Page 62 of Vicious Butterfly
Father leans back, considering Tate, but he’s the only one who appears the least bit skeptical. Everyone else is already eating out of his hands.
They’re large hands.
I’ve had nice red prints of those hands on my ass.
“I was blessed with Ace McKinnon,” he says, souring my mood. Fucking Ace McKinnon. It pisses me off how much he idolizes him. “His father went to Shadowridge, and so did his mother. Naturally, Ace followed suit. Isn’t that why Ryan goes to North Point, Henry? Following in your footsteps?”
My heart leaps into my throat. The way he says my name does things to me, things I don’t want happening with my father sitting right next to me.
Father nods. “The Savage family has a long history with North Point.”
“That’s right, so Ryan chose to stay with the Pacific Conference and to play for North Point.”
What the fuck is he doing? Is this his way of taking matters into his own hands? Where is he going with this? He can’t be stupid enough to think he’s going to convince my father at a conference meeting.
“Yes. He’s a legacy like I was,” Father says with pride in his voice that isn’t about me, but about being a legacy himself.
“What if he had done better playing with McKinnon?”
“I would have been happy for McKinnon to come to North Point,” Father says as he shifts in his seat.
The room chuckles.
I cringe.
Father’s uncomfortable. Tate’s making everything worse. I take slow breaths. My brain chants I need air, I need air, I need air, while I fight the urge so that I don’t hyperventilate. Overriding my body’s broken instincts with discipline.
“Just as Shae McKinnon would have been happy for Ryan to come to Shadowridge.”
Father sniffs. Yeah, right. I only got out of North Point in the first place because the NHL came calling. Father wasn’t happy. Even if my social life hadn’t exploded the way it did, I suspect he would have come for me. I was the fool who made it convenient for him. He was getting me to North Point one way or the other.
“Which is my point. Thankfully, Ryan and Ace are in the same conference, but what about the other generational talent locked up in the east and west?”
He makes us sound like we’re just assets, chess pieces to move around. But I’m a little curious as to how he plans to circumvent family loyalty in his little speech.
“We need more scouts who can pitch a sale. That sale would be directed to the players about being their own legacy.”
Is he fucking insane? That’s not going to do anything except for poke the bear—my father being the bear in case that wasn’t clear.
As I predict, Father scowls, opening his mouth, about to say something?—
“That’sbrilliant, Tate,” the commissioner says as if Tate just saved Christmas.
Wait.
Is that what …?
My mind whirs, trying to catch up to Tate’s.Oh.He’s not trying to impress my father. Doesn’t give a fuck what my father thinks of this proposal, actually. In fact, it’s all the more entertaining for him if Father hates it but is forced to play along.
Because—and I can’t fucking believe this—but the commissioner is one of thegoodguys. I’d forgotten that good guys exist beyond North Point. Beyond families like mine. It’s not often a guy like the commissioner—now I wish I’d learned his name—makes it to a position of power.
It’s the snakes of the world that get there, every time.
But it’s a bit of a political trap for my father. Not the strongest of traps. But enough to be a nudge of pressure. Apparently, Tate’s not an ass-kisser while he negotiates. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
Father’s mouth snaps shut, his mind having to perform some mental gymnastics for a counterpoint that won’t make him look like he doesn’t care about what the players want.
“Children should choose their own paths—if we can offer something better, they should have the opportunity. Isn’t that right, Ryan?” the commissioner says.
