We talked previously about why he decided to create a ReachMe account, but it kept coming up when we spoke about his struggles again. Especially when it came to him trying to identify something that made him feel good. Not just mentally or physically or even emotionally, but to feel good about himself.
He says it’s not attention and, at first, I wasn’t sure. But since the conversation eight days ago, I believe him more. Felton isn’t a man who seeks attention. In fact, if he’s struggling with something internally, he avoids attention by trying to shrink in on himself and disappear.
Which is impossible since he’s huge. There’s no missing Felton Badcock. Even if you wanted to.
We had a three-game winning streak, two of which Felton was in goal for. I wrongfully thought that maybe he was finally digging himself out of the holes he kept finding himself in. With someone working on his contracts and me helping him research new agents, Ithoughtthat we’d made a lot of progress.
He was smiling again. There was a glimpse of the man we’d known before someone outed his ReachMe account—which, mind you, there’s still nothing more than the so-called proof of the matching tattoos.
I know the moment I step out of the bathroom of the room we share in Edmonton that something is wrong. He seemed fine when I went in, but during the twenty minutes or so I was in the bathroom, a switch has flipped.
He’s anxious. Lost. Felton looks like he’s on the verge of crying.
Even when I ask him what’s wrong, he just shakes his head.
Unfortunately for everyone, he‘s in goal tonight when he probably shouldn’t have been. We only lose by one, in another damn shootout, but I can see Felton flinching as people speak around him. Even when they aren’t talking to him, he absorbs their words as if they are projectiles.
This man needs a therapist, or he’s going to combust.
Felton doesn’t say anything as he moves through the locker room, the shower, and then onto the bus. Thankfully, Coach seems to be aware he shouldn’t be in front of the press right now and doesn’t ask him to be. I think everyone is aware of how Felton is struggling. They might have missed it at first, but there’s no missing it now.
At this point, Felton doesn’t have bad days mixed in with his good days. He has the occasional good day among the bad.
I follow him up to our room. When we flew out yesterday, I asked Coach if he’d arrange it so I could share a room with Felton. I think it was a combination of him seeing my concern and his own that he changed up the room assignments.
When we were handed the keys to our room, he just smiled. Yesterday had been a good day for him.
Felton doesn’t undress before he falls onto his bed and closes his eyes. I move around quietly, changing my clothes as I watch him, unsure what to do for him.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“Want to come downstairs with the team for a while?”
Felton shakes his head again.
I grip his ankle on my way by. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
He nods. Just a single, subtle movement of his head. I probably shouldn’t leave him, but I’m starving. So I head downstairs and order off the bar menu so I can eat quickly.
Denny joins me, slapping my back. “He okay?”
I shake my head, frowning. “No. I don’t think he is, but I’m not sure what to do about it.”
“There’s not really anything you can do. He needs to talk to someone.”
Part of me knows Denny’s right. But there’s an entire population of people who need to talk to someone and never do. They just struggle through their days. In Felton’s case, I think it’s the voices in his head repeating things he’s been told for so long that he can’t shake. There’s a very real chance that he’s started to believe them.
“Fel did good tonight,” Denny says.
“He did,” I agree. “I’m not sure he’s going to see it the same way.”
I finish eating and wait for a to-go order to bring Felton a burger. He may not eat it, but he played the entire game. There’s no way he’s not hungry.
The room is quiet as I approach the door. I’m not surprised. I don’t expect to find that Felton’s suddenly decided to throw a party. He doesn’t seem to be the kind of man that likes to drown his misery in the chaos of alcohol.
But as I pull my keycard out, I hearsomething. It’s not quite a voice. Is that a…
