by Royal Blue
Table of Contents
Blurb
AUTHOR’S NOTE
PREFACE: HEARTBROKEN
CHAPTER ONE: I NEED MORE
CHAPTER TWO: IF I’M A GOOD BOY
CHAPTER THREE: SWEET RECITALS
CHAPTER FOUR: WE NEED TO TALK
CHAPTER FIVE: NON-KYLE
CHAPTER SIX: NERVOUS
CHAPTER SEVEN: HEY
CHAPTER EIGHT: THINKING OF YOU
CHAPTER NINE: YOU DESERVE BETTER
CHAPTER TEN: HOMESICK
CHAPTER ELEVEN: MAKING TIME
CHAPTER TWELVE: LUCKY CHARM
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: REVEALING SCARS
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: WE’LL BE OKAY
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: MEET MY SISTER
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: NOT OUR TRUTH
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: BLITZ
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE IMAGE OF TRUTH
CHAPTER NINETEEN: THOUGHTFUL MOMENTS
CHAPTER TWENTY: A LOVING FAMILY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: BITTER EX
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: A LITTLE FAVOR
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: SWEETER THINGS
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: BEST UNCLE EVER
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: BLINDSIDED
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: HAPPY BIRTHDAY
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: FAMILY?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: BROKEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: PRESSURE
CHAPTER THIRTY: HECKLE
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: POISON
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: WARNING
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: REMEMBER
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: GET AWAY
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: FROM THE MOUTHS OF BABES
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: GET THIS STRAIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: OUR FUTURE
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: CLOSING THE PAST
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: REVEAL MY HEART
CHAPTER FORTY: DREAMS DO COME TRUE
EPILOGUE: NEW BEGINNINGS
About the Author
By Royal Blue
Visit Dreamspinner Press
Copyright
Kyle’s Reveal
By Royal Blue
My Brother’s Keeper Collection: Book One
I can’t breathe. Everyone’s counting on Kyle Tyson. Too bad I don’t know who Kyle is anymore, but there’s no time for me to fall apart. My sister is gone and now I have her son to look after. To top it all off, the man I’ve cared for five years has forced my eyes open when I needed him to be there most. Just when I think I may drown, Andy Connor comes into my life.
Never in a million years did I think the Kyle Tyson would give me a second glance. I mean, come on. He’s gorgeous and a professional basketball player. I’m just the schoolteacher who wants desperately to help his nephew make it through this difficult time after losing his mother.
We both have scars. Mine are emotional and could cover the entire basketball court. Mine are skin-deep and could chase away my chance to hold on to love. Will we overcome our turmoil, insecurities, and demons while navigating the obstacles in our way? Or will our scars reveal too much and cost us everything?
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Love has a way of catching you when you fall. Especially when there appears to be no safety net.
—Royal Blue
HELLO! THANK you so much for spending some time in my head. I love to share the worlds that live in my brain, and you taking your precious time to read them means the world to me. It is my hope that you enjoyed Kyle and Andy’s story as much as I enjoyed working on it.
I want to thank all of those that have supported me as both Royal Blue and Blue Saffire. The encouragement means so much. I love writing love, and every chance I get to craft a story from the heart it’s like breathing. I leave a piece of me in every book. I thank you for loving those pieces enough to keep cheering me on.
Thank you so much to my new family at Dreamspinner Press. You have truly made a dream come true. Every step of the way I was greeted with such warmth and that truly means so much. Energy is everything and you guys give off an energy that makes me ready to do this again and again. Thank you for easing my fears and offering help as well as nurturing my voice.
I want to thank God, my true cowriter. Again, energy is everything. Grace and Favor paves our way to all things good. Forever grateful and giving praise.
PREFACE: HEARTBROKEN
Kyle
“SING TO me,” my sister whispers.
She licks her dry lips, before giving a labored swallow. Every breath has become a challenge. I remember the days when I thought my sister was a superhero. Nothing in the world could defeat her. Now she looks so small and fragile.
My heart aches. I’ve wished this day away with everything I am. Yet the ash-gray of her rich brown skin, the yellow of her eyes, and the scent of nearing death tells me that all the wishing in the world won’t hold this off much longer. So with a throat filled with emotion, I give in to her request.
I begin to sing one of her favorite songs—“Misty Blue,” by Dorothy Moore. Our mother played it in our home when we were little. We’d sing right along with the record player and giggle, while our mother cleaned the house with her scarf wrapped around her head. It’s one of the few memories I have of my mother.
I breathe through the line about not being about to forget. I know I’ll never forget my sister. The words hit home, almost choking off the notes I’m crooning.
I belt the song out with my soul. My heart squeezes, when tears start to roll down Savanna’s cheeks. I stand to my full height beside her hospital bed, unable to sit still any longer. I need to do something with my body.
I pound my chest in defeat, but never once do I stop singing. I sing like it’s my profession. Through my own tears, I see the looks of awe from the nurses that have gathered. I’m sure none of them expected Kyle Tyson to be able to do more than dribble a basketball.
That doesn’t stop me from granting my sister her last wish. My voice fills the room, my vision clouds, and my entire being feels like it’s coming apart. All the money I’ve made, none of it will save her in this moment. I’m losing my rock, but the burning fact in all of this has to be the little boy waiting at my house.
Mason is probably in my living room playing with his toys, thinking this is just another one of Mommy’s trips—the ones she has returned from in the past. Savanna has loved my nephew with every breath she’s had. She has fought so hard to be here for him.
“I’m tired, Kyle,” she whispers on the last note I croon out.
I drop to my knee beside the bed, clinging to her already stiff legs. The last breath she takes shatters everything I know. I was too young to mourn my mother the way I’ll mourn Savanna. This… this has the power to destroy me. I know the only reason I have to push forward now is the part of her heart that she’s left behind for me to care for.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so damn sorry,” I sob. “I’m so sorry.”
“You did everything you could, man. This isn’t your fault. She fought as hard as she could,” my best friend, Beau, says, while wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
“No. No, I didn’t. I’m so sorry.” I continue to beg my sister’s forgiveness.
I should have been here more. I should have worked harder to find a cure. I should have done better, more, something.
She’s gone. She’s really gone. Savanna, I still have so much I want to say. So much to explain.
Beau leans down, placing his lips to my ear. “I know what you’re thinking. She was proud of who you are. You don’t have to apologize for any of it. She loved you for you. Don’t do this here. Let me get you home.”
It’s as if he has heard my thoughts.
It takes a few more moments before I’m able to move. Slowly, I shift to kiss my sister’s forehea
d. My tears dropping onto her cooling skin.
“I’ll do right by your boy. I promise,” I whisper. “I’ll raise him to be the man you want. That’s my word on my life.”
CHAPTER ONE: I NEED MORE
Kyle
“IT’S BEEN months. The season is over. Why can’t we go to this dinner party?” Michael huffs, placing his hands on his hips in exasperation.
Perched on the edge of my bed, I rub my temples. We’ve had this conversation a million times over, in a million different ways. Michael is an openly gay New York attorney. He and his family know everyone that’s anyone. When his brother and sister-in-law throw a dinner party, you can expect A-list guests, including folks I’d rather not get wind of the fact that Michael and I have been dating the last five years.
One news reporter in the room and I’ll wake up to a shitstorm in the morning. I’m just getting back to feeling like I’m living life instead of barely moving through it. I don’t need to add anything else to my plate.
“You and I both know you’re not going to take me to this dinner as a friend. Everyone there will know I belong to you. You can’t help yourself. All of that is cool at Club Refuge or around our friends. It’s not outside of that,” I reply, not able to keep the frustration out of my voice.
“Why isn’t it? Five years, Kyle. I think we are past this invisible threat you think is waiting outside the closet,” he tosses at me bitterly.
“I want you to stop and think about some of the things you tell me. You have seen what it’s like for me, your colleagues, and your clients as black men. You rant about it all the time. Tell me, how many times have you admitted that it’s ten times worse for a gay black man?”
I stand folding my arms over my chest. I’ll wait. I can see in the red of his cheeks I hit the nail on the head. Michael has seen my world up close. He’s been in the car with me, when I’ve been pulled over for nothing more than being black while driving a nice car.
“You know I’d never let anything happen to you or your career. I’d bury those sons of bitches if they tried to come for your livelihood.” His words come out so passionately I believe them.
Still, Michael can’t fight the world for me. I have too much responsibility to my team and my nephew. I can’t just go and make decisions that could turn my world upside down.
“Wanting something and knowing the consequences of having it has to mean something. You’re too educated a man to think with your emotions. I have my nephew to think about now,” I say.
Sighing, I run a hand over my low waves.
“We’ve done nothing but think of your nephew for a year now. I rearranged everything to be here to help you with Mason, even before the end. I missed your big win in the playoffs because I’ve been here playing Mr. Mom,” he seethes.
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss, looking at the bedroom door. “You’ve complained about the playoffs every year we’ve been together. Besides, you’re the one that said it would be best not to disturb his life any more than necessary. You said you wanted to stay behind and get him settled into school.”
“I hate the fucking playoffs because I have to stand on the sidelines and watch as groupie after groupie throws themselves at you. That shit makes me sick. You smile and play right along with it in my face,” he says.
“Name once when I’ve left with one of them. When I leave, I leave to go home with you,” I retort.
“In separate fucking cars!” He pushes a hand through his thick locks as his chest heaves.
I swallow hard. I don’t know if I have it in me to fight about this any longer. After losing the championship game, I had plans to return home to grieve in peace and raise my nephew. He needs more time with me, more stability.
Michael knew from the beginning that I wasn’t ready to come out. I had reservations about our entire relationship. I knew Michael wouldn’t be satisfied with concealing our connection. He promised he would be able to deal with it—I knew it was bullshit then, and he’s proving me right.
“What would you have me do?” I sigh, sitting on the bed once again.
“Take the next step with me. I want the world to know how much I care about you. That you belong to me. I’m tired of living a lie,” Michael says.
“A lie you promised you could be a part of. You don’t know what the locker room is like. You don’t understand the culture. Not just the basketball culture. My community is not like yours. I don’t have the circle you do.
“You saw how my aunt wanted to take Mason from me, thinking I was single and too busy for him. If I come out now, she’ll fight me tooth and nail to take that boy away from me. I promised my sister I’d take care of him. I won’t fail her again,” I say, pleading for him to hear me.
Michael moves across the room, sitting on the bed beside me. He cups my cheek, turning my face to him. I search his dark eyes. His cologne soothes my anger and hurt. His comforting scent is one of the things I’ve come to love about him.
“When did you ever fail her? Savanna knew who you were. God, Kyle, you can’t keep blaming yourself for her death. She had stage-four cancer when they found it. She fought hard for longer than anyone expected.”
“We promised to protect each other after my mother died. She was the first person I ever came out to. She has protected me all my life. She just needed me once, and there was nothing I could do,” I reply, my voice breaking.
My brows draw as I search his face. How can he not understand this? That cold look in his eyes speaks volumes. I start to vibrate with anger and frustration.
“Protecting you by telling you to hide?” Michael says with a hint of anger.
“Don’t,” I warn, seething.
I shift away from him. My jaw tightens. It’s like I float above the room and start to truly take this relationship in from the view of a painter. I watch the canvas before me and the colors become so much clearer.
“It’s the truth. She drilled it in your head you had to be hard, you had to hide who you are to make it. You’re even a different person with your nephew. He’s five, but he’ll have questions about us someday. What do you plan to do then?”
My jaw ticks. I’ve asked myself this question repeatedly. I want to be a role model for Mason. The type of role model my sister shaped me to be. I haven’t figured out how to balance that. I don’t know what I plan to do. Maybe it’s time I made some changes.
“Just as I thought,” he says tightly. “You’re willing to give us up for this bullshit façade you’ve built. I can’t do this. I won’t do it.”
“What do you want from me!”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Nothing at all. I’ll send for my things. I’m done.”
CHAPTER TWO: IF I’M A GOOD BOY
Andy
“MASON, DO you want to tell me what happened?” I say gently.
I asked the principal to allow me to have a chat with Mason, before his guardian arrived, given that the boy had shut down and wouldn’t speak to anyone.
I care about all of my students, but this little boy has taken up a special place in my heart. He has been through so much in a short lifetime. He did well in the beginning. I’ve talked to Beth Ann, his teacher from last year. I remember him being a bright, outgoing student from the after-school program, but after the death of his mother he started to pull into himself, which is totally understandable. He’s five and has had such great loss. My heart bleeds for him.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he pouts.
“Your uncle will be here soon. It would be helpful if I understood so I can explain things to him from your side.”
He turns his dark brown eyes up to me. His expression is almost pleading. He nods. I wait him out. Mason speaks so carefully for a small child, intent on selecting all the right words.
“Sean pushed me on the playground. My… my mommy wouldn’t like if I got in trouble for fighting. I need to be good. If I am, then maybe heaven will let her come back,” he explains, hope blooming in his voice.
/> It’s like someone just punched me through the heart. What do I say to that? I’d give anything to make this better for this sweet child, but I can’t help him with his ultimate wish. In my moment of silence, trying to find the right words, he continues instead.
“I tried to be the bigger man, like Uncle Beau taught me. But Sean pushed me again and started calling me names.” He shrugs his small shoulders. “So I put the brakes to him like Uncle Kyle would do.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. This is not the time to let my professionalism slip. Mason indeed put the brakes to Sean Novak. That little kid is a troublemaker and deserved the beatdown Mason gave him.
I’ve been trying to get Sean’s parents up here to the school for months. It’s funny how they appeared once their son became the victim. I don’t doubt that Mason’s uncle being Kyle Tyson had something to do with their sudden interest.
A loud groan sounds, pulling my attention. I lift my eyes to see the Kyle Tyson standing in the doorway of my classroom. I hadn’t thought about the chance of Kyle coming here, to my little classroom. I thought I’d have Mason back to the front office by the time of his arrival.
I’ve seen the man in passing a few times. Even at this distance his presence seems all-consuming. That deep, rich brown skin and those dark brown eyes are something to admire. The way his brows and lashes frame the windows to his soul displays something else entirely.
I feel like I’m being invited into a secret. Something dark and mysterious that only a precious few are able to get a glimpse of. I lower my eyes to his lips and have to keep myself from licking my own.
I’m five nine, but I’ve always been a sucker for taller men. Kyle has to be six five, maybe even six seven. His body reads every bit of the story of an athlete. Even the slight gaps to his stance send my pulse racing.
I shake my head clear. Kyle Tyson is like Jason Momoa—I’ll always have fantasies of him, but I’ll never have a shot.