I wasn’t here because I’d posted a .930 save percentage.I was here because Rick Carter was calling in favors, selling me like a used car to his old buddies.
Before I could process that, the door behind me opened.
“Sorry I’m late,” a voice boomed.“Traffic on I-90 is a killer.”
I froze.I knew that voice.It was the voice that narrated every mistake I’d ever made on the ice.
Rick Carter walked in.He was wearing a leather jacket over a cashmere sweater, looking every inch the retired pro.He filled the small office instantly—not with his size, but with his gravity.
“Dad?”I whispered.
He grinned, clapping a hand on my shoulder.His grip was heavy.“Hey, kid.”
He looked at Vane.“Gulliver.Good to see you.How’s the knee?”
“Better than yours, Rick,” Vane said, actually chuckling.
My dad laughed—a loud, charming bark that made people want to lean in.He sat in the empty chair next to me, dragging it closer until our elbows touched.
“So,” Dad said, leaning back.“We talking contracts?Or is my boy still on probation?”
“We were discussing the camp,” Vane said.“And the expectations.”
Dad nodded, his expression shifting from jovial to serious.He looked at me.It was the look.The one he used when I let in a soft goal in pee-wee.The one that said,I love you, but only if you’re worth it.
“Luke knows the expectations,” Dad said softly.“Focus.Discipline.He knows what happens when you take your eye off the puck.”
He tapped his own bad knee.It was a joke, but it wasn’t funny.
“He wants what’s best for me,” I said to Vane, the words tasting like ash.
“He wants a return on investment,” Vane corrected.He leaned forward.“And so do we.If we offer you this slot, Luke, we need to know you are the player he says you are.Disciplined.Focused.Singular.”
He let the word hang there.Singular.
“We don’t want campus drama,” Vane said, his gaze flicking to Harper and back to me.“We don’t want grades slipping.We don’t want… entanglements.”
Entanglements.
The word hit me like a physical blow.
Austen’s shirt inside out.The way I’d shoved him off my lap when Ryan knocked.The lie I’d told through the crack in the door.
If Ryan had pushed that door open…
If Vane knew what I was doing in Room 317…
My dad leaned in closer.“Luke doesn’t have entanglements,” he said smoothly.“He knows the drill.Hockey first.Everything else is noise.”He squeezed my shoulder.“Right, Luke?”
I looked at him.I saw the pride in his eyes—pride that was entirely conditional on me being the version of his son that played for the Wild.The version that wasn’t gay.The version that wasn’t in love with his roommate.
If I told him the truth, that pride would vanish.It wouldn’t be anger.It would be worse.It would be indifference.He would look at me like a bad investment he needed to liquidate.
“Right,” I whispered.“Hockey first.”
“The camp starts July first,” Vane said.“But the vetting starts now.We’ll be watching.”
He stood up.The meeting was over.
