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“It’s true, Ferguson,” I promise him. “But, only if your dad helps me with something.” I smile ruefully, bending down closer to Darcy. Everyone’s eyes shift from me to Tristan.
He raises an eyebrow and asks, “What’d you have in mind?”
I stand up, thinking this is most likely the best and only chance I have of ever obtaining a scholarship or even getting into college with a late application.
“I want to go to college, and I want to play hockey when I’m there. Maybe even get a scholarship to help pay for the tuition.”
I realize that I’m not making any sense, just rambling on and not telling him the whole story. “I used to be a pretty good player,” I explain. “But that was a long time ago. Now. I’m not even sure I could score—”
“You’re asking me to help you score.” His mouth quirks upward, making heat rise in my cheeks.
I don’t even dignify his little innuendo with an answer.
He’s rubbing his chin, still thinking about it when Darcy offers loudly, “Dad can help you with hockey, and he’ll pay you for looking after us, too.”
Tristan laughs, but he nods in agreement. His expression is clouded, though, as he debates it silently. Finally, he extends a hand out toward me, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I can help you with that.”
“Deal.” I shake his hand, then high-five the kids, unsuccessfully hiding my excitement. I stamp it down, though, because I can tell that Tristan has something else on his mind.
A knock at the door prevents me from finding out what it is. His coach stands on the other side. He makes a swift movement, advising him that breakfast is almost over, and that Tristan missed his window to eat with the other players.
The kids have their meal tickets, and I usher them toward the door with their dad. I have to tell my own father that I’m not going to be able to work with him for a little while. That’s the hard part, and I feel guilty for even doing it, but I think he’ll see my side of things once I tell him about the agreement we’ve just made.
Tristan’s helping me, and I’m helping him. It’s that simple. Right?
* * *
Tristan arranges a driver to take me to my house, and then his agent will wait at the airport with the tickets. When he suggested such a plan, I was a bit confused and nervous, wondering why he didn’t just get his agent to look after the kids, which would ultimately write me out of the equation completely. I worked up the guts to ask him, and he very quickly explained that he wouldn’t let his agent look after his dog, let alone his children.
He didn’t know me, and he’d left his children with me. That wasn’t saying much for his agent. But the idea that he trusted me enough on merely a first impression sent a wave of pride through me.
“So, he turned up in the end?”
I nod my head. I’d come to Dad’s house, hoping to catch him before he headed to the store for the day. He always went there on Sundays. I never understood why, because the store wasn’t open for business.
“Yes, he did,” I explain, speaking faster than I need to. “And he needs a babysitter, Dad. Well, not him, his kids. You know what I mean.” I sigh, frustrated at how flustered I am. “So, I’m going to fly to Colorado with them, to look after Darcy and Ferguson for a while. In exchange, Tristan has agreed to pay me, as well as help me with my hockey skills.”
I didn’t waste time with more details, and by the look on his face, he didn’t need them.
“Run that by me again?”
I begin again, this time slower, but Dad dismisses me, saying, “I heard what you said, but you’re not doing it.”
“Why?”
I know all the reasons why it isn’t a good idea. But, I have to stand my ground and let him know that this isn’t his decision.
“Because it’s crazy. You don’t even know the man, or the children, for that matter. And judging by the way you were clearly star-struck by him, I know what he’s got in mind by offering up that deal, Faith. You’re not going to perfect your skills with him. He’s in it to score.”
He’s getting angry, raising his voice. I’m affronted by his immediate stance, and the blunt way he assures me of it, but he’s not done.
“You haven’t had any real experience with men like him,” he continues. “Guys like that only want one thing. They’re stars, and they use it to get young girls like you to do whatever they want.”
“Naïve girls like me.” It’s not a question, but more a sarcastic statement.
His shoulders sag slightly. “It’s just not a good idea, Faith.”
Dad never raises his voice, but the vein is still popping out at the side of his neck, and I can tell he’s still simmering with anger.
