Luck of the Irish

“Come on,” Joan tugs on my arm a good twenty five minutes after the arena has begun clearing out. “Andrew gave us passes to get downstairs.”

“Downstairs?” I wonder aloud as she tries to figure out how to navigate wherever the hell we’re supposed to be going.

“Yeah, downstairs,” she nods. “Like, the locker room?”

“There?” I gape. As an athlete myself, I understand the sacredness that is a locker room. And sure, it’s nice to have family and friends around – especially after a win – but did we qualify as the latter? Maybe Joan, but me? I’d kind of blown Patrick off both times I’d seen him.

She doesn’t answer me as we find a stairwell that has a few other people trickling down it as well. I recognize a few faces from the bar the other day and realize that they’re coming down from the boxes. Kids dart around and slide on the railings and women – all very beautiful – try to corral them.

Inside what appears to be a family lounge, there is a food table and plenty of spaces to sit but you’d have to be an idiot not to pick up on the hierarchy that seems to exist.

It looks to me as though the woman that had been with Patrick Sharp is holding court with her young daughter on her hip. Directly to her right is the younger girl that had been with Toews – was her name Lindsey? I can’t remember. Other wives with familiar faces fill the room with children and friends.

“We stick out so bad,” my sister sighs. “Let’s eat.”

“No way,” I shake my head. “I’m in training.”

“I call bullshit,” she rolls her eyes. “You ate pie the other night with Kane.”

“That,” I raised a finger. “Was different. I love their pie.”

“Yeah,” Joan leans against the wall next to me. “Whatever.”

We stand there, trying to blend into the furniture, for a good fifteen minutes before we’re called out of our corner. Literally.

“Hey!” It’s Toews’ girlfriend pointing to us. I now know her name is Lindsey, thanks to the loud calls of the children running amuck. “You two are new?” she makes her way over to where we’re standing.

“Um,” I look to Joan. As far as I’m concerned, she’s the one that’s new. I’m just along for the ride.

“I guess we could say that,” she says. “I’m Joan. This is my sister-,”

“Jane,” Lindsey finishes for her. “I remember you both now. You worked at that bar from St. Patty’s Day.”

“That’s us,” Joan nods. “Andrew, uh, I mean Shaw? He invited us to the game.”

“Oh,” her face contorted a little in confusion. “It wasn’t Pat? I thought that with the way he looked at you that he would have-,”

I don’t mean to cut her off so abruptly, but my voice is sharp. “He didn’t,” I sigh internally at her expression. “But, uh, Shaw now. He’s got a thing for Jo-Jo.” I elbow my sister playfully, trying to diffuse the tension I’d created.

Lindsey smiles and laughs a little and I notice another woman coming towards us. The woman that had come with Sharp. “Oh! This is Abby.”

She waves ‘hello’ and scoops up the little girl I assume is her daughter. “Did I just hear what I think I heard? Shawzer likes one of you?”

I see Joan blush and rub the back of her neck. “Yeah, I guess he does.”

“Not guess,” I correct her. “For sure.”

“I’ll say,” Abby agrees. “He invited you guys? Then I’d say he’s as good as gone.”

Before the conversation can go any further and Joan can attempt to play off whatever is actually going on with her and Andrew, a door on the other side of the room swings open and a storm of familiar faces slowly begin to trickle out.

Marian Hossa hugs his wife and daughter while Duncan Keith embraces his pregnant wife. I’m surprised to find that the captain isn’t the last one out of the room. Instead, it’s Andrew, pushing a slightly hesitant Patrick Kane out of the locker room.



She sees me before I see her.

I’d groaned out loud after seeing how chipper Shawzer was after the game. And his post-win energy is almost enough to make me excited too – except for the fact that I might be…nervous.

Stop it, Patrick. I tell myself as her eyes quickly snap away. You’re not nervous, you’re… oh fuck, you are.

Once we’re into the lounge, Shaw elbows past me and tries to barrel over to Jane’s sister as chill as possible. But there’s no mistaking the puppy-like look on his face. And judging by the knowing expression on Abby’s face as Sharpy places an arm around her and his little girl, everyone knows it too.

I occupy myself for the time being by getting a coffee from the corner and watch them out of the corner of my eye. I see Tazer approach them now too and he says something that makes them all laugh. That was something I’d always admired of Jon. As ‘serious’ as he was, he could always manage to put a crowd at ease. He said I did that too, but mine was more so through making fun of myself. Jane puts her fists up to Shaw and pretends to punch him and I know they’re talking about his scrap on the ice earlier that night.

Even though Jon’s got himself a girlfriend and wouldn’t do a thing even if he didn’t, I feel a twinge of jealousy – something I’m surprised I’m admitting at all, even to myself. Dumping my half full coffee into the garbage I maneuver my way over to the group.

She doesn’t look at me and nor do I look at her. Instead, I concentrate on the picture directly behind her. It’s a photo of us all after winning the Cup back in 2010 and it’s a good, vivid memory to occupy myself until I can figure what exactly needs to be coming out of my mouth.

“There he is,” Sharpy is the first to acknowledge me and everyone shifts to allow me into their little circle. “Thought you’d already left.”

“Nah,” I shook my head briefly. “Just getting something to drink.”

“Speaking of drinks,” Lindsey claps once. “Who’s up for a couple?”

“Sounds like fun,” Andrew agrees. He looks to Joan and Jane. “You guys in?”

Jane and her sister exchange a brief look and Joan instantly begins pouting. “You’re no fun.”

“I never said you couldn’t go,” Jane rolls her eyes and they flick over to me. I realize I’d never acknowledged her. “Just that I’m not.”

“Why not?” I speak up; surprised anything coherent is coming from me.

“I’ve got… a thing tomorrow morning,” she shifts awkwardly.

“What kind of thing?” I silently thank Shawzer for being so nosy as he presses her for information. “Boxing?”

“Uh, no.”

“Oh, please,” Joan rolls her eyes. “She’s meeting with an editor about her manuscript.”

Jane swats her sister’s arm. “Joan!”

“What? It’s not like you would have told them,” she rolls her eyes. “It’s a huge deal.”

“Not really,” Jane nervously flicks her hair out of her face. “It could turn out to be nothing.”

“You’re writing a book?” I ask. Jesus fucking Christ, what doesn’t this girl do?

“Wrote one, I guess,” Jane sighs. “Had to do something with my degree, I suppose.”

“Well then,” Abby pipes up. “I don’t think Patrick and I will be joining most of you with Madelyn. But, when you’ve heard the news that book your book is being published,” she smiles kindly. “We’ll all get together.”

“So that’ll be soon,” Joan prods her sister. “Right?”

Jane shoots Joan a look of both anger and thankfulness. “Sure. Right after you learn how to do the dishes.”



I’m grateful when Joan agrees to drinks and leaves me with the apartment for the night. It’s been a great time, but I need the chance to decompress. This had only been my fourth trip to the Madhouse in my life, and each time, I’d been left on sensory overload.

Joan hugs me quickly before following Andrew down a hallway and I turn back the way we came, hoping that a bus was nearby.

“Need a ride?” a voice asks. It’s Patrick.

A glance at the time and I know it’s beyond pitch black and if there isn’t a bus, I really don’t want to walk back home by myself. A taxi is possible, but even if I hail one, the fair would be atrocious. The El? Maybe.

But something makes me want to say yes. Maybe it’s the way he asked about the book or how I never really gave him my number. I turn around and see him watching me intently. There’s a little smile on his face and he’s got a beanie shoved down over his mess of hair.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”



I lead her out to my SUV and before I can even open her door for her – I was raised right – she’s already clambering up into the passenger seat.

I drop my wool jacket into the backseat before I hop into the front, starting the ignition and the heated seats. She rests her head against the headrest as the car quickly warms up.

“Heated seats,” she sighs. “Yes please.”

I laugh lightly. “Yeah, they’re pretty nice. I missed them in Biel.”

“I’ll bet you did,” Jane buckles in as I begin to pull out of the players’ lot. “But I’m sure you made do.” Her voice was teasing.

I shrug eager to change the topic. Biel was nice, but I was in Chicago now, where I was supposed to be. “So a book, huh? What’s it about?”

“You cannot just ask a writer what their book is about,” she gapes at me as I stop at a red light. “Next left, please.”

I nod as it turns to green and I drive just below the speed limit. More time with her. “Why not?”

“I could go on and on and on,” she watches the nearly dead city pass us by. “Really, we could stay in this car, driving, all night and I’d only scratch the surface.” Jane turns in her seat to look at me. “I suspect it’s much the same with you and hockey.”

She has a good point. “Touché. But do you ever talk about your writing?”

“Keep going straight,” Jane instructs. “And I try to. My mom is pretty good at listening and Neill can relate with his songwriting, but for the most part, I keep it to myself.”

And that’s my in. My chance to get her number for real, maybe even make a date, is before me. But I choke. Somehow, some way, I choke. Fuck.

“That must… suck,” I admit lamely.

I see her out of the corner of my eye, watching me. She looks… disappointed. Fuck again.

“Yeah,” her voice is quiet. “It does.”

The car gets quiet and the only noise is her giving me quiet directions to her apartment. The engine whirs and the heater quietly pushes out air to our still tepid bodies.

All too soon, or maybe just soon enough, Jane speaks up louder. “This is me on the right.” Her finger lingers on a familiar brick building. “Thanks for the ride.” She pulls her bag over her shoulder. “Good game, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I breathe and continue kicking myself for being a chicken shit.

Jane opens the door slowly and begins to climb out, almost like she’s waiting for me to say something.

“Hey!” I say too loudly and she nearly falls out of the car. “Do you want to go for coffee sometime? Again?” It’s not asking for her number, but it’s a start.

Maybe I’m jumping the gun, but I see a smile almost erupt on her face. But it disappears and I wonder if she’ll turn me down again. Say something about how now isn’t a good time again.

But she doesn’t.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”