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Junior · 06-11-2021, 01:03 AM

“Hey, you’ve got this. He’s your dad he’s going to support you.” Kimberly’s words did little to soothe Don Jr’s anxieties.
“He’s going to support me.” He scoffed at the very notion. Donald had been many things over the course of Junior’s life, but supportive was not one of them. Junior had been pacing outside the ornate double doors leading into his father’s office for nearly fifteen minutes now. Sweat began to bead around his brow and roll down the back of his neck. His hands were getting clammy from the anticipation.
“Baby, just say what you need to say. Remember – the best is yet to come!”

The doors abruptly opened and three men dressed in ill fitting suits awkwardly shuffled out holding an assortment of documents followed closely by a mustachioed man holding two pillows, one under each arm.
“Don Jr.!” the man remarked. “Nice to see ya buddy. I was just going over some things with your dad.”
“Nice to see you Mike,” Junior awkwardly looked for an opening to shake hands, but Mike’s hands were occupied. “I hope you’re doing well.”
Mike chortled. “About as well as I can be, eh? Well anyway I won’t keep ya.” And with that he departed with a light job to catch up with the trio of men that had continued on their way without him.

“Come in!” the unmistakable voice of Junior’s father echoed out of his office and out to the waiting room. Don Jr. looked to Kimberley for one last look of reassurance, then with a nod stepped into his father’s office and closed the door behind him. In the center of the room, resting in front of glass double doors with the shutters open just enough to allow light to leak into the dimly lit room, sat his father’s ornate mahogany desk. And in a red leather wingback chair sat his father.
“What did Mike want?” Junior truly didn’t care, but he figured the more he could delay the conversation the better.
“There’s so much corruption. Really – did you see – so the Democrats now – and they’re blaming me of course..” Donald carried on but Junior was zoning out. He kept repeating the words in his head that he had to say. He had rehearsed them. This shouldn’t be hard, just spit it out.

“Dad, I’m going to declare for the SMJHL draft!” Junior shouted the words moreso than speak them, and he wasn’t the only one surprised. His dad nearly choked on the sip of diet coke that he had begun to take before regaining his composure and swallowing it down hard. He looked up at Junior with a look in his eye that was all too familiar.
“Do you understand how this will make me look?” His hands were tightly balled into small little fists. “You just always have to make it about yourself don’t you? First with your book – which I helped promote by the way. Without me you sell zero copies. Zero copies. It goes into the bargain bin – maybe the garbage bin. And now you do this?”
“I’m just trying to chase my dreams-”
“Your dreams? Your dreams. Let me tell you about dreams. You’re a millionaire. Your dad was the President. Millions of people look up to you and you want to give that up for what – for hockey? For minor league hockey? You’re a joke.” Donald grabbed a tidy stack of papers from his desk and began to parse through them.
Don Jr. stood in stunned silence for a few moments. He was no stranger to outbursts of his father’s anger, but he wasn’t expecting this. A lack of confidence, sure. But not a full blown tirade. “I wish I knew what to say.”
Donald peered up from his papers for just a moment. “You can leave now.”
Junior stood for a few more moments before shuffling out of his father’s office.

*****

The cold air bit at Junior’s ankles as it rose from the surface of the ice. The hard rubber puck smacked into the toe of his hockey stick and then with a flick of his wrist he sent it into the top right corner of the open net in front of him.

“Good! Again!” the thick French Canadian accent of his trainer never ceased to bring a smile to Junior’s face. The trainer flung another puck toward him and this time Junior sent it to the bottom left corner. He couldn’t be sure how long they had been running this one timer drill, but by the sweat that was now starting to pool up and freeze on the ice at his feet he knew it had been a while.

After a few more times running the drill Don Jr. huffed and puffed his way off the ice, struggling to catch his breath as his lungs screamed for air.

“You looked great out there, Donny!” Ron, Don Jr.’s agent shouted inches from his face. “We’ve got scouts from nearly every team up there watching!” Ron made a sweeping arm motion towards the stands of the practice arena where a half dozen men dressed in warm ups and taking notes on laptops and notebooks sat. Donald gave a little wave to one that made eye contact with him.

Ron sat patiently in the backseat of the limo outside the practice facility as Donald Junior signed copies of “Triggered,” posed for pictures, and shook hands. After what felt like hours he finally opened the door and sat down next to his agent.

“Where are we looking at?” Donald asked.

“Well we have two teams right now that seem to have actual interest. I’ll try to dig a little deeper there and see how real it is.” Ron took a pregnant pause. “I do have to warn you though, this is a pretty deep draft and some teams are worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” Donald asked, but the look on Ron’s face was the only response he needed. Of course, he was the son of the former President, and a political figure himself. There would be a lot of controversy around whichever team decided to take a chance and draft Don Jr. “So what round are we looking at? 2? 3?”

“Maybe three. Maybe three…” Ron’s voice trailed off a bit as he continued to read and respond to text messages on his smartphone. “Maybe four, but let’s hope that’s not the case.”

As the limousine departed from the hockey rink and drove off towards Don Jr.’s penthouse, a sense of calm overcame him. His future was uncertain. His present was uncertain. His relationship with his father was uncertain. However, he knew that whatever happened next would be exactly what he needed to have happen and that at the end of the day the only person that controlled his destiny was himself. Also he was filthy rich. He stared out the window aimlessly as the cars on the road became blurs of color and sound to his unfocused eyes. The draft was calling, and he was ready to answer the phone.