Page 152 of Wild Card 13
St. Croix’s scout glanced at Mercer, then back at me. “A strong USHL season would answer a lot of questions for college programs too. Speed of play. Defensive details. How your game translates when every guy on the ice can keep up with you.”
“Every guy?” I asked before I could stop myself.
His smile grew. “Most guys.”
Dad exhaled through his nose. Coach looked at the ceiling. Thane made the smallest sound.
Mercer did not laugh much, but his mouth twitched. “Confidence won’t be your problem.”
“No, sir.”
Dad stepped in then, voice steady in the way that made everyone around him automatically understand he expected clear answers. “What timeline are we talking about?”
“Nothing tonight,” Mercer said immediately. “Season first. State tournament. Let him finish what he started here. Then we talk.”
Dad nodded once.
Thane shifted beside him. The Fargo scout glanced over.
“Burns,” Mercer said, acknowledging him. “Chicago treating you all right?”
Thane’s expression barely changed. “Depends on who you ask.”
Mercer smiled. “Heard you got another call-up last month.”
“Two games.”
Mercer gave Dad a business card. Then another to Coach.
Ellison handed Dad one too, then glanced at me. “Enjoy tonight. You earned it.”
I should have said something normal.
Thank you.
I appreciate it.
Instead, I said, “Does enjoying tonight include pizza? Because I’m starving.”
Coach closed his eyes.
Dad looked like he was deciding whether pride and exasperation could coexist in one blood pressure.
“Go see your family,” Coach said, voice rougher than usual. “Before your grandmother storms the hallway.”
That was not impossible.
I started toward the crowd, then stopped when Thane called, “Ty.”
He looked me over once, professional and irritating. “On the overtime rush, you pulled the weak-side D with your eyes before you changed the shooting angle. Do that on purpose next time.”
That was it.
That was the whole thing.
No good job. No hell of a game. No I’m proud of you.
But from Thane, that was basically a parade.
