Page 9 of Six Years
However, that doesn’t explain how he knows my father’s first name.
We’re a lot more known here in Malibu, so I give him that. And still. He knows too much, but I’m not sure how. Or why.
“Why is that a thing you’re so hung up on?” I ask in return. Truth is, I’ve never had my father’s last name. It was a safety precaution my father took. Not everyone knows us, a lot of people do, but noteveryone.
There are no pictures of either of us online, not from business shoots or paparazzi, anyway. Not a single family picture either. It’s like Sun and I don’t exist. Except that we were mentioned before.
He did this so we could have a normal school life. That we could go out without people trying to get information about our father’s company out of us. Or use us. And to give us the chance to stay anonymous.
We could’ve decided to change our last name at the age of eighteen, publicly become a part of the family. Moon, my older brother whose pictures also show up online, did, but Sun and I refused.
I don’t want to be associated with Li Ji-Hoon, that’s the thing. He might be my father and, yes, thanks to him and this company, I was able to study wherever I wanted. The money I grew up with opened doors for me other people could never get close to even if they worked their whole lives.
I am grateful for what I have, how I grew up, but that doesn’t mean I’d rather not make a name for myself.
I don’t need people saying I only got to where I am because of my father, and I know that’s what’s going to happen. Every time Colin reads a comment or an article about how he’s only a good ice hockey player because his father is a literal NHL coach, I see the self-doubt in his eyes. He doesn’t want to show it, but I can see it anyway.
Nobody wants to be compared to their parents, especially not when it comes to their own successes. But what’s worse than comparisons, is the people saying you’ve only gotten to where you arebecauseyou’ve had themoneyto get there.
People say Colin only got onto the NYR team because his father is the coach, has connections to the team owner. And while that’s true, if Colin wasn’t a great player, even Coach Carter wouldn’t be able to do a single thing about it.
During college, I’ve heard people say that Aaron was only good at ice hockey because he could afford skating lessons, more than average. Again, it’s true. If he needed extra training, his father could afford to give him those. But I know it still sucks being told you’re only any good because of the money your parents have.
Miles wasn’t too talked about. The only rumors spreading about him were that he fucked ninety percent of the women on campus, which is bullshit. That guy fucked two at most. He likes to pretend he’s all cocky and a manwhore, when in reality he was just trying to get people to think he’s too much of a prick to have a child.
That backfired.
Anyway, nobody knew the real him. They knew his father had money, but the manwhore rumors trumped the ice hockey related ones, so none ever really made it big.
And with me, since nobody knows I am the son of Li Ji-Hoon, nobody could ever say anything about my ice performance in relation to money and the possibility to easily afford lessons, or only being there because I had a known father. And I plan on keeping it that way.
“I’m curious,” Luan answers, still keeping that bright smile on his face. “But alright, I’ll ask again tomorrow. Maybe then you’ll provide me with an answer, Grey Davis.”
“Who said we’d see each other tomorrow?”
Luan downs the rest of his apple juice like it’s a shot, setting his glass down like one as well. “I did.” His green eyes sparkle with challenge. “Can’t two friends meet anymore these days?”
Friends. “Who said we were friends?”
He rolls his eyes all dramatically, then turns on his chair, averting his body right to mine. His knees brush my thigh, and while that’s not a problem in general, it almost takes my breath away.
His kneecaps slightly pressing into my body feel like two balls of fire digging its way through my skin. Did you ever wonder what it would feel like if you held your hand into a flaming sparkler?
Would it prickle because that’s what it looks like? Would it burn because it’s fire?
I don’t know the answer to it, but I know Luan’s knees on my body feels just like it.
“I did,” Luan answers. He spreads his legs for a moment, then with little to no strength turns me on my chair so I’d face him. And then his legs close again, trapping one of my legs between his, and one of his between mine. “Do you have a problem with that, Grey Davis?”
When I don’t answer, still too mesmerized by our tangled legs situation, he laughs. Deep and raw. So real and sweet. It’s the kind of laughter that you feel right in your bones. The one that shakes you. Puts you in a trance.
“Do you like apple juice?” he asks. “Because I plan to bring a whole bottle just for me, and if you want some, I’ll have to bring two. I, for my part, love apple juice. It’s the taste of childhood. Freedom and irresponsibility, don’t you agree?”
Again, I don’t answer but I don’t have to either.
“When I was younger, my best friend and I used to pour apple juice into the kiddie pool because we thought it would make us smell good. It did nothing but turn us into sticky little kids, but it was worth a try. We even asked his mom to slice up some apples and throw them in there because we were convinced it would speed up the process of turning us into apple-monsters. His mom thought we peed into the pool so much that it turned that color.”
The bartender snorts, shaking his head with what I believe is amusement yet disbelief. Why does he listen in on our conversation?
