Chapter 8
"Have you found somewhere to stay yet?" Kirk asks me a few days later, after we won the New Year's Eve game against the Blues.
"Not really. I haven't looked too much," I answer, shrugging. I still haven't fully gotten used to playing here, so my living conditions aren't my top priority.
"I was thinking," he continues, "If you wanted to, I thought that you could stay with me, until you find something else."
Surprised, I glance up at him, "Really?"
He shrugs, "Why not? It’s just me and Presley anyway. I have a spare bedroom that isn't being used. And besides, it has to be better than staying in a hotel."
"He just wants you to con you into doing his dishes," Curtis jokes, winking at me.
I laugh, "If it gets me out of the hotel, I'll gladly do the dishes," I glance back at Kirk, "Thanks. I'm going to take you up on that offer."
"Not a problem," he replies, "Now get ready. I spent a lot of time planning this party, and I don't want you being late."
Despite his complaints, we get to the celebration with an hour left before the ball drops.
I don't remember much about my last New Year's Eve. I vaguely recall a black eye, but I drank too much after Johan hit me for the memories to be completely clear. This year, though, I find myself discovering connections with my new teammates. I talk to Boyd and find out that he and I like much of the same music. Later, Darren and I discuss our motorcycles, where the best places to ride are, and why Harley's are the best bikes in the world.
I'm fitting in. I'm not the outcast I singled myself out to be while in Pittsburgh. It’s refreshing, but at the same time, a little bit overwhelming. I seek some silence out on the balcony, then stare out into the lights of the city that I would be calling home for as long as the team would keep me.
"Hey," Curtis says softly, offering me a glass of champagne. "Cold out here."
I take a deep breath, I hadn't really noticed. "It feels good."
He stands next to me, eyes trained on something far away. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, he speaks up.
"Do you miss Pittsburgh?"
Not at all.
"A little," I tell him, shrugging. "Do you miss Toronto?"
"Not as much as I expected to," he answers, "Its hard to miss it when there are so many other things to enjoy here."
I nod but don't say anything, and the comfortable silence returns. A few minutes later, we hear everyone inside cheering, and fireworks start to shoot off in the distance.
"Wow," I murmur, "2003."
He holds his glass up to mine, "Time for starting over," he says, his eyes intent on mine and full of something I can't quite name.
I take a sip of my champagne and let the bubbles tickle me tongue and throat. "Happy New Year," I say, smiling at him.
"Happy New Year, Andrew," he echoes, then leans down and captures my lips with his. His fingers entwine with mine, and I kiss him back, ignoring the voice that is warning me that my luck is running thin.
