Page 117 of Moonlighter

“Thanks,” I grunt.

“Carl didn’t think you’d mind if I stayed a couple of weeks.”

Weeks?“Well, it’s a studio, though. Plus that loft,” I say, trying to find the right words to express my horror.

I’m sure my young cousin is a great guy. But a couple of weeks with a twenty-two-year-old roommate sounds hellish. I’ve watched rookies settling in before. Hell, I’vebeenthat rookie. You just got promoted from the minors to the big leagues. It’s time to celebrate.I’ve arrived, New York! Hear me roar.

I wonder how quickly we can find this kid his own apartment.

“It’s gonna be epic!” He climbs off the floor. “I need you to introduce me around.”

“Okay, sure.” I agree. “We’ll go to the Tavern on Hicks. The guys are always there. When do you have to sign paperwork?”Please say right now.

“Already done! I got the Katt phone, too. Is it weird that I’m almost more excited about the phone?”

“A little,” I admit. When Nate Kattenberger bought the team, he gave every player a custom phone to carry.

“Does it really glow with a gold star when we win?” A big smile breaks across his big face.

“That part is true.” I don’t worship technology the way some people do. But I have to admit that I love the gold star. Not that I’ve gotten one in a while.

“Awesome!” He jumps up and down in a way that people can do when they don’t have knee pain. “So let’s get drinkin’! It’s early, Eric. We could do some serious damage. I am so high on life right now I could just burst.”

Something goes a little wrong inside my chest when he says that, because I used to feel that way, too. I don’t carry that kind of optimism anymore. The kind that feels like anything is possible.

Anton does, though. This is his night. And I’m going to do my best to show him a good time.

And then tomorrow? I’ll find him somewhere else to stay.

Two hourslater I’m on my second beer, my second burger, and my second dose of ibuprofen.

“You okay?” asks Heidi the intern as I chase the pills with water. “I haven’t seen much of you since the week I brought you home from the surgical clinic.”

“I’m doing great. But I worked out hard at PT.” Rehab is harder than playing a game into double overtime. Because you can never have the satisfaction of winning. The only gold star in rehab is being allowed back on the ice.

“I can’t believe we’ve got two Bayers on one team!” Georgia says, eyeing my cousin, who’s playing darts with Drake. The two rookies hit it off like puppies at the dog park. “The press is going to eat this up with a spoon.”

“It’s the coolest,” I say, trying to chase away the superstition that we won’t actually end up skating together. I should be ecstatic for Anton. But I can’t shake the feeling that fate has plunked him down in Brooklyn to take my place.

“One forward, one defenseman,” Georgia says. “A Bayer for every need. But the kid needs a nickname, stat. How about Bayer the Younger?”

“I like ‘Care Bayer,’” Heidi says, and Georgia giggles.

“Nah,” I argue. “He’s Baby Bayer all the way.”

“Yes!” Heidi shrieks. “Baby Bayer. And when he’s hungover tomorrow we’ll call him Baby Aspirin.”

She and Georgia high five each other.

“I’m not drunk enough to be hungover. Yet,” Anton yells, a dart in his hand. He lets the dart fly, and it embeds in the wall about two inches shy of the dartboard.

“We have to work on our accuracy,” Drake complains. “I think you’re a little overexcited.”

“Alcohol to the rescue!” Anton yells. “Let’s break out the tequila shots.”

“Oh man.” I shake my head. “It’s going to get ugly.”

Heidi puts a hand on my shoulder. “Should you drink? Aren’t you worried about stability?”