Chapter 32 #3
Seventy-nine minutes go by, and they almost score again.
Whitney manages to get a huge hand on the shot and parries it out for a corner.
I make my way back to help with defensive duties.
It’s probably not wise of me to stand on the back line—considering how short I am—but fuck it.
I know I can jump. The ball comes in from the left.
Their striker rises higher than our defenders.
He gets his head to the ball cleanly. I watch in horror as our keeper is rooted to the spot, thanks in part, due to being trapped by two of their players.
I watch the trajectory of the ball. Time stands still.
It’s moving fast. I adjust my body just in time and rise up to meet the ball.
I chest it down and launch it upfield and give chase to it.
I’m confident no one can catch me for speed, and I’m right.
They have overloaded the attack and left them with no defenders.
It’s just me and their keeper again. This time he rushes out again, but I am quick enough to take it around him.
Taking no chances—despite the open net—I smash the ball home.
Elation.
Our fans are throwing their limbs in the air and screaming my name. Before I know it, I’m hoisted in the air by my teammates. I let them. Hell, I need this as much as them. I even crack a small smile.
The game ends 3–2 in a nail-biting finish.
I’m grabbed after the game by the media once more, and this time, I don’t mind talking to them.
“Kyle, you keep getting better and better. Can you sum up your performance today?”
“It was a team performance. I wouldn't have been able to do what I did without them.”
“You not only scored a hat trick, but from your goal line stop, you did a gut busting run and scored the winning goal. Tell me, how does it feel to be in the final?”
“Magic,” I say, and dare to flash another smile.
I want to know who I’m in the final against, but I can’t ask that.
“Is this your best performance of your career? It has to be, right?”
“I try to improve every game, but yes, I think this one is certainly up there.”
“You will have to be at your best in the final as you face your rivals—City and your friend AJ!”
Bittersweet emotions swim in my chest.
“We’ll give them a good game. That’s a promise to our fans who have stuck by us.”
“There is no surprise that you are the player of the match, here you go,” he says, handing me a now familiar looking trophy and some bubbly.
I head back to the dressing room and open up social media.
GusThatGuy5674: Kyle Scores. AJ scores. I wonder who scores first in the sheets. They’re totally gay for each other
TheChange900000234: Ever since AJ has changed his hair, he can’t stop scoring. I wish he’d stop painting his nails though. I can’t cheer on a queer. It’s not right.
Kylessmile: WOW! Kyle is on fire AND he smiled TWICE! My heart melts!
Okay, so somewhat more positive, for me at least. My blood boils about what they’re saying about AJ. I shoot him a text.
Kyle
Only two goals! That means I’m beating you in both leagues now! ??
AJ ??
Wow! You’re on your phone in the locker room. That must mean everyone else is in the showers and you don’t want to be in there when they are.
Kyle
Cute observation. One that you should know about since I’ve done it for as long as I’ve known you—years! And nice way to dodge the stat.
AJ ??
I’ll beat you in the final and in the sheets tomorrow, I’ll clap your cheeks, don’t worry. ??
Kyle
I hope that’s a promise you can keep! ??
AJ ??
I guarantee it. ??
Kyle
Good!
I put my phone away because it’s not a good look to be sporting a boner in the locker room.
“Great shift out there,” my manager says, clapping me on the back. Instantly shrinking my erection.
“Thanks,” I say, trying to look like I didn’t just have a rock on.
“Think you can handle the responsibility of the final?” he says, giving me a smile.
“Of course.”
“Good, that’s what I like to hear.”
He stands up to leave and then says, “Oh, and before you go, a quick word in my office.”
Oh fuck.
I quickly get changed after my solitary shower, and head into the make-shift manager’s office which is a glorified shoebox.
“Yes, sir?” I say, knocking and entering.
“Take a seat, Kyle.” I do as he asks, trying to steady my heartbeat.
“Henrick Muller reached out to me the other day. About AJ.”
Fuck.
“And you.”
Double fuck.
“Okay,” I say, trying to sound as okay as I possibly can, despite, in fact, not feeling okay at all.
“I support you. Both of you. It’s not right that AJ’s hand is being forced—and in turn yours—but you are family here, and we look after our own.
I have also spoken with AJ’s coach, and we have agreed that when the time is right, we’ll send out a joint statement in support of you both.
We need to show the world that, rivalries aside, you are both human.
You are both consenting adults. And you both deserve happiness. ”
I’m speechless.
I mutter a form of thank you and head out the door in a daze.
This is all going too well. I’m waiting for the fall. Waiting for the wall to stop me in my tracks. Waiting for the world to show its teeth and bite us on the ass, and not let us go until we are a bloodied carcass.