Page 15 of From Drummer to Gamer
“Wait.” He held up a hand, shaking his head. “I’m still reeling over the fact you said a million dollars. I’m going to be a millionaire?” He grinned.
The clown was back. “Yes, possibly.”
“Also, what you yapping about me not being marketable, big man? I’m both hot and talented.”
I sighed. “Fine.”
“And New York? I can’t possibly go down there that often.”
“I agree. I’ll arrange a place. You might need a guardian to stay with you. Might also need a guardian’s approval for the contract, but I’ll leave that to the lawyers,” I explained, just as a soft breeze washed over us.
“Guardians’ approval?” His eyes widened.
“Yes. Assuming you’re under eighteen.” I knew, but I didn’t voice it.
“About that.” He ran a hand through his hair, averting his eyes. “I need a favor.”
I narrowed my eyes. “A favor?”
“My parents, well, actually my mother thinks I’m going to college for chemistry,” he said with a shaky laugh.
“So?”
“I need your help convincing her that I can really do this,” he mumbled.
“No.”
“What?” His eyes snapped to mine. “Don’t you want me?”
“Yes, but convincing your parents is not my job. It’s yours.”
“Please,” he pleaded, a desperate look in his eyes. “My mom wouldn’t believe me. If you’re there, we can both convince her. You can tell her I’m good at this and can really do this. Please, big man, I really don’t want to miss this opportunity because of my mother. I really, really want this. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”
Fuck, negotiation and strategic conversation were not my strongest forte. But the kid was right; he needed someone to stand by his side and advocate for him. And now that responsibility fell on me.
I reluctantly nodded. “Fine.”
“Really?” His excited eyes flew to me.
“Yes, really.”
“Thank fuck,” he muttered, grinning. “Then come on,” he said and started to walk away.
And I stared at his back.
A moment passed before he realized I wasn’t with him. “Come on,” he called out over his shoulder.
“Now?” I mumbled.
“Yes, now.” He waved his hand like I was dumb. “If not, when?”
I exhaled, following him.
Within minutes, we were at a complex a few streets over and he led me two stories upstairs, speaking at a hundred miles a minute about irrelevant topics that just went straight through my head.
“This is me,” he said, pointing at the wooden door that had the number 24 written on top of it. He drew a pair of keys from his pocket and turned them in the fob.
“I’m home,” he announced as he stepped in, and I shadowed behind him.
