“Speaking of taxes, can you believe the changes they’ve made to the tax code for estate taxes? Just ridiculous,” someone else says.
“Almost as ridiculous as the capital gains taxes we had to pay last year. Beyond maddening,” some other guy says.
I quietly eat my turkey, half-paying attention to all the rich people at the table complaining about paying just a little more in taxes. I glanced at Poppy sitting next to me. She rolls her eyes and quietly mouths, “fucking rich people.” I stifle a laugh.
“Enough of all this tax talk,” Richard says. “You’re gonna bore these poor kids to death.” He nods at Poppy and me.
Sterling sets down his fork and dabs the corner of his mouth with a cloth napkin. “You’re right. We should include our guest in the conversation.” His sharp gaze lands on me. The musclesin my shoulders tense as I brace myself for whatever passive-aggressive dig he’s about to hit me with.
“So, Nick. It sounds like from what Richard and Peter say, you’re quite the hockey player.”
“I think I’m pretty decent,” I say.
“More than decent. One of the top in the country.” Richard holds his wine glass up to me.
Sterling nods. “Right. I’m assuming you plan to play professionally someday?”
I offer a polite smile. “That’s the plan.”
“College sports are quite different from professional sports, though. Much more intense and cutthroat. And just because you’re a star in college doesn’t mean you’d be all that good professionally.”
I clear my throat. “I’m aware of that, Mr. Wylder.”
Poppy sits up straighter in her chair and looks at her dad. “Nick is an incredibly talented hockey player, Dad,” she says. “Scouts for professional teams are interested in him and come to his games to watch him play.”
A warm feeling settles inside of me at the conviction in her tone. At how she doesn’t hesitate to build me up.
I reach down and give her hand a soft squeeze.
“Wow. That’s a big deal,” Peter says.
“Yes, well done,” Richard says.
I tell them both thanks, but I don’t miss the way Sterling is scowling at me, like he’s never been less impressed.
“Nick, I hope you’re not naive enough to think that you’re a shoo-in for a professional hockey team,” Sterling says.
I grit my teeth, annoyed at his condescending tone. “I’m not naive. I know it’s not easy. I think I have a decent shot, though.”
Sterling nods like he’s agreeing with me, but I can tell by the look on his face that he thinks I’m a fucking moron.
He picks up his fork and knife and starts slicing into his serving of turkey. “Even if you do make it pro, there’s no telling how long you’ll last. Sure, you’re young and fit now, but professional sports are no joke. They’re hell on the body.”
Richard chuckles, not seeming to pick up on the tension in the air between Sterling and me.
“One injury and bam. You’re done,” Sterling says, looking me in the eye. “Then what? What’s your backup plan?”
I feel Poppy stiffen under my hand. She purses her lips. I give her another gentle squeeze to reassure her that I’m fine. I can handle this.
“I haven’t thought of one yet,” I say.
“You should,” he says. “You can’t put all your eggs in one basket.”
Richard chuckles again. “Oh, Sterling. Lighten up. He’s a kid. Let him live out his hockey dreams. I mean, hell, if I had been good at hockey or golf or any sport, I’d be doing that instead of this boring lawyer business,” he jokes. The table chuckles.
Sterling shakes his head. “I don’t want some delusional dreamer with nothing going for him hitching his wagon to my daughter.”
“Dad,” Poppy says sharply.
