“Remember last year?” Tyler looked at the photo on the wall. “That kiss? That was insane. I’ve never heard the arena that loud.”
“It was pretty loud,” I admitted.
“Pretty loud? Dude, it was deafening. And the stick taps—that was special. I’m glad I was part of that.”
“We are too,” Étienne said quietly.
“Has it been weird?” Kaitlin asked. “Being out? Being public?”
“Sometimes,” I said honestly. “We still get hate posts. People still yell things at away games. But mostly? It’s just… routine now. We’re just players who happen to be in a relationship.”
“The media attention died down after a few months,” Étienne added. “Now it’s just part of who we are, not the only thing people talk about.”
“Good.” Kinnunen raised his beer. “That’s how it should be. You’re hockey players first. Everything else is just details.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Tyler said.
We stayed like that for hours, just talking, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company.
Tyler checked his phone. “Ten minutes to midnight.”
“Should we turn on the TV?” Kaitlin asked. “For the ball drop?”
“Yeah, let’s do it.” I grabbed the remote and found the Times Square coverage. The crowd on screen was massive, bundled against the cold, everyone waiting for midnight.
Étienne refilled champagne glasses while I settled back onto the couch. The others migrated closer to the TV, the conversation quieting as we watched the final minutes of the year tick down.
At eleven fifty-five, Kinnunen raised his glass. “Should we do a toast before midnight? Or wait?”
“Before,” Alyssa said. “So we’re not rushing.”
We all stood, glasses in hand.
“To another year,” Kinnunen started. “To good friends, good hockey, and—” He looked at me and Étienne. “To living honestly.”
“Hear, hear,” Tyler added.
We clinked glasses and drank.
On the TV, the countdown was starting. Sixty seconds.
Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight.
Étienne moved to stand beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched. I reached for his hand, lacing our fingers together.
Forty-five. Forty-four.
Tyler pulled Kaitlin close. Kinnunen wrapped his arm around Alyssa.
Thirty. Twenty-nine.
The crowd on TV was roaring, thousands of voices counting down together.
Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen.
I looked at Étienne. He was already looking at me, a soft smile on his face.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
