Chapter 39
AJ
There must be a thousand pairs of eyes staring at us. Kyle is sitting next to me, with our managers on either side.
The room is silent and in the quiet I look over at Kyle. His winner’s medal around his neck and a ghost of a smile on his lips. I take a deep breath.
“Thank you all for coming here,” I say, and this gets a small laugh.
“I wanted to clear something up. Something that has been bugging me for a while. Before I do that, however, I want to extend a congratulatory hand to Kyle and his Union teammates. It was a great game and I look forward to our next battle.”
There’s a small smattering of clapping, and I steal a glance at Kyle who has that same look on his face.
My hands are sweating, the lights are hot on my face, but I push through.
“Okay, now onto why I’ve called this press conference.
I know it’s late, and I know you all want to go home, but let me assure you.
In this room now you are about to witness history.
And that’s not me using hyperbole or me using any fancy buzzwords.
Months ago a photo circulated in the press.
A photo that I’m sure all of you shared and passed judgment on.
You all assumed it was me being antagonistic to Kyle.
Not one of you thought it could be any different. ”
There’s a creak in a chair from someone shuffling to get closer. A few camera snaps and more camera lights illuminate red. I don’t dare look at Kyle this time, instead I take another deep breath.
“You see, in reality, hurting Kyle is the last thing I would ever do. Because…because, I am in love with him.”
Silence. My words seem to have cast a spell over the whole room, and then everything pulls back into focus. Cameras snap, hands raise up, and questions are hurled at me. At Kyle. At my gaffer and his manager. I raise my own hand, and the room quietens somewhat.
“The floor is now open for questions. Please take it one at a time,” I hear myself say. The mediator points to a guy in a sports jacket and glasses. “Did you say you are in love with Kyle?”
“I did, yes.”
“Is he in love with you?”
The room falls silent again, all eyes are now on Kyle, and I know the answer—at least I hope I do—but I’m still looking at him, waiting for him to confirm it.
“I am, yes,” he says, to my relief.
More hands shoot up.
“Did you throw the game for love?” another guy asks.
“I left it all on the line out there. Like I do every time I pull on the shirt. No matter who I’m against.”
This is going strangely well, I think to myself.
“Are you aware how damaging this whole thing is between you two. We don’t want kids to grow up looking at you both and thinking this is in any way right.”
There it is. I was wondering when the homophobes would show up.
“I think it’s narrow-minded of you to think that.
I think, if anything, it allows people like us at home to dream bigger.
It’s a message to everyone that no matter your sexuality, you can be the best footballers in the world.
You can achieve your dreams. You can look homophobes in the eyes and smile because you are happy and healthy.
” Kyle says, and smirks at the guy in the second row with the white shirt and pencil mustache.
“You can’t seriously think this is okay? How will we know that you’re truly giving it your all? How will players be safe in the locker room and on the pitch, knowing you’re both leering at them?” asks another guy. He’s well fed and literally struggling for air after that little rant.
“I’ll take this one, Ky,” I say with a smile.
“Have you not seen the season we have had? We did that while the press were sniping at us over something they made up. Imagine what we can do when we’re out in the open and playing with freedom.
Tell me. In a few weeks we are at the World Cup.
I'm sure you’ll cheer us on like you do on a weekly basis. Nothing about us has changed at all.”
Kyle
He’s handling this well. I give his leg a squeeze under the table to try and anchor myself to him.
“You’re disgusting!” someone shouts. I watch as they stand up, struggle to throw their chair, and then storm out.
This is turning ugly. I don’t like anything about this.
“You are corrupting the minds of our children with your woke nonsense. This has to stop. I think I speak for everyone here when I say we want you both kicked out of the league, and we want you to hand your money over to charity.”
“Enough!” roars a voice from the baying mob.
The figure shuffles forward, and my jaw drops.
It’s my dad.
“These two young men ’ave given ’yer everything.
Even when ’yer tried to turn ’yer back on ’em.
A few weeks ago, my son—my very talented and all-around amazing son, Kyle—came out to me.
I told him to get out. Told him I never wanted to see ’im again.
Do you know what he told me? He told me he will still love me. ”
He stands up on the stage, grabs my hand, and I see the tears in his eyes. They’re matching my own. “Son, I am so sorry. I hope ’yer can forgive me.” I smile at him and grip his hand tightly before letting go.
He turns back to the media and continues, “That is the difference between ’im and ’yer lot.
Kyle, and I’m sure AJ too, gives their all.
Leave it all on the line. They don’t care what ’yer write about them in the papers.
What you say about them on TV. All they care about is making ’yer ’appy.
I think I speak for everyone when I say they've done that.”
“You cannot expect anyone to be on board with this. It’s against …it’s against everything.” one woman shouts back.
My dad smiles at the woman, and my heart sinks. Is this a bait and switch? Has he been leading us on, pretending? I can’t cope. I’ve only just got my dad back.
“Follow me,” he says.
We all look at each other. My dad doesn’t wait for anyone, he strides out the media room, and I grab AJ’s hand and follow him, with a trail of people behind us.
“Where are you going, Dad?” I call after him. For an older guy, he can shift. We follow him around corridors and winding hallways until we are outside the stadium.
There must be thousands of people, and in the center of them is my mum with a banner that reads:
Congratulations Kyle and AJ! History Beckons! We are all with you!
The sign is adorned with rainbows and footballs.
The crowd catch sight of us, and they scream with delight.
They run over to us, phones in hand and take snaps of us to put on social media.
I can feel my phone lighting up in my pocket.
I manage to break free from the crowd, AJ’s hand still in my own, and make my way to Mum.
“What is all this?” I ask.
“Support,” she says with tears in her eyes.
“Th-thank you,” AJ says in a shaky breath.
“Don’t thank me, it was all Kyle’s father. Once I got through to ’im, he became determined to make things right. He even went on social media to read all sorts of stories.”
“I wanted to be on the right side of ’istory,” Dad says from my side. I hug him tightly and leave tear streaks on his shoulder.
“Kyle! AJ! Kyle! AJ!” the gathered crowd chant.
Somehow, there’s even more now. They take pictures of us, tell us how brave we are.
Some are going “live” on Insta, and I pop into frame and smile.
I pull AJ into the shot and kiss him on the lips.
The surrounding crowd cheers in delight, and my heart soars.
He kisses me back, and there’s more cheers.
We hold each other, surrounded by love and support. My anchor. My boyfriend. My soulmate. He holds me tight, and I know with him by my side we can achieve anything.
“Ready to change the world, together?” I whisper in his ear.
His big brown eyes look into mine, and he pulls me into a deep and searing kiss.
“I can’t wait.”