Chapter 26

BACKWARD CAPS AND BORROWED IDENTITIES

26

Killian and I burst through the front door of Maggie's house, practically vibrating with adrenaline. He's donned the leprechaun hat we swiped while I've draped the stolen jacket over Spotty's video camera as camouflage before I can hide it in our room. The rest of the loot? Tossed into a bin outside Notre Dame's campus—the main costume and the two spares as well. If I don't make a career for myself in AI, I'll always have a life of crime as backup.

"Well, don't you two look spirited!" Maggie says with a laugh, taking in our appearance. "You guys are all in for the Fighting Irish, huh?"

If only she knew we're actually saboteurs.

"Did you enjoy visiting the campus, Killian?" she asks, trying to hide her amusement.

"Absolutely. It was… enlightening." He grins, and we exchange a knowing glance.

Dinner that night is filled with laughter and good-natured teasing. I don't know Maggie's fiancé well, but he seems like a gracious, kind man who adores her. And I'm genuinely happy they're getting married.

My gaze drifts to Killian, and a pang of something pulls in my heart. He makes it really hard not to like him, but how can I give in to the attraction when he doesn't even know who he is? Can he ever truly love me if he remembers nothing about his past? If he doesn't have a past? Maybe not even a future.

I need to dust off a few amnesia romances and check what the protocol is. How long does someone with a blank past take to rediscover themselves? When can I trust Killian will be ready to explore a relationship? Will he ever?

I have this inexplicable premonition that the moment I let myself truly believe he's here to stay, the joke will be on me and he'll disappear.

That night in bed, those thoughts are still swimming in my head when he calls me out. "You're especially pensive tonight, Spoon."

I turn to him. "How aren't you more freaked out by this whole situation? Your entire life has been turned upside down, you lost everything, and you act like it's nothing."

There's a beat of silence and a sigh. "Would worrying or obsessing over it change anything?"

"Probably not."

"Then the best I can do is take it one day at a time and enjoy what I have instead of complaining about what I lost."

"That is such a collected answer." I shift under the covers and turn to him. "But if you get moody about me pulling you into my world, know that you can bitch about it as much as you want."

The low laugh he gives me in response coils around my spine. "Noted, Sugar Spoon. Thanks for giving me free bitching rein. Goodnight."

"Night."

I keep quiet after that and completely still, but I don't fall asleep. It takes a while, but my lids finally become heavy. I'm about to be pulled under when Killian whispers into the night, "I didn't lose everything. I still have you."

Like the coward I am, I pretend not to hear. To be sleeping. Even if, once again, sleep is the furthest thing from my mind.

The next morning dawns sunny and crisp, a perfect fall day for a football game. South Bend comes alive with the tradition of tailgating outside the stadium. The scent of grilled food fills the air as fans gather in the parking lot, their excitement palpable.

Maggie, Corey, and a few of their friends have set up a tent with foldable tables and a professional portable grill. The men have been grilling meat since ten in the morning.

Killian mans the barbecue like a pro, charring sausages and acrobatically flipping burgers as the crowd cheers him on. I hang back with the excuse of catching up with Maggie and other old friends. But mostly I just watch him. Someone has given him a baseball cap that he's wearing backward, melting the few sane brain cells I had left after spending half an hour locked in a closet with him yesterday and another night in the same bed.

The tufts of hair escaping the cap on the sides shine in the sunlight. His cheeks are flushed from being behind the grill for so long. And he has a warm smile for everyone. He's the most gorgeous man I've ever seen. I could spend all eternity just watching him and be happy.

Maggie sidles up next to me and follows my gaze. "You've got it bad, don't you?" she says knowingly. "I've never seen you look at someone like that. And to think you only went on a first date last week."

For simplicity, I told her that Killian was my date of Friday night, the one I'd told her about over the phone, keeping vague about the details.

"He's a keeper," Maggie adds. "I can tell."

My cheeks flush, but I don't argue. Because what can I say? She's right. I've got it bad, no matter how hard I try to deny it. And when I watch him blend in like that, I can almost see a future. At least until one of Corey's friends asks him if he's into college football, and Killian replies he follows more the high school league.

"Oh, which team?" the dude asks.

"Lakeville," Killian replies on instinct.

The guy frowns. "You mean the Lake Travis Cavaliers?"

Killian is quick to recover. "Yeah, man, sorry, me and my buddies call them Lakevaliers."

Only he has no buddies. Corey's friend leaves with a face as perplexed as I feel. Every time I think Killian might just fit into my life, something like this happens.

As the morning progresses with no more slip-ups, we eat, drink, and revel in the camaraderie of fellow fans. The anticipation for the game grows, and soon enough, it's time to head inside the stadium.

A guy bumps into me from behind, sending my Coke sloshing over the rim of my glass. Thankfully missing my shoes. When I lift my eyes from checking for potential damage, I see the guy who bumped into me dangling one foot above the ground, being held by the collar of his jersey by a furious Killian. "Apologize to the lady," he growls.

The skimpy kid looks at me with a terrorized face. "I-I'm sorry, miss, I didn't mean to—to—" Words fail him.

"It's okay." I smile tensely. "Killian, please put him down."

Killian must hear the note of displeasure in my tone because he sets the poor kid down and turns to me, eyebrows raised.

The moment his feet touch the ground, the kid skedaddles, getting lost in the crowd.

"He was rude to you."

"So what? People are rude. It's a fact of life. You can't rough up everyone who isn't a perfect gentleman to me. And I can take care of myself."

I push ahead of him, perhaps angrier than I should be. But it's just these over-the-top behaviors of his that set me on edge.

Killian catches up with me. "I'm sorry."

I look at him and I can't stay mad. It's not his fault if someone wrote him up as a headstrong alpha male. I just hope that aspect of his personality will tone down once he's been living in the real world for some time.

"It's okay." I take his hand and guide him to the stands, joining in the chants of "Let's go, Irish!" along with the crowd. I feel a bit of a hypocrite after sabotaging the team yesterday. But Killian and I agreed last night to keep our escapades incognito and make up for jinxing the game with relentless cheering.

As we take our seats, a blaring announcement echoes through the stadium. "Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that our beloved Fighting Irish mascot costume has been stolen. Our leprechaun will be… improvising today."

Killian and I lock eyes with an "oops" expression—the tiff about his excessive alpha-ness already forgotten—as the poor guy we interviewed yesterday steps onto the field dressed in nothing but clover-print boxer briefs, a bright green top hat, and leprechaun shoes.

The entire stadium cheers the mascot on. The spirit of the Fighting Irish is very much alive. Killian and I share a complicit shrug and add our voices to the roar, our cheers and whistles echoing louder than those around us.

As the game kicks off, the energy in the stadium is palpable. Notre Dame plays hard, fueled by the indignation of their mascot's misfortune. The action on the field is fast and furious, keeping everyone on the edge of their seats. Despite the close score and the mounting tension, Killian and I can't help but share occasional smirks, silently acknowledging our little secret.

Just as the clock runs out, Notre Dame pulls off a miraculous win, sending the crowd into a frenzy. I'm glad our jinx didn't make them actually lose. I just hope Spotty won't hold the home team's victory against us. We completed our part of the bargain.

On Sunday, I hug Maggie goodbye as Killian loads our bags into her car.

She drives us to the bus station where we say one last farewell.

"Thanks again for having us, Maggie." I squeeze her tight. "We had a blast."

"Anytime," she replies, stepping back and giving Killian a hug as well. "You two take care of each other, okay?"

"Will do," Killian promises.

She reaches out and gives my upper arm a last squeeze. "We'll catch up at the bachelorette party. And Killian," Maggie adds, stepping back and adjusting her sunglasses atop her head, "Corey is sorry he had to rush to the hospital this morning, but you're invited to his bachelor party as well. And of course, we'll see you both at the wedding."

As Maggie drives away, we idle on a bench, waiting for her to be safely out of sight before we hail a taxi to head back to Spotty's place and retrieve Killian's fake ID.

Spotty leads us into his house, and we follow him to the now-familiar "white" room where all his illicit businesses take place—if you don't count the pot smoking in the living room, I suppose.

"Here you go," Spotty says, handing Killian the fake ID with a flourish. "Meet your new alias: Oswald Finch."

"Oswald Finch?" Killian does a double take, staring at the card in disbelief. "Seriously, man? That sounds like the name of an old man who feeds pigeons in the park."

"Yo, don't knock it," Spotty retorts, looking mildly offended. "I had to steal an identity from a cemetery to get you a social security number, and South Bend's graveyards aren't exactly teeming with cool names like Killian."

"But Oswald?" Killian shudders dramatically, still eyeing the ID with distaste.

"Yo, it's not my fault all the cool kids are still alive in this town. And I picked a guy who would've been about your age, with no surviving family, or social profiles. Oswald Finch is your golden ticket, man."

While the two of them continue to bicker about the merits of the name Oswald Finch, I turn my attention to Spotty's computer system. I sit in his gaming chair and figuratively crack my knuckles and get to work tweaking his firewall and encrypting his data. It takes a minute. For being a notorious criminal, his security is surprisingly basic.

A few more keystrokes and… done. Spotty's network is now ironclad.

I swivel around in the chair. "Ready to blow this joint, Oswald?"

Killian scowls, shoving the ID into his pocket. "Keep it up, I dare you."

I laugh as we head out of Spotty's house, our dabble into a life of crime hopefully over.

"Come on. Oswald isn't that bad," I tease, trying to lighten the mood as we finally sit on the bus. "It has a certain… flair?"

"Flair?" Killian huffs, rolling his eyes. "If by ‘flair' you mean ‘makes me want to take up knitting and start complaining about my arthritis,' then sure."

"Exactly." I grin, nudging him playfully. "You'll fit right in with all the other elderly gentlemen at the retirement home."

"Ha, hilarious," Killian says, but I can see the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

And why does making him smile fill me with a rush that feels like the first drop on a rollercoaster, thrilling and a bit terrifying?

Back in Illinois, the bus station is a madhouse. The bus doors hiss open and a surge of passengers pours out onto the platform. People pushing, shoving, everyone trying to grab their bags at once. In the chaos, I lose sight of Killian. I crane my neck, scanning the crowd, and spot him not far away.

He's crouched low, a hand outstretched toward… is that a dog? It's hard to tell beneath the dull, matted fur. The mangy stray animal is cowering before him, as Killian whispers gentle words I can't make out, trying to coax the shaking creature into being petted.

"We have to take him with us!" Killian declares as he notices me approach.

I eye the snarling mess skeptically. "Um, I'm pretty sure that thing is rabid. Or at least completely feral."

Killian blinks, genuinely confused. "But what do normal people do when they find a lost pet? Shouldn't we give him shelter?"

"Normal people call animal control to pick them up. I don't think taking Cujo home is the best idea."

Killian frowns. I know he wants to argue, but the dog snaps viciously at his reaching hand.

"Okay, you win." He sighs.

I fish my phone out of my pocket. "I'll call the city to come get him."

We wait together until a CACC van arrives, and the animal control officers secure the frightened pup into a cage.

Killian watches the cage being loaded onto the van, a forlorn look on his face. I know he's just trying to help, but this world has different rules.

"I'm sorry," I say, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's great you wanted to rescue him. But we can't save every stray, you know?"

He nods, but I can tell he's still disappointed. Impulsively, he turns and starts heading toward the van.

"Killian, wait!" I call after him. "Where are you going?"

"I just want to make sure he's okay," he shouts back.

I hurry to catch up as he steps into the road. A bus barrels by, blaring its horn. Killian stumbles back in shock.

"You can't just run into traffic!" I cry, grabbing his arm. "You're not invincible here."

Killian blinks, chastened. "You're right. I'm sorry."

He allows me to lead him back to the curb.

I shake my head. "Just no more heroics, please."