Andrew #2
“Fan- fucking -tastic,” Andrew replies, leaning down to zip his bag closed. Petrov is one of his best friends on the team, and Andrew can’t even face him .
“We played a helluva season,” Landry starts, “we had a lot of ups and downs, and obviously it didn’t end the way that we wanted to. That being said, we have next season to look towards, not losses to look back at.” He looks around the room before he continues.
“That’s the most important thing,” he says, “We look forward, and support each other. It’s already been a tough couple of weeks but it’s going to get worse, for you as a team and as friends, before it gets better. It can make, or break, you all.”
Andrew feels eyes on him and he shrinks back on the bench. Maybe if he makes himself as small as possible, they’ll forget he’s even here.
Hard to do at 6’3 and 235, but he can try.
These guys are his friends, but he’s never felt less of a part of the team than he does right now. He doesn’t think he’s bringing that on himself, either .
He plays with the braided leather bracelet he wears on his left wrist, fidgeting with the clasp, spinning one of four metal beads that are on the cord. His numbers from high school, college, the Olympics, and the NHL are engraved on the beads.
Anything is better than looking at the disappointment on his team’s faces, and the questions that are in their eyes.
Is he even the right man for the job of Captain? Can he lead the team to wins in the new season? Is he going to be able to hold up under the pressure and scrutiny? How often are they going to get to the finals again?
He breathes slow, in for seven, out for seven, and looks back up at Landry.
“You have a responsibility to yourselves and each other to not let what’s happening out there –” he points to the door “—effect what’s happening in here.” He taps his temple before continuing.
“Get some rest. Heal. Recover,” he says, speech coming to a close. “Blow your salary on surgeries, do yoga, pet a horse, get a dog, go to Dubai. I don’t care, just be ready to go in two months. Got it?”
“Yes, Coach,” the team echoes .
Andrew doesn’t say anything, just fidgets with his bracelet, pulls his hat lower over his eyes.
“Fisher, I want to see you in my office.”
His stomach drops somewhere around his feet and he stands. Eyes follow him as he leaves, bag over his shoulder, and he walks down the hall. His heart is thundering in his chest as he takes one step after another until he hits the office.
Landry is already seated at his desk.
“Sit,” he says, “and close the door.”
This is it.
His career is over.
He’ll be traded in the off-season and go to a different city.
If any team would want him now that he’s cost another the Cup.
Maybe he should talk to his agent and see if free-agency is on the table.
Or retire. He’s thirty, practically geriatric by NHL standards.
That’s an option, probably a better one than whatever Landry is going to say.
Andrew shuts the door, sits, folds his hands in his lap to stop his anxious shaking .
“We need to have a conversation,” Coach says, folding his hands on the desk in front of him. Andrew can’t get a read on him, Landry’s famous poker face in play, and his pulse jumps.
“If you’re trading me, can you just tell me?
” Andrew blurts. “I need to put my house on the market as soon as I can, and I’ll have to call my parents and tell the team and try to find a new place to live wherever you’re sending me.
Not that any team is going to want me now that I’ve royally messed up –”
“Woah, slow down Drew,” Coach says. “Who said anything about trading you?”
“My life has been nothing but bad news,” Andrew answers with a snort. “Why would this be any different?”
“Living in a constant state of waiting for the worst possible scenario is probably the least healthy thing you can do,” Landry says, shaking his head. “Why would I trade one of the best Left Defensemen in the league?”
“I cost us the Cup,” Andrew says. “Public opinion is taking a toll. They’re burning effigies of me down town. I haven’t slept in two weeks, I’m having daily panic attacks… I could go on. ”
He’d tried to stay off of social media for the last two weeks, but the news had made the rounds. People actually wanted him dead, and that was terrifying.
“You didn’t cost us the Cup,” Coach says. “We probably would have lost in over time because we were tired and the other team was out-skating us, so knock that shit off right now.”
“But—”
“No,” Landry cuts him off. “Besides Jamie Thompson, you are, hands down, no contest, the best player we’ve had in years. Certainly, the best one that I’ve coached. I’m not sending you anywhere, and you’re not wearing anything but red and black for the foreseeable future. Got it?”
Andrew hangs his head. “Got it.”
“Good,” Coach says. “Now. The real reason I called you in here was to see if you’re holding up okay. Which, clearly, you’re not, since your brain is making up stupid shit in its spare time.”
Andrew laughs at that.
“This hasn’t been the easiest two weeks of my life,” he concedes .
“Well, it’s not going to get any easier now that the trading window is open. People are going to keep talking, and you’re going to have to keep your head down and ears closed.”
Andrew nods. “You promise I’m not leaving?”
“Do you want me to pinky swear, kid?” Landry asks, rolling his eyes. “Trading you hadn’t crossed my mind for a second.”
“So why am I here?”
“To reassure you of that, check in on your mental health, and to tell you that if I even hear about you being on skates during the off-season, I’ll end your career myself. I’m serious.”
“That’s stupid,” Andrew says, “how am I supposed to be ready to play in September if I’m not skating?”
“You have to take care of your brain and your heart first,” Coach says, tapping his temple again. “Half of sports are played up here. And if you aren’t ready in your mind, you could be the best skater in the game and still play like trash.”
“I’m already going to therapy,” Andrew replies, “I’ve been going since I started playing in college. ”
“I’m aware,” Coach replies, “sometimes, you need therapy and to do something that fills your soul. You’re a good player, and I’d hate to see something so simple as a Stanley Cup break you.”
“Did I hear right, or did you just call the Stanley Cup simple?”
“You heard,” Coach says, “Do I want a Cup win as a coach? Sure. Do I think that this is the team that has a chance of winning one? Yeah, I do. At the end of the day, it’s just a title. Titles aren’t important in the long run.”
“What’s more important than a Stanley Cup?”
Coach smiles.
“How about you take the off-season and find out?”
“That’s not vague as hell,” Andrew says, but he’s grinning for the first time in two weeks.
He leaves the arena with a different spring in his step .
The relief he feels is palpable. He’s still on the team. Three of his teammates apologized on his way out and all but invited themselves over to his house for dinner the next week. He’ll have to call Catalina and see if she can come cook for them if he pays her.
He can do this.
He can bounce back and be ready to play. He’ll be fine. He’ll work twice as hard in therapy. He’ll stop checking the NHL Network and ignore his social media for two months and come back better and take his team to the finals in the new season.
There are a few fans outside PNC, as usual, but he’s not quite ready for that yet. It was enough seeing his team today. He catches the eye of their Media Coordinator and she waves him off.
He knows that acting like he was back to normal would be a better way to spin everything that’s happened and to help fans move on, but he just can’t do it. Not when some of those people could be the ones calling for his head on social media.
Andrew turns and moves t0 his truck instead, ready to take the long drive down Capital back home .
Maybe he’ll bring Roscoe to the dog park in Wake Forest, or for a run. It’s been a while since he’s been out with the public, and it’s been a while since Roscoe has really gotten to play.
He unlocks his truck with a smile as he continues his trek across the parking lot. The weather is mild for June, he could get a lot accomplished on a day like —
“Fisher!” a voice calls behind him. He turns, expecting to see a teammate yelling for him.
He’s met with an egg cracking and exploding against his shoulder, and he’s covered in yolk and backpedaling to his truck as another egg hits him square in the chest. A third egg is fired at him, then a fourth.
“The hell is your problem!” the fan yells, launching another egg at him. “Missing a clear shot?”
Andrew doesn’t even try to defend himself, just dodges as many eggs as he can as they fly past him and hit the silver of his truck.
He’s going to have to drive through Downtown Raleigh with his truck covered in eggs. It was already embarrassing enough to have this happen in front of his team, and other fans.
“What the hell!” Another person yells .
Two of his teammates, Petrov and Oher are on the guy quick, pulling his arms back before he can throw another egg.
“Get out of here, Drew!” Petrov yells, struggling as the egger puts up a fight against him.
Security is running at the mess from the arena exit, the rest of his team is starting to take notice and make their way over to help.
The egger escapes their grip just long enough to launch another egg at Andrew and it hits him in the side of his face.
His eyes start to water, and his breathing gets faster and shallower.
Five things you can see. Four you can touch. Three you can hear. Two you can smell. One you can taste.
“Drew!” Griff yells, but it comes out slow and as if Andrew is underwater. “Go!”
His vision is blurred when he looks up, but it clears long enough for him to see the guy fighting against his teammates.