Chapter 9
I've gotten used to ignoring that voice, the same one that is nagging me right now, telling me to be careful. I'm lacing up my skates, joking with Kirk and sitting just close enough to Curtis that his arm brushes mine when he moves. Kirk notices, but he doesn't seem to care. It almost feels comfortable, minus the unending warning bells ringing from the edges of my consciousness.
Just before we go out to the ice for the game, Curtis quietly slips out into the hall. Having grown used to the custom, I wait a few moments, and then I follow him. Once in the confines of the quiet, private walkway, Curtis reaches for my hand.
"Good luck," he tells me, squeezing his fingers around mine. He smiles sweetly down at me, his eyes full of hope and excitement, and I feel a blush spread over my cheeks. "Will you ever stop reacting like that?" he asks with a soft giggle.
I glance away shyly, "Probably not."
"Good," he says, tilting my head up so that he can once again stare into my eyes. Then he kisses me gently, caressing my lips with short, warm pecks, "Because I like this."
So do I.
I should have listened to the warning. The whisper has turned to a scream, cursing at me, reminding me of just how wrong I was. The almost forgotten nervousness, the tension that knots the muscles in my stomach and makes my head throb, is back with a vengeance.
My luck finally ran out.
The locker room is practically silent. We've lost games since I got here, but none so heartbreaking as tonight. With less than ten seconds remaining in the third period, I turned the puck over at our blue line, and Peter Forsberg took advantage of the mistake and scored. The Avalanche had gone up three goals to two with exactly 5.8 seconds left on the clock. We lost two valuable points to Colorado, and it was all my fault.
Now I have to face the consequences. I haven't been able to bring myself to look at Curtis. I don't want to see the anger that I know is going to be hidden in those crystalline eyes; I don't think I can bear the frustration that has to be hiding there.
I've put this off long enough, I suppose. It's been nearly a month since I was last punished, last reminded; I am far past due for it. Although I don't remember dreading it the way I do now.
"I'm going to catch a cab home," I whisper to Kirk, hating the way my voice quivers on the words.
He nods, then stares worriedly at me, "You okay?"
I shrug, "I'll be fine," I lie, "I just want to go home." He seems content with the answer, and he goes back to buttoning his shirt.
I slip from the room silently, hoping to avoid any further contact with my teammates. I don't know why I thought that would happen.
"Hey," a soft voice says as a hand grasps my shoulder. I recoil, pulling from the touch even as I turn to look at him. Curtis has one eyebrow raised, concern evident in his eyes. "Andy..."
I cower, clasping and wringing my hands in front of me, as if I could protect myself. "I'm so sorry," I murmur. Confusion clouds his features, and he steps toward me. "I didn't mean to do it, Curtis," I plead, inching away from him. "It was a mistake. I'm so sorry..." I beg him silently to understand.
Lines crease his forehead, and he grabs my hand. A cry of fear erupts from my throat, tears sting at my eyes and then burn lines down my cheeks. My voice hoarse, I beg his forgiveness one more time, and then his arms are around me, and I fall apart.
