I laugh because I honestly have no idea what that means. Both are luxury cars, and neither is anywhere near my price range. “Oh, the horror.”
“Exactly. I’m fine. It’s never been about the money for me. I know that sounds terrible given your situation, but trust me when I say money isn’t everything. It’s a lot, but it can’t buy me this.”
I feel tears welling, but I’m not going to cry.
“Okay. Well, you have me. I’ll teach you all the ways to survive being poor. The twenty thousand different ways you can elevate ramen noodles.”
He cracks a smile. “I’m not poor, but I look forward to the education.”
“When you’re at camp, you’ll appreciate my culinary education.”
His jaw tightens. "I'm not going to dev camp."
"What? Why not?"
"Because my father arranged it." He stands up and starts pacing. "It's all tainted. Every opportunity. Every door he opened. It's all part of his agenda."
"But it's still your opportunity. Your talent got you there."
"Did it? Or was it his manipulation? His string-pulling?" He runs his hands through his hair. "I don't even know anymore. I don't know which parts are real and which parts are just him controlling my life."
"Declan, you're an incredible hockey player. That's not your father. That's you."
"I don't even know if I love hockey or if I just love it because I'm supposed to."
"You don't mean that."
"Don't I? How would I know? I've never been allowed to figure out what I actually want. Everything's been decided for me since before I could form complete sentences."
I stand and cross to him. "When you're on the ice, do you enjoy it?"
He hesitates. "I don't know."
"Yes, you do. I've watched you play. I've seen your face when you score, when you make a perfect pass. When the team wins." I squeeze his hands. "That's not an obligation. That's not your father's agenda. That's genuine joy."
"Maybe."
"Not maybe. Definitely." I pull him to sit back down on the couch. "Look, I get that you're angry. I get that you want to rejecteverything associated with your father. But don't throw away something you love just to spite him."
"I don't know what I want," he says. "And that's the problem. I should know. I'm twenty-two years old. I should have some idea of what I want my life to look like. But I don't. Because every time I try to figure it out, I hear my father's voice telling me what I should want."
"Then maybe you need time to figure it out without his voice in your head."
"How long is that going to take?"
"I don't know. As long as it takes." I lean against him. "But don't make permanent decisions right now. Not when you're angry, hurt, and feeling betrayed."
"The dev camp coordinator needs an answer by Friday."
"Go to camp and see how it feels. Make the decision after you have more information."
"I don't want to go if my father arranged it."
"Did he arrange it? Or did he just put in a good word?" I turn to face him. "Because there's a difference. You have the talent. Maybe he opened the door, but you're the one who has to walk through it. You're the one who has to prove you belong there."
"But every time I'm there, I'll be wondering if I deserve it or if it's just his connections."
"Then prove you deserve it. Play so well that there's no question." I cup his face. "Don't let him take hockey away from you. Not if you actually love it."
