Page 99 of The Pact
“I did hear that,” he says, glancing at Saint, smiling.
Then Aston takes his phone out of his pocket and dials—I assume, his brother—and puts it on speaker.
“What’d you do?” Aiden answers.
Aston laughs. “I’m the good twin, what are you talking about?”
“Right. What’s up?” he asks. “Why is it so loud? You in a club or somethin’?”
“No. Saint’s nephew, Remy, had a hockey game today, and he scored the winning goal, so we’re out celebrating with pizza. I thought, since you’re his favorite player, that you could say hi to him and congratulate the team on their win.”
Aiden laughs in a way that I can’t tell if he’s irritated or not. “Yeah, of course.”
“Let’s do one better. I’ll FaceTime you,” Aston says, hanging up before Aiden can reply.
Aston’s phone is tilted just enough that I can see Aiden answer, smiling and looking relaxed on a couch.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice as parents and kids alike take out their phones and point them in Aston’s direction.
“Hey.” Aston smiles. “Talk to these future legends.”
Aiden leans in closer to the camera. “Hey guys, what’s up?”
Remy looks like he might pass out, but waves.
“You’re Remy, right?” Aiden asks.
Remy nods.
“You scored the winning goal today, huh?” Aiden smiles and nods.
“Yeah,” Remy barely squeaks out.
It’s funny because his uncle is famous and really is one of the best in the league. He’ll likely be inducted into the Hall of Fame someday, but Aiden Griffith has him tongue-tied.
“That’s what I like to hear,” Aiden says. “Keep working hard, and maybe I’ll get to play with you someday.”
“You will?” Remy asks, and his friends around him jump up and down.
“If you work real hard,” he adds, “I’ll come see one of your games. Have your uncle send me your schedule, or my brother can.”
Remy actually freezes. Like his brain has shut down.
Saint laughs beside him, clapping his shoulder.
“Guess you better keep playing now,” he says.
Remy nods like it’s the most serious commitment of his seven-year-old life.
“I gotta run, but you guys go celly that win,” Aiden points at the camera. “Aston, call me later.”
“Thanks, brother,” Aston says, then disconnects.
“Thanks for doing that,” Saint says.
“Of course. He’s really chill. If it was Ace or Austin … I might be a little more cautious,” he laughs.
I don’t know the other Griffiths that well, other than the times I’ve seen them at my sister’s, on the field, or on TV. But they all seem like a good time. Maybe we will meet them all one day.
