Connor’s nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath, watching my face carefully.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” Connor says, his voice tight. “Should I … maybe I could talk to him?”
I shake my head. He hasn’t seen Connor since my mom’s funeral. Even before then, they weren’t close, not like he and Scout were.
“Only Scout can get him out of his study. She has a special gift for it.”
Connor lets a laugh out through his nose. “It’s called stubbornness.”
“Yeah.” I smile. “Connor, honestly, it’s fine. We’ll just eat. It smells delicious.”
We’re quiet while we eat. I have to remind myself not to sulk over my dad. Connor did a nice thing for me and he doesn’t have to be here. He could be at home having dinner with his family. People who want to talk to him and hear about his day.
“It’s really good,” I say around a mouthful of pasta.
He beams. “Not as good as my dad’s, but—”
“No, it is. It’s really good.”
“Thanks. Must be my helper.” He winks. That wink has floored me on many occasions. The effect is no different now.
I lower my head and let my hair shield some of my blush.
We eat in a more companiable silence for a while, enjoying the food. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I started eating.
“How was your day?” I ask, wiping my mouth on a napkin.
“Good.” I get the feeling something’s on the tip of his tongue.
“Did anything interesting happen?”
He takes a sip of water. Is he stalling? “I was scouted.”
“My God, Connor, that’s amazing.”
He lowers his eyes to his plate with a wan smile. Why isn’t he more excited about this?
“What did your mom and dad say?” I ask.
“I haven’t told them.”
“Why not?”
He swallows, running his finger along the rim of his glass. “It’s minor league.”
That’s why he isn’t happy about it?
“So what?”
His hand flinches from the glass like it suddenly burned him. “I don’t want to play minor league hockey.”
“Lots of pro players start out in the minor leagues.”
“Not Sidney Crosby or Ovi or—”
“So what? You don’t need to be those guys. You can be you.”