CHAPTER 13
Becker
"IS THIS REALLY necessary?" Kane asks as twelve six-foot-something professional athletes and one Mateo attempt to cram themselves into a coffee shop clearly designed for a maximum occupancy of like, three hipsters and their emotional support laptops.
"Absolutely." I hold up my phone, already recording. "Welcome back to Ice Cold Takes, where today we're continuing with our new fan-favorite segment: 'Teaching the Hockey Robot to Human.' Episode two: ordering coffee like a normal person."
Kane narrows his eyes and shoots me a side-glance. "I know how to order coffee, thank you."
"Black, no sugar doesn't count," Wall chimes in, somehow wedging himself between a display of overpriced coffee beans and a tiny woman trying very hard to pretend we're not here. "That's not coffee. That's hot sadness water."
"It's delicious," Kane protests.
"It's depressing," Petrov counters, nearly knocking over a chalkboard sign advertising something called a Unicorn Frappuccino, which I’m definitely getting. "You drink coffee like you're being punished."
I pan the camera to capture the whole team spread throughout this poor, unsuspecting establishment.
Groover's examining the pastry case like it contains nuclear launch codes.
Ace is helping the barista—a college-aged kid whose name tag reads River—understand that yes, we're actually all here, and no, this isn't a prank.
Washington has somehow claimed the only armchair, Mateo perched on the arm beside him, already typing something on his phone. Probably live-tweeting this disaster.
"Alright, Robot Boy." I turn the camera back to Kane, who's staring at the menu board above the counter with the kind of intense focus usually reserved for playoff overtime.
"Your mission, should you choose to accept it—and you will, because I'm not turning off this camera until you do—is to order something that isn't black coffee. "
"Why?"
"Because we're trying to prove you have a personality."
"I have a personality."
"Debatable," Wall say, coughing around the word.
Kane crosses his arms, and I zoom in on his face. He's got that little crease between his eyebrows that shows up when he's concentrating too hard on something. It's stupidly endearing.
Not that I'm noticing.
"There are too many options," he says finally, still eyeing at the menu like it personally offended him. "Who needs this many coffee variations? It's excessive."
"Says the man with twelve types of protein powder," I point out.
"That's different. That's practical."
"And this is delicious," Groover adds, having apparently made his pastry selection. "Stop overthinking it and pick something with sugar in it. Your body will thank you."
Kane's still studying the menu. River the barista is watching this unfold with fascinated horror. The rest of the coffee shop patrons have either left or are filming on their own phones without trying to hide it.
Excellent. More content.
"Okay," Kane says after what feels like seventeen years. "I'll order."
He steps up to the counter. I follow with the camera, keeping it trained on his face.
Something tells me this is going to be gold.
"Hi," Kane starts, and even that sounds stiff. "I would like a..." He glances back at the menu. "Venti iced caramel macchiato with oat milk, extra shot, light ice, and..." He trails off. We all lean in. "And... feelings?"
Dead silence.
River blinks. "I'm sorry?"
Kane's face does a journey through confusion, realization, and pure mortification in under two seconds. "Is that... not an option?"
Eleven six-foot-something professional athletes and one Mateo are milling around a coffee shop, collectively losing their shit.
Wall makes a sound like a dying whale. Petrov's laughing so hard he has to grab the counter for support. Groover's bent over, gasping for air.
Even Cap—stoic, professional Captain Washington—has his hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking.
I'm trying to keep the camera steady, which is hard, cause I'm also crying. Actual tears streaming down my face.
"Feelings," Ace manages between gasps. "He ordered feelings."
Kane's face is still cycling through approximately forty emotions—oh, irony—before landing somewhere between mortified and wanting to murder us all.
"I meant—" he starts, but Wall interrupts.
"Be patient," Wall tells River, who looks like he's considering demanding a raise. "He’s never ordered feelings before."
"I hate all of you," Kane announces to no one in particular.
"No you don't," I say, finally getting the camera under control. "You have feelings now."
River, to his credit, manages to keep a straight face. "So... venti iced caramel macchiato with oat milk, extra shot, and light ice. No feelings. Got it."
"Thank you," Kane says with as much dignity as a man can muster after accidentally trying to order emotions at a coffee shop.
Five minutes later, we've all got our drinks—Kane clutching his like it might explode if he drops it—and we're heading back outside. I'm still recording because this is gift just keeps on giving.
"Try it," I encourage, camera trained on his face.
Kane takes a cautious sip. His face immediately does something that I can only describe as experiencing regret on a molecular level. "This tastes like liquid diabetes."
"But how does it make you feel?" Petrov asks, and we're all off again.
I upload the clip before we even make it back to the facility, with the caption: "Teaching the Hockey Robot to Human, Episode 2: And…feelings?"
It blows up immediately.
By the time we're walking through the parking lot, it's got 50,000 views. Someone's already made it into a meme. Kane's face, frozen in that moment of pure confusion: "And... feelings?"
"That face when you realize you have emotions," Ace narrates as we walk, scrolling through his phone.
"Someone make this a GIF immediately," Groover says.
"On it," Mateo confirms, not looking up from his phone.
"'And feelings' is my new catchphrase," I announce. "I'm putting it on merch."
Kane whines. "Please don't."
"Too late. Already designing the t-shirts in my head."
Wall claps Kane on the shoulder. "Give the man a break. He's discovering he's a badly programmed robot."
"I hate all of you," Kane repeats, but there's less heat in it this time.
"That’s okay," Petrov sings. "Hatred’s a feeling."
Cap, who's been mostly quiet through this whole ordeal, suddenly reaches out and grabs Mateo by the shoulder, steering him away from a pole he was about to walk directly into while staring at his phone.
"Keep it together, gentlemen," he says, but he's fighting a smile. "Also, Mateo, send me that GIF."
"Already sent it to Leila," Mateo confirms. "She says Kane's face is her new mood."
Kane takes another sip of his drink and immediately winces again. "This is targeted harassment and I don't like it."
"Too late," Wall says cheerfully. "You have feelings now. No returns."
I drop back from the group, recording again, getting a wide shot of everyone walking together. They're all still laughing, still giving Kane shit, and he's in the middle of it all, shaking his head but—
Wait.
Is that…?
As he turns his head, our eyes meet across the group. For just a second, I catch it: the tiniest hint of a smile he's trying to suppress. His eyes are bright, less guarded than usual, and there's something in his expression that looks almost... fond.
He's enjoying this.
He'd never admit it though—god knows he'd rather die than confess that being relentlessly mocked by his teammates is somehow making him happy—but he is.
The robot facade is cracking, and underneath it is just a guy who wants to belong.