On a Wednesday (One Week 2)
Page 49
“But I knew that wasn’t a good move because—” He shook his head. “I wasn’t ready to settle down or pursue anything serious.”
“Kyle, you barely knew me then. I know you’re trying to make a grand speech and all, but that’s still a lie.”
“You’ll remember it someday,” he said. “I’m not lying. Bottom line is, you’ve always been meant for more, Court. That’s all I was trying to say while you were in London… All I was trying to say.”
“What do you want from me now?”
“To pick up where we left off and prove that we belong together … Can you tell me if I have a chance of getting you back?”
Kyle: Now
Atlanta, Georgia
Court remained teary-eyed and speechless in my arms.
“I only wanted what was best for you,” I said, shattering the quiet again. “I didn’t want you to settle.”
“Three months after we fell apart, I lost everything, Kyle.” Her voice cracked. “I lost my scholarship, I lost my job offer at Swanson, and I lost my mother.”
I stilled. “What?”
“I wanted to call and tell you so badly,” she said. “But I thought you’d just say that I was making another excuse.”
“I wouldn’t have said that, Court.” I rubbed her back.
“Maybe,” she said. “My mom was in debt up to her eyeballs when she passed. They gave me fifteen years to pay it off, so as much as I wanted to build something of my own and live out all of those things that you made seem were so fucking easy, I couldn’t. I had to focus on paying the bills and keeping something steady. It’s never been settling. It’s survival.”
“I’m sorry, Courtney.”
“I really wanted to call you…” She cried, burying her head in my chest. “You’re the only person I ever wanted to call…”
I held her close as she cried against me, and then I bypassed team security to check her into a hotel.
Courtney: Now
Atlanta, Georgia
Present Day
* * *
In the morning, I woke up alone in a hotel room, tucked under blankets.
There was a note on my coffee table in Kyle’s stick-figure handwriting.
Left to go handle some things. I’ll call you around noon.
Breakfast is on your counter.
* * *
P.S. Please consider publishing your thesis. It’s still the greatest piece of writing I’ve ever read.
Pushing the covers off my body, I walked over to the kitchen. Picking up the silver tray cover, I saw strawberries, waffles, and a Pittsburgh salad.
Before I could pick up my fork to taste it, the suite’s doorbell rang.
I put on a jacket and walked over to check the peephole. Some guy in a suit that I didn’t recognize.
“Yes?” I opened the door just a bit.
“I’m here looking for a Miss Courtney Johnson,” he said.
“That’s me. Who are you?”
“I’m with National Bank.” He gave me a small smile. “I was told you were in town temporally, so I wanted to stop by on behalf on our company.”
“I think you have the wrong person.”
“There was a large deposit placed in your personal account this morning, and another one in the account that you’ve been using to pay your mother’s debts,” he said. “I wanted to personally drop by and let you know that you can close the latter since the amount exceeds far more than what’s needed. You can transfer the remaining balance to yourself.”
My knees went weak and I held on to the doorframe. “How much was the amount?”
“Ten million, Miss,” he said. “Ten million in each account.”
Courtney: Now
Seattle, Washington
Present Day
* * *
When I pulled out my thesis, the words still read as effortlessly as they did during my senior year.
Still, I reworked it for an entire week, and my fingers flew across the keyboard like never before.
Michael Router tried to insert his fumbled words into my document here or there, but I flagged them all.
This draft was all mine, and I knew, without a doubt, that it was my best work to date. I also knew that Kyle was more than right about me needing to move on the moment it was out in the world.
I was done playing on the sidelines.
Kyle: Now
Boston, Massachusetts
If there was ever a game when I silenced my fucking critics and left them stuttering in shock, it was Sunday’s game against the Patriots.
I caught every pass, rushed for a record breaking five hundred yards, and ran into the end zone for six straight touchdowns.
No one in the media, and no one in the locker room, talked shit about me after that.
And only one person stood outside my condo’s windows to shout hate: The seven year old girl.
Courtney: Now
Present Day
* * *
Kyle Stanton: A Four-Part Profile by Courtney Johnson and Michael Router
* * *
Sports Unlimited Scores a Touchdown with 45M Online Reads in a Single Day
* * *
10 Reasons Why ‘Courtney Johnson’ is Probably Michael Router’s Other Pen Name; Still the Most Renowned Sports Journalist of Our Time