Page 37 of The Goalie in Room 1

Having been in the world of top-level, elite athletes, I finally realized what he’d been skirting around. Or what I thought he was getting at. Too many managers and agents took advantage of athletes who just wanted to make it but didn’t have the means.

“Nothing.”

His gaze snapped to mine.

“Bullshit.”

“No. Nothing. There’s no repayment. No percentage of your future income. No contract saying you owe somebody twenty grand because they spent twenty grand helping you. You don’t have to become successful enough to prove their money was well spent.”

His expression didn’t change.

“And before your brain comes up with anything else, no favors. No sex. No relationship. No gratitude. Nothing.”

Something flickered across his face when I said the word sex.

“A patron doesn’t own you, Cash. They don’t get to decide what you do with your life because they helped pay for it. They don’t decide where you live, what job you take, who you date, or what you do with your life or your body. You can tell your patron no.”

“Even when they’re paying for everything?”

“Especially then.”

He stared at me as if I’d started speaking another language.

“Halo House is supposed to give people enough stability to make their own choices. Patronage is part of that. The whole point is to give you more control over your life, not hand control over to someone else.”

Cash went quiet.

His gaze dropped to the papers I’d placed beneath the surgical binder.

“What’s that?”

I looked down at the report.

For the first time since stopping at the accountant’s office, I wondered if bringing it had been a mistake.

“Something I thought would convince you I wasn’t offering to pay for your surgery because I felt sorry for you.”

His jaw tightened.

“I’m thinking it was a stupid idea.”

“What is it?”

I slid the report across the table.

“My accountant keeps track of what I contribute to Halo House. Medical services. Expenses I cover. The surgeries I perform pro bono, ones that are for Halo House residents and ones that aren’t. I thought if you saw that helping you isn’t some special act of charity I dreamed up because I think poor Cash Benjamin needs rescuing, you might actually hear me when I tell you I want you to have the surgery because I believe it will improve your life.”

His eyes moved over the page.

“Davina made a joke about my accountant being happy if I squeezed another surgery in before the end of the year. It’s what made me think of it.”

That elicited the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“She sounds like a smartass.”

“She is.”

He looked at the report again.