Page 38

The smell of beer overwhelmed me as we walked into the already crowded bar. With old articulate wood designs and framed sports memorabilia, O’Callahan’s had an authentic Irish pub feel.

One particular jersey stood out behind the bar: a signed Windy City Whalers #14 jersey with the name Kappers stitched to the top. But this jersey was different from the usual dark blue, light blue, and white design. Instead, it was green and white.

“It was the St. Paddy’s day themed jersey from a couple years back,” Kappy explained with a slight flush coloring his cheeks.

“Are you blushing?” I teased, gently elbowing him in the gut. It was cute. I hadn’t seen his shyness in years.

He gave a sheepish little grin and kept his eyes on the bar. “Barry, the bartender, he really wanted that jersey.”

“That’s cool.”

He dipped his head a little, the tips of his ears turning red. “Thanks.”

“So, what’re you drinking?”

His eyebrows slammed down. “We don’t drink yet, Piper,” he said, like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “This is serious business. We have to keep our winning streak.”

“Yeah, don’t throw us off, P,” Patrick added. “We’ve got some serious superstitions here.”

The older bartender with a mop of graying hair, shining green eyes, and a weathered face smiled at them. “Ah, ye buddies are back,” he said in a thick Irish accent. “The usual? ”

Patrick nodded. “Plus whatever she wants.” He jerked a thumb at me.

“Wow, I’ve never felt like such a third wheel before,” I mumbled, crossing my arms over my chest. “And I have spent a lot of time with Colt and Mer.”

Kappy and Patrick both chuckled as they saddled up to their “usual spot” at a high-top bar table. They both produced matching green pens out of their pockets and grabbed the trivia papers sitting between the condiment container at the center of the table.

A few minutes later, the bartender slid two baskets of wings and cokes onto the table. “Here ya are, lads.”

“Thanks, Barry.” Kappy nodded, but his eyes were focused on his trivia paper.

“Gotta say, I’m missing hockey season. Can’t wait to see ya back out there, boy.” He patted Kappy’s large shoulder.

Kappy’s dark eyes darted to mine for a second, like he’d been caught, before he gave a warm smile to the bartender. “Thanks, Barry.”

The realization felt like a kick to the stomach—Kappy still hadn’t told anyone he was skipping next season. It was the first week of August. The whole city thought he’d be suiting up in another week or two for preseason training.

Guilt crushed into me from all sides, making my breathing go ragged.

Why was he giving this up?

The city loved him.

And he loved hockey.

“And what’ll you have, miss?” Barry asked, jolting me out of my mental spiral.

I rattled off my order, but my mind spun through a series of different questions, all pertaining to Richard Charles Kappers the Third.

A hand went to my leg making me jump. Kappy squeezed my thigh and leaned in to whisper, “Stop overthinking. I’m doing what I want.”

His words made the tension in my shoulders ease a little, but I couldn’t stop wondering why he was choosing to skate with me and why he hadn’t told anyone yet.

A little worry in the back of my head whispered that maybe he was still playing me, but I quickly silenced that thought.

There’s no way he’d put this much work into learning ice dance just for a joke.

But at the same time, him saying he “just wants to” wasn’t enough for me.

I needed his real reason behind skating with me.

But I had to shelf those questions for later because trivia was starting.

Kappy got every single sports question right. The guy was like a walking sports stats book. He even correctly answered a figure skating question about Sergei Grinkov and Ekaterina Gordeeva.

“Ya know, as soon as hockey’s done, you should get into sports announcing or betting or something. You’d make a killing,” Patrick advised, making him grin.

The other teams scattered around the bar were glaring at them.

When the music portion of trivia started, Patrick jotted down and turned in each answer just as quickly as Kappy had.

But then Barry read out, “This song was originally made for the 1998 romantic fantasy film starring Meg Ryan and Nicholas Cage,” making Patrick’s hand tense around his pen.

“I’m not good at movies,” Patrick said with a grimace.

“Wait, I know this one.” They both snapped their necks to me. “Am I allowed to help?”

“Yeah, as long as you’re at the table, up to four people can play,” Kappy filled in.

“The film has to be City of Angels , right?” I whispered, peeking at the other teams to make sure they weren’t spying. “That’s Meg Ryan and Nicholas Cage. It’s gotta be that Goo Goo Dolls song.”

“ Iris ?” Kappy asked.

“You’re sure?” Patrick questioned.

“Maybe? I think?”

Patrick and Kappy shared a look of unease.

“Oh c’mon,” I slapped the table. “Do either of you have a better idea? That’s probably right.”

Patrick sighed while scribbling down the answer. “Okay, it’s our only shot.”

A minute later, Barry announced “Iris” as the answer and that Team Kaptrick won again for the 36th week in a row.

“Let’s go!” Kappy yelled out, grabbing Patrick’s shoulder and roughing him up.

“Wait!” Patrick stared down at the paper. “Wait, I think this is our song.”

“Huh? I don’t know if we need a song, dude,” Kappy said with a chuckle. “But if we do, it should be something like ‘Welcome to the Jungle’ or ‘Eye of the Tiger’. We’re the fuckin’ champs.”

“No,” Patrick shook his head, unblinking and dead serious. “Our free dance.”

Kappy’s mouth gaped open.

I gulped.

“I think it’s ours, guys.” Patrick’s voice went louder with excitement. “This is a sign! It’s a winner!”

Patrick and I were clearly no longer telepathic, or else he would’ve heard my screaming mental protests.

“It’s the one. I can feel it.” Patrick said it with firm certainty, but my stomach filled with heavy doubt.