“I want you to do whatever the fuck you want,” he snaps at me. “If that’s play piano, then great. If that’s graduating with a degree in art or chemical engineering or fucking astrology, whatever. But just know that you’re going to be taken care of no matter what. I’m going to the NHL. I’m going to make a shit ton of money—I already have a shit ton of money, Aspen. Thirty thousand dollars to keep you in school and with a meal plan is a drop in the bucket. I’d give you more if it helps. I’d give you all of it if I thought for a second that you cared about that.” My mouth opens and closes. “I
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