Page 106 of Wicked Serve

“Sounds riveting.” He tips the chair, balancing on the two back legs with a practiced air. “God, I can’t wait until this is over. Next year is going to be so much better.”

“Don’t wish away the rest of the season.”

“No, definitely not.” He lets the chair fall back into place. “And thank fuck it’s been going well, Remmy’s been a beast in the net since the second half started. But don’t you wish you were already playing for real?”

My chest tightens. He’s looking at me earnestly, clearly thinking about skating onto the ice at MSG or TD Garden. Imagining both of us, probably; we’ve spoken a lot recently about the Sharks, never mind the fact that it’s not in the cards for me. The uncomplicated way he talks about it, eager yet level-headed, makes me so jealous, I have to keep the conversations short.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “It’ll happen soon enough.”

“Want to get a beer? The Rangers are playing your future team in a bit.”

The paper is due in a few days, but a beer sounds fantastic, actually. Even though I’m sure he’s just missing his brother, I’ll take it.

I stand, shrugging on my leather jacket. “Fine, but you’re buying, Callahan.”

Cooper sets down his beer with a thud, raising his arms in a half cheer. “Come on, come on—shit.”

“Didn’t set it up,” I say, watching as Panarin skates in a loop around the Sharks goal, shaking his head. “That was sloppy.”

“He’s been scoring a ton of goals recently.” Cooper takes a sip of beer. “And they’ve had opportunities this game. Sharks could use another weapon on defense.”

At that, he elbows my side. I just roll my eyes, pushing my empty beer across the counter and gesturing to the bartender for another. It’s ironic, considering how much Dad drinks, but I’m sure if he saw me have two beers in a row, he’d tell me it’ll give me a gut.

“And that’s me?”

“I don’t know what they’re waiting for.”

“You should be happy they’re waiting. We’re dominating Hockey East right now.”

“On the hockey team?” the guy sitting next to Cooper asks. He’s middle-aged and gray-haired, wearing a Rangers-era Gretzky jersey. “I’ve been to a couple of your games this season.”

Cooper raises his glass in a salute. “Thanks, man.”

“Hey, you’re Richard Callahan’s kid,” the guy says, snapping his fingers.

I watch Cooper to see if the immediate connection to his father bothers him, but he just flashes the guy a smile.

“Guilty.” He claps me on the shoulder. “And this is my teammate, Nikolai Abney. Listen for his name on the Sharks, like, next week.”

“He’s exaggerating,” I say, even though technically speaking, they could call me up. Especially as the season goes on and they keep staying in the mix for the playoffs.

“The Sharks are good, but if they want to make a run, they need more defense.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Cooper says.

The bartender passes over another beer. I take a long sip. Cooper and the guy are talking about stat lines, and I chime in with a few comments, but for the most part, I keep my eyes on the game.

It’s a weird thought, what it would be like to play a game that’s televised. It’s happened a few times over the years, and I just flat-out ignored the cameras, but something tells me the atmosphere of an NHL arena—and all the media personnel—would make it a much different experience.

I know I’d be able to handle it. No offense to the other teams we play, but there’s no competition. I carve up the ice whenever I step onto it; I have every bit of my father’s instincts and more raw athletic ability. It would be a weird transition, yeah, but a completely doable one. Let me beat Panarin in man coverage, I could fucking do it. I could surprise him with some Russian trash talk, too.

I finish my second beer. I shouldn’t think about it. And I should stop drinking, especially in the middle of the afternoon. The next time the bartender swings around, I ask for a seltzer. The guy shakes our hands and moves along.

I sigh, tilting my head back. The ceiling in Lark’s is made of hammered metal. Never noticed it before now, despite coming here regularly with the team.

“You okay?” Cooper asks. “You’ve been quieter than usual.”

“Fine.”

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