oh, my goodness, there is, listen, you don’t have to say, but if you don’t, I will make you do one thousand burpees.”