Page 63 of Return

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Vivian smiled as Padraig Collins walked over to the table she’d claimed, menu in hand.

“I was beginning to think you’d found another Irish pub to hang out in,” Padraig teased.

Vivian placed her hand over her heart and gasped. “Never. My loyalty is and always shall be to Pat’s,” she declared dramatically.

The first time she’d ever been in this pub was the night Victor brought her, after that game all those years ago. The night she’d sat next to Dean, trying not to stare at him with the moon eyes of a young girl with her first crush.

Padraig chuckled. “Thank God. What can I get you, Viv?”

“A glass of sauvignon blanc, please.”

“You doing happy hour alone?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Just meeting…” Shit. She and Dean probably should have considered going to a bar where no one knew them. Pat’s Pub was the watering hole of choice for the Stingrays, the place where they came to celebrate wins or commiserate their losses over a pint of Guinness. “Just meeting a friend.”

Padraig knew Dean and Victor, so she hoped the bartender wouldn’t think too hard about why she and the Stingrays’ coach were meeting up for drinks alone without her brother.

“You catch last night’s game?” Padraig asked.

Vivian nodded, wincing. The Stingrays had been on a bit of a losing streak lately, blowing two games on the road, then shitting the bed last night at home. “Of course, I did.”

“I’m hoping someone explained to the defense that they’re allowed to protect a lead.”

Vivian snorted, wondering if she should tell Padraig he could offer that advice to the coach himself in just a few minutes.

“They’ve been playing like they’re allergic to third periods,” Padraig continued.

Vivian couldn’t disagree with that assessment, though she refused to talk bad about her beloved Rays. “They’ve got talent,” she countered.

“They do. Landing Dominic Gallo and Jordan Bryant was a stroke of genius, but if the team keeps taking penalties in the offensive zone⁠—”

“We’ll be golfing by April,” Dean said, grimacing.

Neither Padraig nor Vivian had noticed when he walked in. Padraig brightened when he saw who she was meeting, clearly not worried about Dean overhearing them. Not that Dean would care. He’d admitted once that he valued Padraig’s opinions, liked that he didn’t pull his punches when it came to the way the Stingrays were playing.

“Dean,” Padraig said, shaking his hand. “Good to see you, man. Don’t worry. There’s still a lot of season left, and I know you were the genius who signed Gallo and Bryant. You guys will get there.”

Dean’s smile was as weak as his tone. He sounded as tired as Vivian felt. “Thanks, Paddy.”

“I was just about to grab Viv a glass of wine. Guinness?”

Dean nodded. “That would be great.”

They watched Padraig return to the bar to get their drinks, then Dean sat down at the table, joining her, but not bothering to look at her. Vivian wasn’t sure what to say because when she searched for his smile, it wasn’t there.

His shoulders were tight beneath his jacket and his jaw was tight. There was a heaviness in his expression she’d never seen directed at her before. It was, however, one she’d seen after every Stingrays’ loss.

Her stomach clenched, as every hopeful explanation she’d constructed dissolved the second their eyes met. She knew exactly why he’d asked to see her.

Before they could say anything, Padraig was back, setting wine in front of her, a pint in front of Dean. “Are you guys just having drinks, or would you like to order something to eat?”

Vivian had been planning to grab the shepherd’s pie to go, but all of a sudden, her appetite was gone.

“We’re just having drinks,” Dean answered. Padraig smiled, then drifted away to serve another customer.

Vivian wrapped both hands around the wine glass, trying to keep them from shaking. “How have you been?” she asked, hoping to delay the inevitable.