Page 74 of Kyle

Kyle—

My spatula scrapes across the grill, scooping a patty and flipping it. There’s a short line, but nothing I can’t handle. The beef sizzles, and I stare. I’ve been on autopilot since I arrived, my mind on the fight yesterday.

When the third round ended, and Red Dog lifted my arm high in the air, I was exhilarated. I searched the crowd for Sutton, but I never found her.

It felt good to beat Rafe. I wanted to know what she thought of the outcome.

Rafe congratulated me, but then left before we could talk. He’d come up short, and his face was red. I wasn’t there to rub it in. He just needed to learn I was no longer going to smooth the bumps in life for him.

I didn’t see Sutton leave with him, but so many of the club were gathered around me with back slaps and offers of shots. I missed Rafe slipping out.

Thoughts of Sutton have been on my mind ever since. I was sure she’d at least make eye contact with me across the room, even if she didn’t actually congratulate me. I would have understood, but nothing at all? Not even anger?

That’s not the Sutton I know.

When she didn’t show up today, I texted her, but she didn’t reply. Maybe that’s an indication of how angry she is. Perhaps she blames me for the fight or thinks I should have stopped it.

If that’s the case, I suppose she’s done working for me. I guess I can’t blame her. Working for me has put her in anuntenable position. It was selfish of me to ask her to work the other day.

I wonder how her hand is doing, and I can’t help worrying about her.

Maybe I should text her again. Maybe I should get the guts to call her.

What the fuck are you doing? You know the answer to that. She’s not your girl. She’s Rafe’s. She’s off-limits. Completely.

I work hard the rest of the afternoon and finally catch a break right before the dinner rush. Plopping on a stool, I chug a bottle of water.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Channel Five news van pull up. Christ, I hope she’s not back for another interview. Maybe she’s here about some other vendor at the Farmer’s Market.

Her camera crew exits the van, and Amy fixes her hair in a compact, then closes her door and rounds the van where she pulls out a long foam board, carrying it like a surfboard under her arm. I can only see the back of it, so I have no clue what kind of stunt she’s up to this time. I’m expecting her to walk on past and head inside, but she makes a beeline right for me.

“What now?” I mutter, and stand to lean on the counter, dipping my head low to talk to her through the window. “Amy Armstrong, Channel Five News. Nice to see you again.”

“Hi, Kyle. Could you step out here for a moment? I have something for you.”

My eyes fall to the big thing she’s carrying, puzzled. “Yeah. Sure.”

I close the order window, head to the back door and drop to the asphalt, hoping to get this over with before people on the street start gawking.

“What can I do for you, Miss Armstrong?”

She holds up the microphone and pastes a big smile on her face, looking at the cameraman.

“I’m here today with Kyle, the owner of Kyle’s food truck. I know many of you remember our story about his kindness during the monsoon out at the Tribe Music Festival last week.” Then she turns to me. “Kyle, when our viewers saw your story, we were inundated with calls, asking how they could repay you for your kindness. So, my producer at Channel Five started an account. As of this morning, people from all across the Bay area have donated one-hundred and eighty-seven thousand dollars.” She spins the foam board around, and I see it’s a giant check.

My mouth drops open. “Is this a joke?”

“No, sir. You’ve got a lot of fans out there. We even heard from many of those festival attendees whom you helped with your kind generosity. They wanted to help you recoup some of the money you lost. Even some bands kicked in.” She stares at me, then turns to the camera. “I think he’s speechless, folks.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I mumble, still glancing around, wondering if this is a gag. I cock my head. “Did the club put you up to this?”

She stills, her chin pulling to the side, but keeps the smile pasted on her face, her eyes shifting between me and the camera. “What club?”

“Never mind. I’m just stunned. That’s all.” I point at the foam check. “Is that thing for real?”

She laughs. “Well, we have some paperwork for you to fill out and the money will be deposited into your account, but this is yours to keep.” She passes it to me, and we both grin at the camera for a minute.

She makes a slashing motion with her hand. “Cut. I think we got what we need, Hal.”

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