Chapter 24
Kyle
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I pivot around to see where the intruder is hiding.
It’s incredible how fast you can sober up once your privacy has been invaded.
“We’re going to have to head back to the hotel our separate ways,” I tell him, knowing once again I’ve hurt him. He’s the last person I want to hurt, but the one who’s heart I puncture the most. I can see it in his face. But I cannot put my family in danger…or him.
The trudge back to the hotel feels like the longest walk I’ve ever taken.
I’ve run through every single scenario in my head and none of them have a positive outcome.
I swipe my card on the door and enter the room.
My heart hitches when I see AJ on the bed, looking forlorn.
I don’t speak. I’ve hurt him enough with my words.
Instead, I head straight into the shower.
The drive home is lonely. With only my thoughts for company, it’s hell. The walls feel like they’re closing in again. My carefully built walls are under siege from all sides, and I don’t know how to cope. I focus on the road and the drab motorway scenery.
Four hours. Four. Trapped in my own head, it seems longer, and my brain makes me feel like I deserve all of this. I’m greeted at the front door by a frantic Trish.
“Get up to much fun?” she asks, and my heart sinks. The devil moves, fast but the media moves quicker.
“I can explain,” I lie. How on earth can I explain this?
“Well, you better get your story straight—and quick.” Trish thrusts her phone into my hands, and I see us. Kyle and me, mere inches apart. His hand gripping my shirt. Two lovers. Two protégé footballers about to kiss under a streetlight.
“How did they even know to contact you?” I ask. Why I chose to focus on this part of the equation, I have no idea.
“Contact me? It’s all over social media.”
Fucking social media.
I sit down on the floor and curl up into a ball. Fuck. Fuuuuck!
“We need to get ahead of this.” I look up to see Trish in an ‘all-business bun.’ She is incredible in a crisis—already springing to action. What am I doing? Panicking. Closing myself off to the world.
“Ahead of it? Like, come out to the media?” My heart is racing. The air feels thin. I stand up and stumble over to the sofa.
“No. Well, maybe? Listen. How do you feel about him?” She’s pacing the room. Watching her makes me feel dizzy.
I don’t have time for this. My throat feels tight. I can’t catch my breath.
“Kyle? Kyle? Are you okay? Talk to me.”
The world fades to black.
I wake up in a familiar room. Not my room, but I’ve been here before. I sit up and see flowers on the side table. Trish is sitting on the chair by my bed.
“You’re awake!” she says, looking and sounding relieved.
“And you’re here. I’m here. Sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about, but you maybe should tell me what happened, so I can better help you if it happens again?”
“Sorry,” I say again, because what else is there to say? I drag people into my hell and expect them to fix my mess.
Trish stands up from the chair and strokes my hair, then digs me in the arm with a sharp jab. “Stop saying sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about. I just want to understand so I can help you.”
“Back so soon?” says the familiar nurse. Her voice brings a smile to my face and tears to my eyes. I have no idea why I’m feeling emotional. Perhaps I’m homesick.
“Couldn’t stay away. The food and the service here are—” I look at my tray of food on the side table: a nondescript yoghurt, what I hope is orange juice and not a urine sample in a plastic cup, and some biscuits, “--optimal.”
“Optimal, huh? Well, we didn’t quite realize we had an international superstar in our midst. Next time you’re here, I’ll be sure to crack open the good stuff.” She smiles, and it lights up the whole room.
She writes some stuff on my clipboard and then leaves. I turn to see Trish still staring at me.
“Fine,” I say to her and sit up into a more comfortable position in bed.
“Sometimes, when I get overwhelmed, I have panic attacks. I had one before, and AJ helped me. The nurse who was just in here helped me last time. She told me if I feel one coming on to think of something happy and hold onto it.”
“Who else knows about them?”
“You, AJ, and my parents, and I’d like to keep it that way. I have enough going on right now without the world knowing even more about me.”
“I’ve got you, don’t worry. Want me to call AJ?”
“It’s fine, I’ll text him soon. We’re not a couple, you know.”
Trish gives me a look that says she isn’t buying it. “Oh, so you’re casually sleeping with the second hottest player in the league?”
“Second?”
“Well, you’re not dating yourself, are you?”
I blush. “You don’t have to be kind. I can take care of myself.”
“Of course, you can. I’m just here for when you can’t.”
I give her a smile; that could be one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.
I don’t know why people are always nice.
I have tried to build my walls so people can’t get in, but they keep finding a way.
And then I remember the reason for the panic attack.
The photo. Social media. My football career. Will it be over now?
An hour or so later, we’re back home. Trish is already in the kitchen making the best protein shake in the world—her words, not mine—and I’m on the sofa doing something I shouldn’t…scrolling on social media.
AlphaBro69: Fighting in the England camp? What next? Gays playing for England? Disgrace!
Chuck5893411234: Kick them both out. Young lads should not be fighting in their position!
Kylessmile: Guys…I don’t think they’re fighting ????
StephanRoberts: Get rid of them. Can’t be acting like that. Kids look up to them.
Vae’s Baes: …Looks fruity to me. I’m going to start watching Football. Where are the romance writers at? New Plot just dropped!
The more I look, the more the support grows, but yet, my eyes are always pulled back to the negative trolls. The engagement farmers. A few podcasts have sprung up from what I can only assume are parents' basements.
I sent a text to AJ when I got home and told him I needed to think of him extra hard. Thankfully, he knew what I meant right away and asked if I needed him to come over. I hope he didn’t feel rejected when I told him Trish has a handle on things. I hope he has someone to look after him too.
After the protein shake, which, in fact, was very good, I have a nap on the sofa. I wake up at 9:00 pm and see Trish glued to the TV.
“Never took you for a fan of this show,” I say, making her jump.
“It was on and didn’t want to change the channel.”
“You are such a liar, just admit you like it,” I say, propping myself up on the sofa.
“I don’t, though. It’s rubbish.”
“You say that, but you’re watching season ten. So you must have watched the other seasons too.”
Trish looks at me, knows I’m not backing down and says, “Fine. I like Drag Race.”
“Finally, we have something else in common. I need to know your favorites from every season you have watched.”
“God, when did you get so chatty? Is this AJ’s doing? I’m going to have words with him when I see him.”
I launch a pillow at her, but she ducks and from out of nowhere, she launches one back, hitting me in the jaw. We fall back laughing.
For the rest of the evening, I forget about the outside world and live in the moment with Trish. We watch Drag Race together, eat food we're not supposed to—which I’m told I’ll be working off tomorrow—but that’s okay. Then we fall asleep on the sofa, blankets around us and smiles on our faces.