He turns, then nuzzles his face against my chin per usual. It’s his go-to move when he senses I’m about to leave him.
“It’s just for a few hours,” I say. “I won’t be out all night. I promise.”
He presses his head against me harder, almost like he’s saying,Okay, I believe you…but just this once.
I chuckle lowly. “All right. You’ve convinced me. Five more minutes of snuggles, then I have to get ready. Apparently, your uncle Lucas—whom you’ve never met but have heard me bitch about plenty—is demanding I show up for New Year’s Eve festivities.”
Meow.
“I know. Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me, too.”
Meow.
I think about not going, about just sitting on the couch like this, holding Percy, and eating snacks until I pass out. Then I remember I’d have to face Lawson and the rest of my teammates tomorrow at practice, and they’ll be armed with a hundred questions, just like always, and I don’t want that. I’d rather bagskate for an hour straight than have to answer why I hate this day so damn much.
Meow.
“I’m going anyway, bud. I have to. You understand, right?”
Meow.
He accepts this answer—or at least that’s what I tell myself—and I keep an eye on the clock as I run my hand up and down his back, loving the soft purrs he emits. When it gets close enough to ten that I know I’ll have Lawson annoying the piss out of me again if I procrastinate any longer, I peel myself off the couch and head to my bedroom.
Percy jumps off, following close behind, and I grin. I was never one of those kids who begged for a puppy or a kitten. The only thing I was ever interested in was hockey. I would have taken new skates or new gloves over anything else. But with Percy, I wandered into the clinic on a whim, we locked eyes, and I knew we were meant to be. Maybe it was because we had just lost our shot at making the playoffs, or maybe it was because I was lonely. It doesn’t matter. I’m stuck with him now, and he’s stuck with me. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The cat hops onto my bed as I swap my joggers for jeans and my old t-shirt for a long-sleeved gray Henley. I’m sure most of the group will be dressing up more than this, but it’s not like I have anyone to impress.
“All right,” I say to Percy once I’ve finished getting ready. I stand by the front door, slipping my shoes on. “I’ll be back by twelve thirty at the latest. Keep an eye on the place. If anyone breaks in, gouge their eyes out, then scream like you always do at three in the damn morning.”
Meow.
I give him one last ear scratch and head out, making sure to lock the door behind me. Phone in hand, I order a rideshare on the way to the elevator. I have no plans of drinking until I’mshit-faced tonight, but I figure it’s better to be safe than sorry. Because who knows? Maybe Lawson will annoy me just enough that I might need alcohol to survive until midnight.
As I wait for the elevator, I pray nobody I know is inside. With Whitlocke and his girlfriend, Vanessa, living here, I run into them far too often for my liking. I’m glad the old man is happy—truly—but do they have to make out in the elevator even when someone else is in there with them?
I’m relieved to find the car empty as the doors slide open, and I step inside. I rest against the back railing, closing my eyes as I descend, trying to extinguish the urge to march right back into my apartment and become one with my couch.
Fuck, maybe Ishouldget shit-faced on tequila shots tonight. Maybe then I’ll forget just how much I hate this fucking holiday.
If only I didn’t know Coach Smith has a long morning planned for us tomorrow. He always makes us come into the rink early after a holiday. It’s his way of keeping us all in check, making sure we don’t get too rowdy. I used to hate it, mostly because I had an actual reason to celebrate, but now? I don’t care. Drag me out of bed at six AM. Hell, do it at five. It’s not like I get much sleep anyway. What’s it going to matter to me?
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I check it, just in case it’s my rideshare.
It’s not. It’s my brother.
Stefan: Broooooo
Stefan: new
Stefan: shit
Stefan: HPPY NEWSPAPER YOUR
I laugh, knowing that since it’s already midnight on the East Coast, where he’s attending law school, he’s likely drunk as hell. There’s a ten-year age gap between us, and though it’s easier now that he’s older, it’s still funny to see how differently our lives have ended up. What I was doing at twenty-one is vastly different than what he’s doing.
I shoot him a quick text back, wishing him a happy New Year, then pocket my phone. It doesn’t feel like a happy New Year, though, not even close.
My fingers climb their way up my chest and to the chain that’s dangled around my neck for the last couple of years. The metal is warm from resting against my skin, but it still somehow feels cold. I’m sure it’s because it sits so close to my heart.
