Padraig followed them over as they claimed a booth in a quiet corner. Tank had been going stir crazy in his apartment, so it felt good to be out like this.
Sure, he and McKenna had been out and about pretty much every single day for the past two weeks, but their promo ops and his independent workouts hadn’t come close to filling enough hours in the day for him. He was used to being on the go pretty much nonstop during the season, so the lull had hit him hard. Eating take-out meals alone while sitting in front of the TV, watching his teammates play without him, had been brutal.
This wasn’t a game night, as the team had traveled home from Carolina late last night after a crushing loss in overtime. Ordinarily, McKenna would have been on the road with them, but Benny had sent Roger instead, claiming it was more important for her to focus on what the PR department was calling the “Tank Project,” which made him feel like he was some goddamn science experiment.
Padraig started to hand each of them a menu, but Tank waved them away. “McKenna has lived in Baltimore for months and never had Riley’s fish and chips,” he explained, mentioning the chef’s name—and enjoying Padraig’s horrified face as he played along.
“You’re kidding? How the hell did that happen?” he asked.
McKenna laughed. “Tank has insisted we correct that oversight.”
“He’s a wise man.” Padraig kept the menus, tucking them under his arms. “I’m assuming you want the same, Tank?”
“Do bears bear? Do bees bee?” Tank joked.
“And to drink?” Padraig asked with a chuckle.
“I’m good with water.” Ordinarily, Tank would have gone for a Guinness, but there was a small part of him that felt like he needed to prove to McKenna he didn’t have an issue with alcohol.
“I’ll have an unsweetened iced tea,” McKenna ordered, smirking in such a way that said she wasn’t fooled by his good behavior.
“You’ve got it. Sure have missed seeing you play,” Padraig said to Tank.
“Suspension officially ended yesterday,” he said, grimacing as he spoke. “I’ll be back on the ice again tomorrow night.”
Padraig placed a hand on his shoulder. “Good. The team is better with you out there.”
“Hate how last night ended, and that shit went so fucking far sideways with that video.” Tank hadn’t seen Padraig since the suspension, but Blake had filled in the bartender, who’d become a pretty good friend over the past few years.
Padraig had texted to tell him to keep his chin up, saying, “This too shall pass.”
Tank had appreciated the support.
“My family’s dealt with enough drama that I know for a fact, most people have very short attention spans,” he assured him.
“Thanks, Paddy,” Tank said. “I appreciate that.”
“Let me go grab those drinks for you.” Padraig walked away to put in their orders, as McKenna frowned, looking confused.
“His family’s had a lot of drama?” she asked, curious, and Tank realized McKenna had missed out on more than just Pat’s Pub’s delicious fish and chips.
“Padraig’s got some very famous relatives.”
“Really?”
“Yep. His aunt is Teagan Collins.”
McKenna’s jaw nearly hit the table. “Shut up. She is not!”
Tank chuckled, recalling he’d had nearly the same reaction when Padraig told him about his illustrious family ties. Teagan Collins and her husband, Sky Mitchell, were rock icons, their names often included with legends such as Sting, Billy Joel, and Cher. Even as a professional athlete, Tank had been more than a little bit starstruck when he’d learned about Padraig’s family connections.
“And his cousin Ailis is married to Hunter Maxwell. In fact, Hunter was discovered in this very pub.”
“No way!” McKenna began looking around the pub, and he noticed when her gaze landed on photographs of the very people he’d mentioned, posing with other members of the family. “How did I miss all of this?”
“When we’re here, we’re celebrating with the team. I’m sure you’re not checking out the pub’s décor.”
“Even so,” she said.
