Luck of the Irish

“Are you serious?” I groan, dropping my head into my hands. “Are you really making me work on St. Patrick’s Day?” I can’t believe my ears.

“We’re short staffed,” my mathair-or mother in English- sighs. “Listen. I know you don’t want to and yes, I know you worked a shift today. But please, Siohban already agreed. I just need you, Sinead.”

“If you call me Jane?” I bargain. Only my mother, the least Irish person in our family, would insist on using my twin’s and my birth names. Siohban and Sinead. Joan and Jane.

“Nice try,” she smiles. “But no. You’re working tomorrow, Sinead.”

I curse in Irish and get up from the bar stool I’m seated at. In preparation of the festivities the following day, we’d closed early. Last call had been at five and a half hour later, the pub my father’s immigrant family had started is being transformed.

We don’t put up your typical, cheesy green shamrocks. No, O’Malley’s is genuine. At the moment, tables are being rearranged to accommodate for the big stage that a band will perform on tomorrow.

“Where’s Joan?” I ask my brother, Neall.

He shrugs. “Knowing her, she could be anywhere.”

I sigh, knowing that that’s true. My twin sister could literally be anywhere. Maybe she’d ducked out to the apartment early.

With goodbyes to my family, I tuck my unruly red hair into the collar of my jacket and begin the walk home. It was going to be a long day tomorrow and any extra sleep I could get would be a God send.



“Come on, Kaner,” Shawzy insists. “A bunch of us are going. And it’s, like, your namesake day.”

“No, it’s not, actually,” I wasn’t named after a saint. “I don’t know,” I shrug from my stall. “It’s overrated.”

“Maybe you’ll get lucky,” Shawzy wiggles his eyebrows.

“That’s a cliché,” I can’t help but chuckle and shake my head.

“But we found an awesome place none of us have been to,” he explains. “Abby found it.”

“It’s true,” Sharpie nods. “She even managed to get a babysitter for Madelyn.”

“So Tazer won’t be going?” I snort.

“Haha,” our captain rolls his eyes. “Actually, Lindsey and I will be going too.”

“Oh,” I say, sitting back against the wood partition. “I still don’t know.”

Actually, I really want to go. If they had asked the pre-Cinco de Mayo Patrick Kane, I would have already offered to buy the first round. But this is the new, post- Coach Q thrashing and he is making an attempt to be responsible.

“Hey,” Jon leans over. “I get what you’re trying to do. But, and I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this, lighten up. One night out with all of us won’t set you back.” He slaps my arm. “I’m sure you have enough self-control.”

And that’s the thing. I don’t know if I do have enough self-control to not set myself back on the track I’ve worked so hard to get away from. This summer, all I did was train. And during the lockout, while a lot of guys were busy knocking up their wives or getting serious with their girlfriends, I took my mother with me to Switzerland. My mother.

“We’ll see,” I allow. “We’ll see.”

But really, I know that I’ll be out with them the next day, drinking what I hope to be just a little.



“This place is hopping already,” Joan says as she approaches me behind the bar.

“Yeah,” and I can’t help but be a little happy. The tips a server can get from working on St. Patrick’s Day are through the roof. The more congested this place is, the more crowded my wallet at the end of the day.

“Sinead! Siohban!” our father’s voice makes us jump. “Thuas staighre!”

“Rock, paper, scissors?” I ask her. I don’t want to be the one stuck carrying trays up and down the steps for God knows how long.

“Sorry, Jane,” Joan lifts her own tray up. “I’m a little busy.” She points to a corner of the pub that’s completely occupied by frat boys and sorority girls.

Damn. I could try Neall, but he’s in the kitchen helping out wherever he can back there.

With no choice, I grab a pad to put orders on and make sure my hair elastic has burst from my thick curls. With one foot on the bottom stair, I take a deep breath. Time to go to work.



“This place is sick,” Brent says looking out the huge windows of the room we have rented out above some Irish pub. There’s a great view of the river.

“Yeah,” I agree, leaning back in my seat.

The majority of the team is here, along with some coaching staff and families. Part of me is relieved that I have enough people to keep an eye on me and another part of me is peeved for that very reason. Do they really not trust me? I thought this was supposed to be a few of us all going out.

But then again, I don’t even trust myself.

At my table, I’m surrounded on both sides. Jon and Lindsey are across from me with Brent and Dayna next to them, Sharpie and Abby to my left, and Kelly Rae and Duncan next to them. I’m the only single guy here, as I can’t see Shawzy in the crowd. Figures he’d blow us off if something better came up. Although, I can’t blame him. I might have done the same thing once.

I’ll ask him about it later for sure. I seem to find myself living vicariously through him lately.

I’m brought out of my disgruntled thoughts by a new voice next to me. A female one.

“Hi, I’m Jane,” a short, red head puts on what I’m sure she thinks is a genuine smile. “Welcome to O’Malley’s. Can I get you all something to drink?”

“Your name tag says Sinead,” I blurt out, regretting it.

She breaths out a small laugh, amused just a little bit. “Sinead is the Gaelic equivalent to Jane. It just gets more weird looks than Jane.” She holds up her order pad and pen. “Drinks?”

After taking our orders, I can’t help but watch her walk away. She knows who we are, I’m sure, but she doesn’t put a shake in her step and nor do I see her adjust her shirt. She just doesn’t care.

“Yoohoo, Kaner,” Abby knocks me on the head. “You in there buddy?”

I sit up straight. “Sorry, sorry, what?”

She gives me a knowing smirk but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she calls attention to a late arrival.

“Well look who it is,” she laughs as Shawzy ambles up to our table. “Where have you been?”

“Traffic,” he lies. Sliding in next to me, he lowers his voice so that only I can here. “You should have seen these two red heads down stairs, dude. I wish we’d have found out about this place earlier.”

I don’t respond, just nod. I’m not interesting in taking anyone home tonight. I’m just trying to stay focused on what matters- not going home shit faced and seeing my face all over the internet tomorrow morning.

“Holy shit,” Shawzy gapes a few minutes later. “She’s our waitress? Damn.”

“What?” I turn to see where he’s looking. Sinead is walking up the stairs, balancing a bottle laden tray. “Oh.” I try not to stare.

“Her sister’s got a nice-,” I stomp on his foot as she approaches and I can’t help but be shocked at myself. A year ago, that would have been me saying that.

She hands out our drinks and looks down at Shawzy. “Can I get you something, Mr. Shaw?” Ah, so she certainly does know who we are.

He makes a face at the name and she laughs a real laugh this time. I can’t help but be a little jealous that she didn’t laugh like that for me.

“Your number would be great,” he flashes her a megawatt smile.

Look at this kid, using my own tricks against me.

“I was thinking more along the lines of something to drink,” she retorts. “What’ll it be?”



“You got the fucking Blackhawks?” Joan gapes at me, as I go back to the bar to get Andrew’s beer and fill the food order.

I smirk at her. “Could have been you that Andrew Shaw was flirting with.”

She stares at me, her eyes going wide, and for a second I’m scared she might actually hurt me. I had just name dropped her favorite player and used the word ‘flirted’ all in the same sentence.

That does not fly with Siohban Mairead O’Malley.

“You’ll probably need help when the food comes out,” she begins.

“Nope,” I smile at her. “I’m good.” I swipe the beer bottle off the counter and head back up the steps, leaving my sister awestruck and dumbfounded.

I make my rounds to the other tables fetching drinks and chatting idly. They’re an easy going group, these Blackhawks and I’m sure I’ll never be able to watch another hockey game the same way again. I’m also thanking my lucky stars that I didn’t wear any of my Irish themed Blackhawks garb today and instead had gone with a green cardigan. Although, I’m cursing my white jeans.

“Take a shot with us?” Andrew asks as I return to their table later that night with their round of alcohol.

I wasn’t stupid and had easily picked up on the extra shot glass they’d ordered. Hoping to stay steady on my feet that night, I’d been filling my glass with ginger ale whenever a patron had invited me to imbibe with them.

“I shouldn’t,” I played along. “But sure.” I hold up my own little glass. “Slainte. Cheers.”

I hand out the glasses and I watch everyone grasp there’s firmly in hand. The only one that doesn’t seem as ready is none other than Patrick Kane. Funny, I’d have thought he’d be all over this.

Captain Serious-who I’d found to be not so serious- was the one to count us down and on one, I tossed my glass back, slamming it down onto my tray.

“Drinking on the job?” a voice asks from behind. “Tsk, tsk.”

If it had been a deep voice, I’d have had a lot of explaining to do. But it was only Joan. Of course she’d find a reason to come up.

“Just… relaxing,” I shrug. She knows as well as I do that my shot had been anything but alcohol. “This is my sister, Siohban. I mean, Joan.” I tease her just to get a rise out of my sister. “And yes, we’re twins.” May as well get that out there.

We stand together, talking to the table for a few minutes. I should say that I talk to the table while Joan talks to Andrew. Typical.

As I move on to the others in the lounge, I can’t help but keep glancing back at their table. Everyone looks like they’re having a great time. Except Kane.

Guess we were in the same boat.

As much money as I was making and as cool as it would be to say that I’d served the ‘Hawks, all I really wanted was a bowl of mint chip ice cream and my DVR of How I Met Your Mother. But sadly, that would have to wait until much later.



I try to put on a good act and pretend I’m having a ball and I suppose I’m having an all right time. But it crosses my mind every now and again to just start throwing back drinks like there’s no tomorrow just to put myself out of my agony. Our pretty Irish waitress isn’t helping any.

While Shawzy chats up Joan, my eyes follow Jane as discreetly as possible. She’s pretty. Cinco de Mayo me would say sexy. And hell, she is, but in a more demure way. When she actually smiles a real smile, it lights up her whole face and the only real indication of what her body looks like sans clothing is what the white jeans will allow. She’s got great eyes, I remember and I find them locking with my own.

For a split second, it looks like she might come back over. But she doesn’t. Instead, she slips back down the stairs, her gaze lingering on mine.

She wants me to follow her, I decide. With Shawzy practically drooling over Joan already, it doesn’t take much effort to shift him a little closer and for me to squeeze out of the booth to ‘use the bathroom’.

Down the stairs, I instantly duck my head, hoping I won’t be recognized. This was stupid of me, to run down here into a crowded Chicago bar on St. Patrick’s Day. But nonetheless, I find myself scanning the crowd from the back wall.

I see the back of her curly hair disappearing down a hall and I bolt after her, not sure what to expect.



I’m in desperate need of the bathroom as I come back downstairs, so dropping the order off at the bar, I slip away to take a quick break.

I hate that the bathrooms are so far back. At night, when I’m working, I always hate going back there in fear that some drunken old man will come out of nowhere.

Once in the bathrooms, I close and lock my stall, leaning my ahead against it before doing what I had come in there to do. This would likely be my only break until closing time.

Coming out to wash my hands, I let out a little shriek. I wasn’t alone.

Patrick Kane was leaning against the sinks.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I try to start breathing again.

He furrows his brow. “I thought- but you… fuck.” Patrick rubs his temples.



She hadn’t been telling me to follow her. Jesus Christ, I could see the headlines now.

Patrick Kane accused of assault in local establishment bathroom!

That was Cinco de Mayo Patrick, not Now Patrick.

Jane watches me warily, her mouth set in a firm line.

“I could have screamed louder, you know,” she crosses her arms and I see a glint of silver on her right hand. It’s one of those heart rings I’ve seen a lot of today.

My eyes go wide and she laughs a real laugh. “What are you doing back here?”

I try to put together a coherent sentence. “You looked at me up there and I thought you were- I thought you were…”

“You thought I was telling you to follow me,” she finishes for me.

“I-well, yeah,” my ears flush.

Jane smiles a little bit and slips the ring off to wash her hands. “Hate to break it to you, but I didn’t.” When she finishes, she dries her hands and carefully replaces the ring in the same position. “You want to go out first or do you want me to see if the coast is clear?”

“I-uh- you?” she’s trying to help me after I nearly gave her a heart attack in a public restroom.

She nods and moves towards the door, but I stop her.

“Can I take you out?”

I don’t know where that came from.



“What?” I turn back around.

“I-uh-I,” he’s back to squirming for the right words. For a second, I’m sure I saw the suave, lady’s man Patrick Kane. But now, he’s gone and replaced with the unsure, almost awkward Patrick Kane. It’s like he’s trying to fit into a pair of too big hockey skates while doing one of his famous shoot out goals.

He knows he can do it; it’s just a matter of making it work.

“Do you,” he speaks slowly, trying to phrase it so it’s not so random. “Want to maybe get dinner with me? Tonight?” Instantly, Patrick seems to kick himself. It’s nearly 9 o’clock- a little late for dinner. “Or maybe some other time?”

“I get off at 11,” I say, a little surprised at the words that are coming out of my own mouth. “If you hang around, I won’t feel as guilty about fraternizing with a client. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

The smile on his face is contagious and before I can do anything else that might cause my parents to question my sanity, I duck out the door.

I don’t return to the bathroom, he can take my absence as the all clear. I also don’t breath until I’m at the bar, picking up my full tray. And by the time I’m up the stairs and to their table, Patrick is there too. And he’s smiling.

For real.