Chapter 17
Kyle
I didn’t intend to do the celebration, but I had to show him how I felt.
I had to let him know that diving is only for goalkeepers—and now, sassy celebrations.
The crowd goes wild, and as it turns out, it’s also the winning goal.
We have finally beaten City at our home for the first time in almost ten years.
I’m jumped on by my teammates, serenaded by our fans, and now the media are hankering for a word. Fuck. I take a deep breath.
“Kyle Thurston, how does it feel to win the biggest derby match in England on your first try?”
“I’m happy the team played well.” That’s it, stay neutral, give them nothing.
“That means you’re now the leading goal scorer, one ahead of your childhood best friend, AJ. Was that celebration, a cheeky nod to him for last season?”
Fuck.
“People can interpret it whichever way they want. I’m here to score goals for the best club in the world.”
“You have certainly made an impact, that’s for sure. And speaking of impact, what do you make of the rumors there is a footballer who identifies as gay, playing in the English league?”
Fuck. What the fuck is this? I listen to my heartbeat rise. I look into the cameras and the expectant faces of the media. In the distance, I can hear my teammates still having fun with the crowd.
“I don’t think it matters in all honesty. Why would it?”
“Thank you, Kyle. You are today’s Player of the Match, enjoy.”
I give them all a tight-lipped smile and head off down the tunnel, my heart racing. Half-way down, I stumble against the side, clutching my chest. Fuck. Not now. I regulate my breathing before I feel a large hand on my back. I inhale his scent. AJ. Fuck.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his face concerned.
“I’m fine,” I say. He’s the last person I want to talk to.
“You look it too. Here, let me help you.”
He tries to maneuver his larger body so I can use him as a walking aid, but I shrug him off.
“I said I’m fine.” I head off down the tunnel and don’t look back. I know if I do, I’d crumble into his arms. And I know there’d be cameras watching. And I know what story they’d run on every front and back page for the next six months. And I know my heart couldn’t handle that.
Doom Scrolling. That’s what they call it.
I’ve spent the last forty-eight hours deep diving the internet, finding every piece of bad news stories written about me.
And for a semi successful twenty-year-old footballer, there’s a lot.
And sure, I know some of it might boil down to jealousy, but some of it is spite.
And I know that. And yet, I keep looking.
Kyle Thurston, 20, footballer, doesn’t think gay people matter.
Is Kyle Thurston, 20, the FIRST EVER OUT GAY footballer? Read on to find out!
Kyle Thurston, footballer, mocks injury of former best friend in wild and exuberant match winning celebration.
Kyle Thurston and his humble upbringing. Where did it all go wrong?
Click bait articles are so stupid, but some of them are in actual printed newspapers. Trish has told me to stop reading them. But I can’t. It’s like picking a scab and watching it bleed over and over.
There’s one headline that is worst of all, and I pray to anyone who will listen, that AJ hasn’t read it. I have no idea where they got the idea from either.
Kyle Thurston, 20, has no respect for fellow footballer AJ, also 20.
One source tells us that Kyle doesn’t respect AJ due to having a privileged background and buying his way into the most successful English club.
Some say Kyle has said this to deflect the rumors that he is the closeted footballer.
Some sources say they have proof, as Kyle has been seen on ‘dates’ and ‘hookups’ with gentlemen, often meeting them in the early hours of the morning.
‘AJ is always being pictured with beautiful women, and he plays for the more successful team, so it’s no wonder Kyle is trying to yank some of his spotlight,’ says a source close to the situation.
Who the hell is the source? I’d love to meet this fictional character. I know full well how much AJ has worked, and for him to think that I said these horrible things about him, it crushes me. Sure, I think he’s a cheater, but I know he has skill.
And I haven’t even gotten to the panic inducing parts in that story, where someone claims to have footage of me in a late night sexcapade.
I know this isn’t true, as the only company I’ve kept is my left hand and my toys.
And I make sure to keep the curtains closed.
Fuck. I think about shooting AJ a text, but my head can’t deal with that right now.
I can hear Trish down in the kitchen, and I can smell what she’s cooking. My stomach grumbles in worry. Her last batch of experiments went right through me like an express train.
I’m sitting in the living room with Trish.
Our eyes glued to the TV. The England captain is talking, and he’s about to reveal his team selection for the final qualification stages of the Global Cup.
Coach thinks I’ve done well enough to earn a call-up, but this England coach has his favorites.
He likes to rely on the old heads, the ones who won the European Championship, and I get it, but there isn’t a player under twenty-seven right now—and that’s young, I get it, but the average age is also thirty-three, which, in footballers’ terms, is ancient.
He’s going from back to front: goalkeepers, defenders, and midfielders.
“And onto the strikers. I would like to give call-ups to…”
I hold my breath.
“Aaron Johnson.”
“What the fuck?” Trish shouts at the TV.
“And Kyle Thurston.”
“Fuck,” I say, because that’s all I can say at this moment in time.
Trish raises her eyebrows and says, “Will you?”
I throw a stupidly expensive throw pillow at her, and it hits her in the face. She launches it right back at me, hard enough to draw tears in my eyes.
“It’s all coming true. You’re going to be roommates and you’re going to get it oooon!” She gyrates her hips in the least sexy way hips have every been gyrated.
“Why are we going to be roommates?” I ask, entertaining her crazy thoughts…and my worst nightmare.
“Because you’re the only new ones on the squad. Everyone else knows each other. You’re the youngest. You grew up together. Need I go on?”
“No.”
“This is brilliant,” she says, at the same time I’m saying it’s the worst. And it really is—for so many reasons. This is the stuff I’d dreamed of, to play for England with my best friend. But he’s my literal enemy now. A small part of me wants to reach out to him. But I can’t.