I can’t lie. I feel a little anxious walking in here now, but when Marla welcomes me with a hug and offers me a lollipop, I start to relax.
“I’m here to see my dad,” I say, stating the obvious and holding up the paper sack I got from the deli around the corner.
Marla’s brow furrows. “Is he expecting you? I don’t see anything on his calendar.”
“No, I was in the neighborhood, so I figured I’d stop by.”
Marla picks up her phone to let my dad know he has a visitor. I take that as my cue to head down the hallway toward his office. He’s sitting behind his desk, staring at his computer monitor. He doesn’t appear to be too busy, but I guess he could be in the throes of a tense game of solitaire right now.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, taking a seat and setting down the lunch I brought. Meeting on his turf is risky, but I have the element of surprise on my side, and I’m going to use it to my advantage. “I brought you a sandwich. It’s your favorite turkey and provolone on rye.”
My father eyes up the bag appreciatively. “Am I to assume this is your peace offering for leaving dinner so abruptly the other night? I thought you and Peyton were getting along fine until you practically ran out of the restaurant as soon as the bill was paid.”
The old me would have offered an apology and given a flimsy excuse for having to make a quick exit before my dad and Mr. Selkirk finished their brandy or whatever old guy drink they ordered to cap off the evening.
But I’m not that guy anymore.
“It’s just a sandwich, Dad.” My words aren’t harsh or angry. Hell, I’m smiling as I relax back into this comfy leather chair. I doubt I’ll ever have a corner office or a reason to have plush leather chairs for clients to sit in, but damn, this one is nice. Not nearly nice enough to sacrifice my happiness for, though.
My dad frowns, like he doesn’t quite understand what I’m saying. Maybe he’s so used to me playing the obedient son and conforming to his demands that he can’t quite compute the fact that I’m not apologizing.
“I don’t recall us having lunch on the schedule,” he says, his frown deepening. He’s moving quickly from annoyed to confused, but that doesn’t stop him from unwrapping his lunch and taking a bite.
“We didn’t, but I had a stop to make downtown, so I figured I’d pop in to say hi.”
He nods, like I’ve just given him a plausible excuse even though I’ve never spontaneously visited him at work before in my life. While he’s chomping away on his dry turkey sandwich—no mustard, no mayo, what the hell kind of life is that?—I summon the courage that brought me here in the first place. The courage I should have had back at the restaurant.
“Actually, Dad, I was in town, but my visit has a purpose. I want to thank you for all the opportunities you’ve provided for me over the years. I’ve had things a lot easier than most of my friends and teammates, and I’m grateful for what you’ve given me.”
Greg Halliday laps up praise faster than Hazel devours her hand-flaked tuna treats. “I’m proud to share the family legacy with you, and it’s times like these that let me know without a doubt you’ll live up to the Halliday name. Jim was less-than-impressed with you the other night, said you don’t have the same drive his son, Kent, has but when you show him what a go-getter you truly are, he’ll come around.”
I refrain from telling my dad that his buddy is a drunk douchebag who should keep his opinions to himself. That’s all true, but I have something even more important to say. “I appreciate that, Dad. I am a go-getter. I’ve found my purpose, and I’m going after my goal.”
“Good to hear,” Dad says, finishing his sandwich and tossing the wrapper in the brown paper bag. “Does this mean you're done playing your game and you’re ready to get serious about your future? Think about the connections you could make if you spent your time networking with other up-and-comers instead of living out your rec league fantasies.”
“No, Dad,” I say, ripping off the bandage. “I’m not giving up hockey. In fact, I’ve decided to stick with it and see how far I can go.”
He just blinks at me like my words don’t make any sense. To him, they probably don’t. You know how people of a certain age can't hear really high-pitched frequencies? My dad can’t hear when anyone tells him no.
Maybe I’ll just have to say it louder.
“I’m not going to grad school, or joining the family firm. I want to pursue a career in professional hockey, and it’s a viable option. I’ve had scouts looking at me all season. I plan to play for Bainbridge again next year and then become a free agent after the season’s over.”
“Like hell you will,” he fumes, the tips of his ears turning red. “We had a plan, and we’re not deviating from it. I let you have your fun, but now it’s time to get serious.”
“I am serious. About hockey. And yeah, we did have a deal—one we made when I was seventeen. Look, I’m not here for your approval. I’m here to let you know my plan has changed. I hope you can support it. Hell, I hope you actually come to one of my games and watch me play the sport I love, the sport I’m damn good at.”
“This is ridiculous. You interrupted my work day for this nonsense? I run a very successful company and I don’t have time to hear your temper tantrums. I’d tell you we will discuss this when we meet for lunch next week, but that’s not true. The matter is closed. I’ll honor our original agreement because I am a man of my word,” he says, with a pointed look. “But I don’t want to hear about this again. Have I made myself clear?”
“Crystal,” I reply. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve already made my career choice, and it isn’t the path you want for me. I don’t need your permission to pursue my passion.”
My dad is quiet for a moment as he straightens his tie and smoothes out the pages on his desk calendar. “You do need my financial support, though, don’t you, son?”
He’s played his ace, and he’s pretty damn pleased with himself, but I knew this was coming. Dutton and I have spent hours hashing it out. At first, I was terrified by this exact scenario. I’ve lived an easy life so far and I’d be lying if I said I was excited to be cut off financially. But I’ve come to terms with it. If the price I have to pay for freedom is getting a job this summer or taking out a bunch of loans to pay for school next year, then that’s what I’ll do. But I highly doubt it’s going to come to that.
“You do what you need to do, Dad. If you want to explain to your buddies why I’m shopping at the banks looking for loans, or why I’m slinging drinks at the country club, you go ahead.
I’ve rendered my father speechless for the first time ever. He looks so mad right now that I decide not to go in for the final blow, even though my backup plan has a backup plan. I figure if all else fails, I can appeal to my mother. She and I have never been close, but I know with soul-deep certainty that she’ll float me the cash I need, if only to spite my father. If pissing off Greg Halliday were a sport, my mom would have a dozen gold medals. I doubt I’ll even have to go down that road, but it’s nice to have options.
