Chapter 49 Chapter Forty-Nine
Danny POV
I was in the middle of reviewing game footage which was the last thing I wanted to be doing after my date with Vanessa when my phone rang, my father's name flashing across the screen.
I stared at it for a moment, debating whether to answer. Conversations with Jonathan Glover were rarely casual, and I wasn't in the mood for whatever lecture he had prepared today but ignoring him would only make things worse.
It always did.
I paused the video and answered.
"Hey, Dad."
"Daniel." His voice was crisp, businesslike. He only called me Daniel when he was in what I privately called "CEO mode."
"Do you have a moment?"
"Yeah, sure," I said, leaning back in my desk chair.
"What's up?"
"I wanted to touch base about your recruitment situation," he said, and I could hear papers rustling in the background. He was probably in his office at home, multitasking as usual.
"I spoke with Tom Schneider from the Rangers yesterday. He mentioned they're very interested in you for their farm team next season."
My jaw clenched. Of course he'd been talking to scouts, I was surprised I hadn't heard from him earlier.
My father had a knack for making plans for my future without consulting me.
"That's... good to know," I said carefully.
"Good to know?" Jonathan repeated, and I could hear the edge in his voice.
"Daniel, this is the New York Rangers. One of the most prestigious organizations in the NHL. Tom is doing me a personal favor by even considering a college player who hasn't finished his senior year."
"I know, Dad. I appreciate it— " I started and he cut me off
"Then why don't you sound more enthusiastic?" he interrupted.
"This is the opportunity of a lifetime. You should be thanking me for opening this door."
I took a deep breath, counting to five before responding. This was classic Jonathan Glover—making decisions, pulling strings, and then demanding gratitude for the intervention I'd never asked for.
"I haven't decided what team I want to join yet," I said, keeping my voice level.
"I'm still weighing my options besides it's not much of a favor when I'm at the top of my team"
"Weighing your options," Jonathan repeated flatly ignoring the other end of my statement.
"Daniel, you're a college senior. You don't have the luxury of being indecisive. The draft is in six months, and you need to position yourself strategically. I've been in this business long enough to know—"
"I know, Dad," I interrupted, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice.
"You've told me. Multiple times. But this is my career, my decision. I have met with a few agents myself but I need to make sure I'm choosing the right fit, not just the team with the biggest name or the best connection to you."
The silence on the other end was heavy, oppressive. I'd crossed a line, and we both knew it.
"I see," Jonathan said finally, his voice cold.
"So all the work I've done, all the doors I've opened for you—that doesn't matter? You'd rather fumble around making rookie mistakes than trust your father's judgment?"
"That's not what I'm saying—"
"Then what are you saying?" he demanded.
"Because from where I'm sitting, it sounds like you're being ungrateful and short-sighted. Do you know how many players would kill for the opportunities I've handed you?"
"I know," I said, my own anger rising now.
"But those players aren't me. And maybe—maybe I don't want opportunities that come from you calling in favors. Maybe I want to earn my spot on my own merit."
"Merit," Jonathan scoffed.
"Daniel, this is professional sports. Talent is good, yes. And merit is fine but it's all about who you know and what connections you can leverage. If you think merit alone is going to get you anywhere, you're naive."
The words stung, probably because there was some truth to them, there was nothing about sports that didn't require some sort of finesse.
I'd watched my father operate this way my entire life—calling in favors, making deals, relationships were forms of transactions and I'd sworn I wouldn't become that person.
"Maybe I am naive," I said quietly.
"But I'd rather be naive than cynical."
I heard a sharp intake of breath, and for a second I thought my father was going to really lose it.
But then there was a shuffling sound, voices in the background,
“ God, how long are you going to argue with the boy?” I heard my mother huff. Suddenly my mother's voice came through the line.
"Danny? Sweetheart, it's Mom."
I could picture it perfectly—Alice Glover physically taking the phone from her husband's hand, probably giving him one of those looks that had been keeping Jonathan in check for thirty years.
"Hey, Mom," I said, relief flooding through me.
"Your father and I were just discussing how much we'd love to have you over for dinner," Alice said, her tone bright and determinedly cheerful in that way she had when she was smoothing over one of Dad's messes.
"It's been too long since we've seen you."
"Mom, I was just there two weeks ago—"
"And we miss you terribly," she continued, steamrolling over my protest.
"But more importantly, we'd love to meet this girlfriend of yours. Vanessa, isn't it?"
My heart sank. Of course. Of course that's where this was going.
"Mom I'm not sure if that's—"
“ You can't mean she isn't your girlfriend yet. Your father maybe stone headed but he did have some charm back in the day” she said softly then under her breath she added
“ I thought some of that charm might have passed on to you” she hummed. I was still stunned into silence.