Andrew #2
“Well, look all you want, now, but don’t laugh,” he says, turning to face her.
“From the ashes, a fire shall be woken,” Danielle says softly. She runs her fingers over the tattoo Andrew’s collarbone and it’s like he can’t breathe. Her touch is gentle, curious even, and he pulls her a little bit closer beneath the cover of the trees. “What’s it mean?”
“It’s from Lord of the Rings ,” he says, tracing a slow line down her side so he can watch goosebumps erupt on her skin. “Most people only know ‘not all who wander are lost” but that’s never been my favorite line in the poem.”
“Why this one?” she asks. “I know the poem, but why this line? ”
“I don’t have time to get into all of the textual implications and lore,” Andrew says with a grin, “but I can give you the gist, if you want.”
“Those are big words for someone who ‘isn’t much of a reader’ she says, teasing as she traces over the words with her fingertips. “I would be happy to have the whole conversation with you. But, maybe just the gist for now.”
“Since we’re going surface level,” Andrew says, keeping his voice quiet, “besides being incredibly allegorical, because, you know, it’s Tolkien , it’s that the poem is pointing towards someone greater.
The second half gets more into the specifics of it, and that’s where the line comes from.
Someone, or something, greater is rising from the darkness, brokenness, and despair. ”
She leans closer, ghosts her lips over his shoulder, and his hands slide up her back.
“The public has spent so much time spreading hurtful things about me, casting shadows over who I am as a person and as a player,” he says, “that I know if I can come out of this, and can get to the other side, I have been restored through the flames.”
“When did you get it?” she asks, looking up at him .
Their faces are so close together, he has to swallow and look away.
“About two days after we lost the Cup,” he replies, “it meant a lot to me before all of this happening, but it felt more symbolic after that.”
“Because a fire isn’t just destruction, it’s life,” she replies, pressing her palm flat to his chest where his heart is beating rapidly under his skin. He knows she can feel it. “It’s rebirth. Like a phoenix.”
“Exactly,” he says, covering her hand with his. “If I can be destroyed, I can rise.”
“My favorite line has always been ‘deep roots are not reached by the frost’,” she says, making no move to distance herself from him.
Seriously, is this girl even real?
They’re hidden amongst the trees, sticky with summer humidity and drying lake water, and she’s swapping her favorite Lord of the Rings lines with him. He couldn’t have dreamed a better woman.
And she’s looking at him . She doesn’t care that he’s Andrew Fisher, she doesn’t care that he missed the game-tying goal in the Stanley Cup two months ago.
She just knows him and sees him .
She wants Andrew .
At least, he thinks she does.
“When you have grown, and have a depth of character, no matter what you go through,” she says, meeting his eyes, “your roots and your life cannot be destroyed by the frost. It sort of makes sense that the two lines are next to each other, when you think of it that way.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever liked someone more than I like you right now,” he says, brushing a loose lock of hair from where it had fallen out of her eyes. “And I already like you a lot .”
She takes his hand between hers, and he watches as she runs her fingertips over the tiny scars that mark his skin and turns his hand over. His palm is callused from years of stick handling, and her skin feels so soft against his own.
“I think you should kiss me, now,” she says softly. She looks up at him through her eyelashes and he’s undone.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he says back.
He leans in slowly, nudging their noses together. He wants to take his time, to make sure that she’s sure and she wants this .
Danielle makes an impatient sound, and slams her lips into his.
The rest of the world comes to a halt, the constant hum of noise he’s learned to ignore in the back of his mind stops, and he kisses her back like a man starved. So much for taking his time.
He’s never felt this way. About anyone. Ever.
“For a hockey player, you sure move slow,” she says, breaking away from him to take a breath.
“Stop talking,” he says, kissing her again. He pulls her into his lap and she shifts so she’s straddling him. She slides her hands up his chest, skimming her fingertips across his ribs, and he deepens the kiss with a soft moan.
He pulls her closer by her hips and she lets out a quiet gasp, and he thinks he could listen to the quiet, breathy noises she’s making for the rest of his life and never get sick of it. Her arms wind around his neck, and he wants the fabric covering her gone.
He slips his hands under the back of her shirt, settling them on warm, soft, skin, and he feels goosebumps erupt along her spine. He wants her more than he’s ever wanted someone in his life, and he’s becoming dizzy with the desire .
They’re already on a bench, and mostly hidden by trees. Her hands are at the waistband of his board shorts. It would be so easy to get carried away, and he thinks that she wouldn’t care if he did.
No , flashes through his head. Not like this.
He does the responsible thing, and pulls back, trying to breathe even though his heart is thundering in his chest and she’s flushed in front of him.
“I really like you, Danielle,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together. He closes his eyes. “I’m all in, for whatever you want to give me. For whatever you can give me. I want you.”
“I—” he shakes his head, cutting her off.
“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”
Her eyes flick from his to his lips, and he leans in again.
He’s not recovering from this one.
He doesn’t even think he wants to.