Blake
Istare at my phone screen and reread the text my mom sent me an hour ago. I see the four missed calls from her and my dad too.
I don’t call them back though. I just sit on my bed and try to ignore the feeling of dread that cuts through me like a knife.
My parents know about my secret social media account—my thirst trap account.
Just thinking about the fact that my mom and dad have seen photos and videos of me shirtless, posing suggestively, makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
They were never supposed to know about this.
But now they do. Everyone does.
I huff out a breath. I think about tossing my phone on the bed and heading downstairs, just so I can put this off for another few hours, so I don’t have to face their disappointment and disgust.
I’m about to stand up and walk out of the room, but my phone buzzes again. Another text from my mom.
We’re not mad at you. We’re just worried about you and want to make sure you’re okay. Please call us.
My shoulders slump. I’m such a jerk. No more ignoring them.
I tap my thumb on my screen and hold my breath while her phone rings.
“Blake, honey. Finally.”
Guilt throttles me at how worried she sounds.
“Hey, Mom. Sorry it took so long for me to call you. It’s been…” I go quiet trying to come up with the right words. “Things have been kind of rough lately.”
“What on earth is going on? Your dad was scrolling on his phone to watch the highlights from your last game, and then he saw this sports news report about you being some shirtless guy on social media? What’s the name?”
I sigh. “That Shirtless Guy.”
“Right, That Shirtless Guy. And then—hang on, your father wants to say something, let me put him on speaker.”
“Blake, buddy, I think I just saw a bunch of photos of you without a shirt on. It’s all over college sports news.”
I fight through the cringe currently working its way through my body at how confused and concerned he sounds.
“That’s not you, right? Your face isn’t in the photos; that can’t be you,” he says.
I take a second to work up the nerve to tell them the truth. Even though it might change the way they feel about me. Even though finding this out will make them disappointed and embarrassed in me…
“It’s me, you guys. That’s me in the photos. That’s my social media account.”
There’s dead silence from their end of the line. It’s so long I start counting. When I get to eleven, they finally speak.
“Goodness,” my mom says.
Dad clears his throat. “Well, then. That’s…interesting.”
The heat of shame climbs up my chest and neck and cheeks. I power through the urge to drop my phone and walk off, to escape and hide.
“I’m sorry you guys found out this way. I never meant to go public with this.” I pause, wondering how much else I should say.
I owe it to them to be honest. They’ve always been honest with me. And loving. And supportive and proud and loyal.
And now I’m embarrassing them with my secret sexy social media account.
“I know this is gonna sound crazy, but the whole reason I started that account in the first place was for you guys. I’ve made money from that account. And I use it to help you guys.”
They’re quiet again for a few seconds.
“Honey, are you serious?” Mom says.
“Yeah. I mean, I never thought I’d make that much from it. But it kind of took off.”
“That’s why you’re always treating us to meals,” Dad says. “And why you’ve paid for so many things for us, like the car tune-up.”
“Yes.” I contemplate also telling them about my plan to pay off their house, but I hold back. I can tell they’re pretty overwhelmed and shocked from learning about this. I should give them some time to process it.
“Oh, honey.” I’m thrown off by how shaky my mom’s voice is. “You did this for us?”
“Of course I did. You sacrificed so much for me over the years. You paid for hockey lessons and camps and coaching and travel expenses. I wouldn’t be playing hockey if it wasn’t for you guys. You guys spent thousands of dollars on me. I wanted to do something for you.”
They’re quiet again. I hear my dad clear his throat once more.
“Blake, son, that’s…I don’t really have the words to describe what that means, son. That’s incredibly generous of you.”
“So generous,” my mom says. “Goodness, Blake. This is so touching.”
I’m surprised at how happy they sound. And a little confused.
“Wait, you guys aren’t mad?”
“Why would we be mad?” Mom says. “We have a generous, selfless son.”
“But aren’t you upset about the kind of content I make?”
When they fall quiet again, that familiar dread courses through me once more. I brace myself for them to admit how embarrassed they are.
“I’ll admit, it’s a little strange to think of you, my son, showcasing your body like that,” Dad says. “But I’m not mad about it. You can do what you want, Blake. You’re an adult.”
“Absolutely, honey,” my mom says. “Sure, it’s a kind of weird to think that my baby boy is posing shirtless for others to look at. But it’s not wrong. You’re not committing a crime. I don’t have a problem with it.”
Now I’m the one speechless.
But then, a moment later, when my brain starts to process everything they’ve said, I feel like a jerk again. Because of course my parents would be cool about this. They’re good people. They don’t judge others for petty reasons. They might think something is odd, but they’d never get upset about it.
Relief swoops through me. All the tension in my neck and shoulders eases.
My mom lets out a chuckle. “Honey, we don’t care what you do. As long as you’re safe and happy, we’re good.”
Emotion bubbles up in my chest at how awesome they are. I have the best parents in the world.
“I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear you say that. Thank you,” I say.
“Son, we’re proud of you. Always. We just wanted to make sure you were doing okay. The news coverage makes it all seem like a circus.”
“I’m okay, Dad. I won’t lie, seeing my secret account splashed all over sports news and online isn’t fun. But I’m getting through it. Briar’s been supporting me a lot.”
“Oh, I’m so happy to hear that,” Mom says. I can hear the smile in her voice.
“That girl is a gem, Blake. You be good to her.”
I smile. “Promise I will dad.”
“And hey, you really don’t need to be spending money on us,” he says. “Save some for yourself.”
“Dad, come on. Let me pay for stuff. I have the means to do it now.”
He sighs. “Okay. Thanks, buddy.”
“We love you, Blake,” Mom says.
I tell them both that I love them. When I hang up, it feels like a thousand-pound weight has been hauled off my shoulders.
My parents aren’t mad at me. They still love me. They still stand by me. Just like Briar.
And as long as I have them by my side, I can get through this mess.