I laughed so hard my ribs hurt, which reminded me that they already hurt from the hit I'd taken two games ago. Old body, same chaos. Some things never changed.
"My turn!" Pickle bounced up like he'd been launched from a catapult. "I resolve to be brave!"
"You dropped gloves with a guy who had forty pounds on you last week," I pointed out. "How much braver do you need to be?"
"Not that kind of brave." The tips of Pickle's ears flushed red. "Like... other brave. Feelings brave."
Before any of us could unpack that particular emotional landmine, he bolted toward the karaoke machine.
"Oh, hell," Coach Rusk muttered. "Someone stop him."
Too late. The opening chords of "I Want to Know What Love Is" started pumping through the speakers, and Pickle throttled the mic.
"I want to know what love is..."His voice cracked in the middle, but he powered through."I want you to show me..."
"Fuck," Jake whispered. "He's really going for it."
Pickle wasn't merely singing—he was performing. Arms spread wide and eyes closed, he put his entire twenty-one-year-old heart into every overwrought note. The guy in the Leafs jersey stared, and the pink-haired woman looked up from her phone.
"Kid's got balls," Coach said.
"Kid's got something," Evan agreed.
I cheered louder than anyone else. Watching Pickle throw himself at that song like it might save his life, I couldn't help but admire him.
"Drinking game!" Jake announced. "Every time Pickle hits a note that doesn't exist in nature, we drink!"
"We'll be dead by the second chorus," Evan pointed out.
"What a way to go."
We clinked bottles as Pickle wailed his way through the bridge.
"I want to know what love is..."he belted out.
I took another drink to shut up the voice in my head that whispered:Yeah, kid. Me, too.
Pickle finished his song to deafening applause. He took a bow that nearly sent him toppling off the tiny stage, then bounced back to our table like nothing had happened.
"That," Jake said, "was either the bravest or the stupidest thing I've ever seen."
"Why not both?" Pickle beamed, still riding his adrenaline high.
"Speaking of brave and stupid," Jake continued, "What's the story with flannel guy, Hog?"
My beer suddenly tasted sour. "What flannel guy?"
"The one who had you tongue-tied three weeks ago. The one you've not been talking about ever since."
"I don't know who you mean." The lie came out too loud and too fast. My ears were already starting to burn.
Evan glanced up from his notebook. His analytical brain kicked into gear. Shit.
"Oh my god," Pickle gasped, eyes going wide as dinner plates. "There's a flannel guy? Did you kiss him? Did he smell like campfires? Does he chop wood shirtless?"
"Damn, Pickle, what is this, a romance novel?"
Pickle leaned in. "So? Did he?"
