“Do you know what it feels like to be considered to be such a loser that someone wants to pay you to go away?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but in our world, money is the solution. It doesn’t matter what the problem is, just throw money at it.”
“And I’m the problem.”
“In his eyes, yes. But clearly Declan doesn’t believe it, and that’s what matters.”
I wave my hand. “I don’t want to talk about me. Tell me about Crew. What’s going on there?”
She smiles. “It’s going. Slowly. Not serious. Just a lot of fun.”
“He’s a good guy. Very funny.”
“Is it weird for me to be dating one of your roommates?”
“Nope.”
“Good. We should all go out. Let’s go dancing. Not a party at the house, but us hanging out at the club. Dancing. Having fun.”
I thought about it for a second. “You know what? That sounds like a good idea. I still owe you a night out.”
“Yeah, you do.”
We finish our coffee and head to our classes. I keep checking my phone, but there’s nothing from Declan. I really, really hope I didn’t completely screw up his life.
Chapter Four
DECLAN
Lucky me—Dad’s in town.
That should make this conversation much easier.
I've been in the car for five minutes when the memories start flooding back.
I'm eight years old. Dad promised to come to my game. Championship game. I score the winning goal and scan the stands looking for him.
He's not there.
He shows up two hours later with a bottle of champagne and a contract he just closed. Tells me the game was a good warm-up for the "real wins" I'll have someday.
I'm twelve—Mom's birthday dinner. Dad cancels thirty minutes before we're supposed to leave because a client needs him.
Mom sits at the table in her dress; the cake she ordered for herself, which he forgot, sits on the table. She doesn't cry. She just takes off her jewelry, changes into pajamas, and goes to bed at seven p.m. Two days later, she was gone. She kissed megoodbye, promised to see me soon, and walked out the door with two suitcases.
I'm sixteen. NHL draft. I'm not getting drafted—I'm still in high school—but Dad takes me anyway to "network."
He spends the entire night introducing me to scouts, agents, and team executives, talking about my potential. My stats. My trajectory.
He doesn't ask if I want to do this. Doesn't ask if this is my dream or his.
He just assumes.
In the last three years of college I know I’ve disappointed him. He was so desperate for me to get drafted. It’s the only time I’ve ever pushed back. I’ve let him dictate my entire life, but I wanted an education. I fought hard for it.
But his goal has always been hockey. Not for me. I’m just his only son. I’m being pushed toward hockey because he doesn’t have a backup.
The pattern is clear. It's always been clear.
