“Stupid,” Denny mutters, shaking his head.
“I don’t think it’s him,” Willits says.
“He literally has that exact same tattoo,” Nason counters.
“So?” Willits challenges, shifting in his seat to glare at Nason.
Nason raises his hands. “I’m not accusing him of anything. I really don’t care if he has a porn channel or not. I’m just saying that some of these pictures literally line up exactly.”
Willits doesn’t answer. I think he’s hell-bent on defending Felton, but even he can’t deny that. No one can.
“What’s irritating is that theydon’thave more than the tattoos to go on from what I can tell,” Marion says. “And yet he’s suspended, anyway.”
“Maybe he confessed it was him?” Nason asks.
The plane is plunged into silence as we think about that. Do I think he’d do that? Would he confess it was him when they seriously only have circumstantial evidence? People are so concerned with public image and other people’s opinions, so I suppose it makes sense, right?
Especially public figures.
But what’s Felton hurting?
I suppose that question could have been asked about the Max Latham scandal. So what if he had a kink that people find disgusting and wrong? He’s not forcing it on everyone else.
Would it have been different if they weren’t gay? What if they were straight and had been on a St. Andrew’s Cross or had a porn channel? Would it have been such a big deal then?
I’m still thinking about this over the next couple days. We win against Dallas on the second in a shootout. It’s still running through my mind when I walk into conditioning the next day with my headphones in for leg day.
Is it Felton’s sexuality that makes this such a big deal? Last summer, Isak Lokkin retired to create porn instead. There was a lot to be said about it, but it was brushed over. Because he retired first? Or because he’s straight?
Would there be a huge headline if athletes were shown to be subscribed to these accounts? I’m partially contemplating thetheory when Dasan and Willits walk in. Something about the way they’re talking has me reaching for my phone and turning the music off so I can hear them.
“…this morning. He’s freaking out,” Dasan says. “I’ve never heard him like this before.”
Willits shakes his head. “I brought him something to eat last night. I’m not sure he’s eating.”
“How’d he look?”
“Awful. Like someone died.”
I press my lips together and work through another rep as I listen to them talk about Felton with concern in their voices. They’re worried. They don’t know what to do.
Eventually, they change topics. I leave my music off for the rest of the time I’m there as I contemplate Felton’s situation. It’s not my business. We’re friendly but are we friends?
After I go through the shower, I sigh because I already know where I’m heading after this. And it’s not home. Thinking about what Willits said, I stop by the store and grab a few meals. Then I show up on Felton’s doorstep.
With a bag in hand, I ring the bell and wait. There’s no noise inside. No movement or lights. Glancing back at the driveway, I’m mostly convinced that he’s home since his truck is here, so I ring the doorbell again.
This time, the door opens. He’s… not good. I’m not even sure he sees me. Felton doesn’t move as he stares at me, as if seeing nothing but air and waiting for someone to manifest.
“Hi,” I say, keeping my voice quiet. For some reason, I feel like he’s going to startle easily right now. “I brought you some food.”
Felton doesn’t so much as blink. He just turns around and walks back inside. Since he doesn’t shut the door, I peek inside after him. Minutes pass and he doesn’t return. With a frown, I follow him inside, shutting the door quietly.
I’ve been to his house before. Once. But it was for a team gathering outside, and I never stepped foot inside. So I step inside, shutting the door behind me, and slip out of my shoes then slowly make my way in, peeking into doors and around corners until I come across him pacing in the living room.
I kind of felt like the place would be a disaster, but it’s neat and tidy. There’s a chorus of bells and chimes that offer a tranquil backdrop to what is definitely not a comforting scene right now.
This man is a fucking disaster. He’s in nothing but gym shorts and, while under normal circumstances I wouldn’t be looking at him anywhere, my gaze seeks out the tattoo. His shorts are low enough on his hips that I can just make out the top of it.
