Six

SIX

FELTON

The sick knot that forms in my stomach when I look at the name on my screen makes me regret eating. There's a very real chance that I'm going to be sick. But I answer the phone. I have to.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Badcock," Price Davies says. I cringe at his voice. He's angry. Always so angry. But this time, I earned his anger. "I've just finished with the directors and I'm passing your contract on to someone else. I will no longer be representing you. Your behavior is unacceptable and disgusting, Mr. Badcock."

I don't answer. My tongue feels too big.

"Silvan Vorslick will be in touch over the next few days to go over a new contract with you. There will be stronger stipulations and expectations from you, as well as a higher agent fee, because you're a problematic client with personality conflicts. We're taking on a larger risk with you, and that affects our public image."

"Yeah," I say. "Okay."

I can hear his disapproval in the sound he makes, and the phone call ends without anything further.

Closing my eyes, I try to get my breathing under control. This is fine. I still have an agent, just a different one. Is it too much to hope for a nicer one?

Before I can set the phone down, it rings again, and I nearly drop it. I haven't heard from my father yet. I'd like to say that maybe he hasn't seen my blurry ass all over the news, but that's probably not it. He's probably been too angry to call me. Too disgusted.

Until now.

Again, I debate not answering. Talking to him is stressful on a good day. But I know he'll just keep calling if I don't. So I hit the green button to accept the call.

"Hi, Dad," I say.

"That's it?" he stammers. I imagine him red in the face. "That's how you're greeting me? Not an apology for debasing this family? For making us all feel ashamed?"

I squeeze my eyes closed and listen to him berate me for the next several minutes. Each word is a blow I feel as if someone's punching me. I can taste bile in my mouth now. There's a very good chance I'm going to be sick before this call ends.

Trying to tune out his voice into background rants, I concentrate on the quiet whispers of my wind chimes. My father is louder, though. His voice drowns them out. My head spins as his voice, filled with disgust and disappointment, hammers into me like little spikes, one after another, until I'm a pincushion.

I'm going to be sick.

I'm going to be sick!!

The phone leaves my hand and I think I've dropped it. But when I reach for it slowly, it seems to float away and land on the table. I blink at it several times before sitting up and remembering I'm not alone right now.

Fuck. Ren just witnessed all that. He likely heard my father yelling.

I can't look at him. I can't let him see how much of a disaster I am. My head spins and I can't catch my breath.

"Lean over, Fel. Put your head between your knees." I do as Ren says as I gasp for breath. "Breathe, Felton. Concentrate on breathing."

It's hard. My lungs don't work. I'm being crushed under my father's voice, still yelling in my head.

Ren's hand moves on my back, and I force my brain to focus on that. His soft, sure touch. For every backward motion, I let a breath out. Every forward, I breathe in. It's easier to breathe when there's something to measure it by.

"Who called you?" he asks, his voice quiet.

I love his voice. It's always so soft and mellow. Calming. And if I let myself think so, sexy. His slight Chinese accent is so beautiful.

"My agent," I whisper. "Actually, my former agent. Then my father."

"Tell me about the calls."

I shake my head. "My agent canceled my contract and another person in his office will take me on with a different one. He says I'm a problematic personality risk or something."

"Listen to me, Felton," Ren says. "Are you listening?"

I nod.

"Do not sign a contract until you bring the old and new ones to a contract lawyer. They can't just cancel your contract and give you a new one. That's not how contracts work. Understand?"

I take a breath. "He said?—"

"He's bullying you. Do not sign another contract."

His words lift some of the burden from my shoulders and I nod. No contract. Yes. Okay, good. I nod so he knows I heard him. "Yes."

"Please don't take offense to this, but your father sounds like a grade A asshole. Why do you let him talk to you like that?"

I want to smile. There's a chance that any other day I might. He's not wrong. My dad is an asshole. But maybe he has a right to be an asshole today. Maybe he's right about me every day. I'm just a disappointment.

"Felton," Ren says quietly. He waits until I force myself to meet his eyes. "Why did you do this?"

The way I want to simultaneously cry and throw up wars inside me. I shake my head, trying to push the tears back. "I just… it's the only time I don't feel so… like a burden. Like I'm fucking up."

"When?"

"Sex," I whisper. I'm not shy. Like, ever. And never about sex. But my cheeks flush right now as I drop backward onto the couch. "I never make anyone happy. I never do anything right. The only time I don't feel like that is when I'm having sex."

From the corner of my eye, I can see Ren nodding. This sounds lame, doesn't it? I don't know why, but I try to defend myself. "I'm not a slut," I insist and then cringe. "Not that I'm slut shaming. You can be a slut if you want to."

He smiles.

"I just mean that I'm… not one. I didn't have sex with a lot of people in my, uh, videos."

"How about starting from the beginning? Why did you start these accounts?"

"Because they make me feel good," I answer, letting my head fall back and staring at the ceiling. I think it needs to be cleaned. Is that a dirt spot? "It's the only time in my life where people are always saying nice things. There's no disappointment. I'm not letting anyone down. I feel good and when I'm with someone else, they feel good too."

"You liked the attention," he concludes.

"I—Well, yes, I guess. But it's not really about the attention. It's… what they say. How I feel when they say it. I don't get that offline."

"Affirmation," Ren says.

I sigh. "I don't know." My frustration comes out with a groan. "I don't know how to say it. I'm just not a disappointment to everyone who follows me. They like me. I'm doing something right in their eyes."

Ren's quiet for a minute before he gently says, "You know that it's not you they like, right? They don't know you."

My shoulders sag. "I know," I whisper. "But I can pretend they do."

He's frowning again. I can see it without looking.

"You do a lot right, Felton," he tells me.

I shake my head. There's a lot of people who would disagree with that. My father the loudest of all.

"There are also people who like you who actually know you."

"Yeah?" I ask, because it doesn't feel that way.

"You're a fantastic goalie, Fel. One of the top in the entire league. I'm not saying that to be nice. Your stats prove that."

I've seen the stats and those who say so. I can't argue with that, right? They're statistics. That means they're right. Math doesn't lie.

But it doesn't feel like enough. It's never enough. My dad will be the first to say so.

"You have really good friends too," Ren continues. "Willits and Dasan are very worried about you. And you have all your friends you go on summer cruises with. Right? Those guys know who you are, you —Felton Badcock. They're not giving you compliments for something superficial or sexual content. They like you for you."

They do. Probably. Maybe? I sigh, but the world feels too heavy.

"You deleted all the accounts."

It's not a question, but I nod anyway. "Coach told me to. So I did."

"Good. That was a big risk you took."

"My face is always covered," I whisper.

"I know," he says, and I glance at him because he sounds amused. "But I'm still a little flabbergasted that they're completely confident it's you simply based on a tattoo. I'm not sure that would hold up in a court of law."

"If they searched my house and electronics, it would hold up," I admit.

"That's neither here nor there. They can't legally do that to you. You're not breaking the law, assuming no one you have sex with is underage." I shake my head adamantly. "Which means they truly have no ground to stand on except that which you've given them."

"I didn't say it was me. I didn't say anything. Coach did. He insisted they can't prove it's me based on a tattoo because thousands of people have stars tattooed on them."

Ren grins. "Good for Coach."

"But when the guys left, he told me to delete the accounts. He knows it's me."

He sighs. "I think we all half knew it was you when we saw the tattoo. But we share a locker room with you. Tattoos are cool. I have a star on my back, and I tend to notice when others have stars too. I always wonder what inspired them to choose a star out of the millions of things they could have tattooed on them."

"Because stars are free and beautiful," I say. "No one looks at a star and thinks how unremarkable they are. How ordinary. How they could be living their lives better. Make better decisions and follow better paths. Even the dimmest, smallest star is extraordinary."

Ren nods.

"Do you feel better?" he asks.

I shake my head and shrug. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do right now. How am I supposed to act or speak? What should I be saying? What should I be doing? Everyone says I'm fucking up, but no one tells me what to do to fix it. It's always—do better, but what am I supposed to be doing right now?!"

Ren doesn't answer my rant. It's more than just that. I'm always pulled in different directions with everyone having a different opinion about which choice is best. My father alone has like eight opinions on any one thing and no matter which I choose, it's going to be the wrong one.

It's always the wrong one!

I just don't want to think anymore. Why can't I just act and somehow pick the right thing for once?

"You need a controlled environment. Don't you?" Ren asks. "Someone to take that pressure off your shoulders."

A sob almost breaks free because finally someone gets it. "Yes," I admit, relieved. "Why is it so hard to make everyone happy?"

"I don't think you should be worried about everyone else, Fel. What's going to make you happy?"

I laugh, and it's not happy. "Apparently the one thing I find enjoyment in besides hockey is the wrong way to be happy."

Another minute passes.

"How about this: do you trust me to help you make decisions for a while?"

My head comes off the back of the couch as I turn to stare at him. "What?"

"I come from a family with a lot of high expectations, so I'm used to that pressure. Although I admit my family is a lot more supportive than yours from the sounds of it. I'm allowed to make mistakes and I'm not sure you are."

I shake my head. I'm really, truly not. If my father could whip my ass with his belt as he did when I was a child, he would.

"We will talk about things that stress you. When something comes up, we'll discuss it. And then we can come to a decision together."

"Like guidance," I murmur, trying out the word. The idea.

"Yes, but less guidance than it is helping you to think about it thoroughly and identifying what it is you want. What's best for you. And then having the confidence to make it happen."

I liked the idea better when it was less… open. Turning back to the ceiling, I think about what he's offering. That's better than me floundering on my own. "I really just want to be told what the best thing to do is," I mutter, more to myself than to Ren. I didn't really mean to say it out loud.

"What's right for one person isn't always right for another," Ren says.

He's not wrong. I know that. I nod because I think having guidance will definitely help me function in a less chaotic, stressed way than my current method. Which is basically just pushing it off the more someone—like my father—presses its importance.

Over and over and over! As if I don't know. Constantly telling me I need to make a decision isn't helpful. For me, it's far more detrimental.

"You want to try it?" Ren asks.

I nod. "Yes. Thank you."

"You're welcome. How about we take a break for today and we can talk about when you get your contracts. I'm not a contract lawyer, but I make a habit of understanding what's in my contracts and asking when something isn't clear, so I'm familiar with them."

The idea of having his help on them makes me take a deep breath. Finally. "Yes," I agree. "Yes, please!"

"Good. Let me know when you have them. What else do you need to decide on right now? What's the next most pressing thing?"

How to live! I'm apparently doing it all wrong. Like, when he leaves here, what am I supposed to be doing then?

I shake my head because that doesn't seem like something he's asking about. He wants important issues. My day-to-day life is probably not what he's signing up for. "I don't know."

"Then we'll play it by ear. Let me know when you have something else."

"Okay."

"Can I give you some unsolicited advice, Felton?" I shift my head to look at him and nod. "Don't let your father talk to you like that. The only reason he does is because you let him. Set some boundaries for yourself. No one is going to do that for you and if you don't make them respect your boundaries, they won't."

That's really good advice. There's also no way I'm going to be able to do that.