He settles into the chair across from me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I have it on good word that the dev camp invite is in the works. Should be official within the week."
My stomach twists. "Okay."
"Okay? That's all you have to say?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Do you understand what this means? This is everything we've worked for. Everything you've sacrificed for."
"I know what it means."
"Then why do you look like I just told you your dog died?" He studies my face. "What's going on with you?"
"Nothing. I'm just tired."
“Then quit partying. And fucking.”
I flinch at his crassness.
“Is that it?” I snap. “I have to go.”
“Where’s Ashton?”
I shrug. “Class, I guess. Why?”
“They’re very interested in inviting Ashton out as well.”
“Really?”
“I’ll need to talk to him and make sure he understands what this might mean.”
Translation: he wants to sign him and get a chunk of whatever contract Ashton might be offered.
“Whatever,” I mutter.
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out one of his business cards. “Give this to him. Tell him I’d like to take him to dinner to talk.”
“You mean you want to kiss his ass and ride his coattails.”
“Watch yourself.”
He gets to his feet. "Don't screw this up. For either of you."
I watch him leave and toss his card onto the coffee table.
I don’t know if the invitation for Ashton is real or a tactic to get me on board. I put nothing past my father. He’s sneaky and loves to be in control.
But he’s right. I can’t ruin this for Ashton. I know he wants to be in the league. What kind of friend would I be if I ruined his chance? Still, my dad never said we had to go together.
But it was implied.
At practice, I pull Ashton aside before we hit the ice.
"I need to talk to you about something."
"Sounds serious."
"My dad met with the Seattle scout."
"Yeah? How'd it go?"
"They're interested in you, too."
