On a Wednesday by Whitney G.
Kyle: Now
Present Day
New York City
“Is that Kyle Stanton from the New England Falcons?” “Why is he on this plane?” “You think he’ll give me his autograph?”
I ignored the hushed whispers behind me as I sat on a first-class flight to New York City. I didn’t want to take a commercial flight, but since Taylor was still refusing to charter a private one for me, I had no choice.
I needed to talk to Grayson ASAP, needed him to tell me that I wasn’t in the middle of losing my fucking mind.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Courtney, couldn’t stop replaying the frame of her agreeing to marry a man who wasn’t me.
The look in her eyes when he got down on one knee spoke volumes. It was part surprise, part fear, and something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but it wasn’t love.
It couldn’t be love.
I knew that I’d fucked up by letting our friendship lapse into nothingness, but my feelings for her never stalled or stagnated.
Even though we tore each other apart with our words, I still longed for the day when we could make up.
“Mr. Stanton?” A flight attendant stepped next to me in the aisle. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Water, please.”
“Would you mind signing a few autographs for your fans?” she asked.
I knew that I should say no, to stop a media firestorm ahead of time, but when I looked over my shoulder, I saw tons of passengers snapping pictures with their cell phones anyway.
“Tell them I’d be happy to do it a half hour before landing,” I said. “I’d like to spend the majority of this flight alone, if that’s all right.”
“As you wish, sir.”
She pulled the curtain shut behind me, and I leaned back in my seat.
There’s no way Courtney loves him …
Bypassing baggage claim, I hailed the first cab that pulled up and demanded that he take me to Grayson’s condo on Park Avenue.
The moment I stepped out, the doorman escorted me through the private entrance and onto the elevator.
When I made it to the top level, I rang the doorbell.
No answer.
I rang it again.
Right as I was making another attempt, Grayson opened the door.
“Kyle?”
“Hey.” I tried to smile. “You got a minute for an old friend?”
“Always. Is everything okay?”
“Of course, it is.” I shrugged. “I can show up and see you whenever I want, right?”
“Three o’clock in the morning isn’t exactly conversation hour.”
“I came here to see my godson,” I said, pushing past him since he was taking too long to invite me inside. “I need to give him some emergency advice when it comes to women.”
“He’s two months old, Kyle.”
“The earlier he hears this, the better.”
His wife, Charlotte, stepped into the living room wearing a bright bathrobe. She was holding their son against her chest, looking like she hadn’t slept in days.
As if she’d been expecting someone to help, she walked over to me and handed him over.
“Good seeing you again, Kyle.” She yawned. “Grayson, I need you to let me sleep for the next three hours.”
“Noted.” He kissed her cheek, and she walked away.
I stared at the baby—his eyes the exact shade of blue as Grayson’s. “Whoa. He’s like a mini replica of you—down to the dimples and everything. This is fucking crazy.”
“Don’t curse around the baby, Kyle!” Charlotte called out before shutting her bedroom door.
Grayson laughed and picked up a blanket. “Why are you really here?”
“Courtney Johnson is getting married.”
“Okay.” He blinked. “And?”
“There is no ‘and.’ She’s getting married. Don’t you remember who she is?”
“No.” He sat on his sofa. “Not really. Would you like me to go in with you on a big wedding gift for her or something?”
“She’s supposed to marry me, Grayson. Not anyone else.”
“What?” His eyes widened.
“Do you remember when I told you about the girl I started hanging with during our senior year?”
“Kyle, you used to tell me about tons of girls. I stopped keeping tabs after sophomore year.”
“It was always the same girl senior year,” I said. “I just never admitted it. It was me and Courtney every single time.”
“Right.” He rolled his eyes. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”
“I never drink during the playoffs.”
“Are you high then?” He laughed. “If you were spending so much time with one girl, why am I just now hearing about it?”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t believe me, and I knew you’d laugh just like you’re laughing right now.” I noticed the baby laughing, too. “Besides, I gave you so much shit about being monogamous with Charlotte back then, that I didn’t want you thinking that I was a hypocrite.”
“You’ve always been a hypocrite, Kyle. You’re just the last to know.”
“Do you think I can convince her to marry me and not the other guy, even though we haven’t spoken in a long time?”
“Of course.”
“Do you really think that, or are you just saying that?”
“I’m just saying that.” He smiled. “As your best friend, my job is to feed you false hope whenever you ask for it.”
“Fuck you, Grayson.”
“Kyle!” His wife called out from the bedroom. “Stop cursing!”
“Okay, wait a minute.” Grayson tapped his chin. “Let’s pretend you did tell me about her. Why is she relevant all of a sudden?”
“You know how in that movie, The Notebook, Noah never stopped pining for Allie? Like, he actually waited for her to write back?”
“Why do you know the names of the characters, Kyle?”
“Or how in When Harry Met Sally, they were friends for all that time without realizing they belonged together?”
“I’m getting really concerned now.” He raised his eyebrow. “You’ve always hated romance movies.”
“I’m serious, Grayson.” I looked at him. “I loved her—still do…I wanted her to be with me. I never thought that she would ever have the audacity to move on with someone else before talking to me again.”
“The audacity?”
“It’s a long story, but we made a pact before we graduated … She could’ve at least sent a text saying she was serious about this guy, even though I don’t think she is. Something was off in her eyes at the engagement party.”
“Why were you at her engagement party?”
“I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time.”
“Jesus, Kyle.” He let out a breath and motioned for me to hand over the baby. Then he leaned back against the cushions.
“Is this the part where you’re about to give me some advice?” I asked.
“You didn’t come here for advice,” he said. “You want me to tell you that whatever you have planned to get her back isn’t stupid and reckless.”
“Is it?”
“You haven’t told me what it is yet, but from the look in your eyes, I don’t think I want to know.”
“You don’t.”
“On a scale of slight explosion to hydrogen bomb, how much damage will it do to your personal brand?”
“It’s fucking nuclear.”
“Is this girl worth it?”
“Beyond worth it.”
He let out a breath. “You want to decipher all the lies you told me about senior year now or after you set the bomb off?”
“Now.”