The Boyfriend's Clause

Chapter 2

Kingston

Saturday mornings in the Ashford house had a rhythm to them, like everyone in it had rehearsed being normal long enough that it stopped feeling like a performance. I let myself believe last night's mess had already blown over the way most things did, fast and forgettable, somebody else's problem by Monday. "You're up early," Mom said from the hallway, like this was shaping up to be a normal Saturday. I didn't correct her.

I should've known better. I always know better about thirty seconds too late. I told myself whatever was blowing up my phone could wait until I'd had actual breakfast, and for exactly as long as it took to prove me wrong, I almost believed it. My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter while I was halfway through a bowl of cereal and I picked it up expecting good news because I asked my father for a new car two weeks ago and he said he needed to think about it, which in Sterling-Cole Ashford language meant yes but on my timeline.

It was a video call from my father at seven in the morning on a Saturday, which was never good news about a car.

I answered and his face filled the screen immediately, silver at the temples and clean-shaven with a pressed collar even though it was the weekend. My mother appeared behind him for a second, said "hi sweetheart," and moved out of frame.

"Morning, Dad."

"You're trending," he said.

I kept eating. "I know."

"You've seen it?"

"Yeah." I saw the photograph around midnight when my phone started buzzing and I scrolled through the posts for about thirty seconds before putting it down and going to bed. A picture of me on a bench with a girl I didn't know. People were losing their minds over it. I wasn't.

"And you're not concerned?"

"About what? Some guy took a picture without permission. I don't even know the girl."

Dad leaned forward. "I spoke to Marquis this morning."

Marquis was my agent. If Dad was calling Marquis on a Saturday morning about a trending photograph then this conversation was already worse than I thought, and I set the spoon down because I could already feel where this was going.

"Marquis believes this is the best thing that could have happened to your public profile right now," Dad continued. "The rumors are dying. Overnight. Because of one photograph."

For years, starting in junior year of high school, there were rumors about me being gay, and although I didn't care about any of it because Harlow my ex-girlfriend started the whole thing after I wouldn't take her back, it was hard on my profile with the NHL recruitment. Every meeting Marquis set up with a franchise had that conversation in the background somewhere, and no amount of denying it made it go away.

"That's not a reason to do anything," I said.

"It's every reason to do something." Dad straightened in his seat. "The franchise is watching your public profile as closely as they're watching your play. Marquis knows that. This photograph has done more for your image in twelve hours than two years of management."

"Dad-"

"I want you to find this girl and continue the narrative."

"Continue the - are you serious right now?"

"Very."

My mother's voice came from somewhere off-screen. "He has a point, Kingston."

“Mom."

She leaned back into the frame for a moment. "I'm not saying it has to be complicated. But the PR value is real. Marquis agrees. The scouts care about the full package - your game, your conduct, your public image. If one photograph did this overnight without either of you trying, imagine what a few months of visibility could do."

"You want me to fake a relationship."

"I want you to consider your options," Dad said.

"My options are play hockey and sign my contract."

"Your options are more limited than you think if those rumors come back." Dad folded his hands together on the desk in front of him. "This girl is a solution to a problem you have not been able to solve on your own. I'm not asking you to marry her. I'm asking you to be seen with her."

"I'm not doing that."

"Kingston-"

"I said no."

Mom appeared in the frame again, her hand at her throat, and she opened her mouth to say something but Dad was already talking over her.

"Then let me put it differently. The entry-level contract has public conduct clauses that your agent has flagged twice already. The franchise cares about what you look like off the ice almost as much as what you look like on it, and right now what you look like off the ice is a twenty-one-year-old with no visible personal life and a set of rumors that won't go away on their own. This photograph gave you an answer. I suggest you use it."

"I'm not using a random girl I met once to fix a PR problem."

"Then you're going to have a much harder conversation with Marquis next week." Dad picked up something off the desk and set it back down. "Find the girl. Bring her in. Let me handle the rest."

"Dad, what about my-"

The screen went dark before I could say anything else.

Thirty seconds later a text came through from Dad's assistant. A name, a dorm address, a class schedule, and a single line from my father at the bottom.

'You have until Monday'