Andrew
“Dad.”
Danielle is asleep next to him, and he flips his lamp on, reaching for his glasses. Their twelve-year-old son, Cole, is standing at their door, the light from the hall lighting him up from behind.
“It’s five in the morning, bud,” Andy says, “what’s wrong?”
“It’s game day.”
This kid is so much like him it’s ridiculous.
“I know it’s game day, but we have a couple of hours before we have to get to the arena,” Andrew says, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. At least, he pretends that’s what it is.
The mess that’s been made of his salt-and-pepper hair has nothing to do with Danielle pulling at it all night, trying to keep quiet so they didn’t wake the kids up.
They’ve been married thirteen years, she’s been living in Raleigh for fourteen, and she still knows how to make him feel like a teenager who finally got the girl.
After he retired, Andrew took a coaching job with the Carolina Junior Canes.
He didn’t even need to ask, he just had to mention that he was interested and they handed him the roster.
They started him coaching their U16 AAA team and he’d earned his keep by taking them to the National Championships three years in a row.
When Cole was old enough to make the team, he dropped down to their U12s, planning on moving up with him each year as he gets older.
He loves coaching even more than he loved playing, and it had come as a slight surprise.
But, teaching others the game that he’s made his life is so rewarding.
Especially watching his son grow up playing, and excelling.
He’s not sure he’ll push Cole to go to the NHL, but he’s not going to stop him, either. The kid lives, eats and breathes hockey.
“I want to go early,” Cole replies, “my wrist shot needs work.”
Andrew sits up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, and double checks that he has pants on before he swivels and puts his feet on the floor. With Cole like this, he’s never getting back to bed.
Danielle rolls over, reaching for him, mumbling in her sleep before she cracks her eyes open slightly.
“What?” she asks, sliding a hand up his back. He turns, presses a kiss to her forehead.
“Your son wants to practice his wrist-shot,” Andy says, smiling. “We’re going to go to the arena for a couple of hours, but we’ll be back. The game isn’t until tonight.”
“He’s not my kid when he gets like this,” Danielle says, smiling sleepily, “he’s all yours when hockey brain kicks in. ”
“Just because I won a Stanley Cup.” he mumbles, but he kisses her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, grinning the whole time.
“Dad, any day now,” Cole says with a huff.
“Alright, alright, I’m coming.”
He kisses Danielle one more time before he throws the blankets back.
“His wrist shot better be perfect by the time you get back.”
“He’s twelve.”
“You’re telling me your wrist shot wasn’t perfect at his age?” Danielle says, raising a brow.
“Do you even know the difference?” he teases.
“It’s been thirteen years, Fisher,” Danielle says, “of course I know the difference.”
“Fourteen,” he says.
“DAD!”
“I’m coming .”
“Yell a little louder!” Harper calls from her room as Andrew walks by, fully dressed, skates hooked over her shoulder by their laces. “Maybe they haven’t heard you in Charlotte . ”
“Listen, talk to your brother, not me,” Andrew says, stopping in her door. “Do you want to come with us? I could use the assist.”
Harper huffs, pulling on a UNC Hockey hoodie. She’s in her sophomore year at Chapel Hill, full ride, as a Center on their Women’s Hockey team. “Do you think Cole will actually let me shoot this time?”
“Debatable, but you could always get in the goal. Make him work for it.”
Harper grabs her own gloves and stick from her closet.
“And ruin my face? No thanks,” Harper says, shaking her head, “I like having all of my teeth.”
“I can’t believe you turned both of my children into hockey players,” Danielle says, sliding her arms around his waist from behind him. He feels her press a kiss between his shoulder blades, and he covers her hands with his.
“It’s a dynasty, baby,” he says, grinning, “you better get used to it.”
“Stop being icky,” Harper says, and for a moment, she’s six years old with blue-goo ice cream all over her face instead of the nineteen-year-old standing in front of him .
“You’re icky,” he shoots back, grinning. Danielle releases him, letting him step away from the door so Harper can pass them.
“Can you drive your brother?” Andrew asks, tossing her his truck keys. “I’ll meet you guys at the rink.”
“I’ll drive him if we can bring Roscoe,” Harper counters, raising a brow.
“If you can get him in my truck, do what you want,” Andrew says. As if the dog knew they were talking about him, he limps around the corner, old age starting to get the better of him even though he’s not slowing down. He’s outlived the average lifespan of a German Shepherd, but he’s still healthy.
He’s a little extra gray around the face, and his job has gone from emotional support to sleeping by the fire place, but Andrew still loves him.
“Come on, Roscoe,” Harper says, “let’s go play hockey.”
Roscoe barks once, picking up his pace to get to Harper before they both disappear down the hallway and down the stairs .
“Cole isn’t going to be impressed when you aren’t the one driving him,” Danielle says, hugging Andrew’s waist again. He grins, leaning down to kiss her quick.
“I’m allowed to want more time with my wife,” he says, “and besides, riding with his sister is character building.”
“Oh, that’s what you’re calling it, these days?”
“Making him listen to K-pop can only be described as that,” Andrew says. “Grab a hoodie and come to the rink with us.”
“I heard that!” Harper yells from the foot of the stairs. “Don’t pretend you aren’t an Ahgase, dad!”
“You will never hear me speak against Got7!” he calls back, turning back to Danielle with a pouty face on. “Please?”
“I should go to the store,” Danielle says, sliding her arms around his neck, “just in case the place is burning to the ground.”
Danielle had opened up a bookstore similar to Spine Crackers in North Raleigh a year after she’d moved with Harper. Page Turners was a neighborhood staple, with regulars stopping in for coffee in the morning, and college students looking for a place to hang out and do school work .
“Your employees can handle it,” he says, kissing her again, “come to the rink with us.”
“You won’t make met get on the ice, right?”
“I learned my lesson the first time.”
“You still fell in love with me, though.”
“I fell in love with you the first time I saw you,” he says, “you literally knocked me off my feet, remember?”
“That was the ladder, Andy,” she rolls her eyes affectionately.
“The point still stands,” he says, “go get changed.”
She pulls away from him and heads to their bedroom, emerging a few minutes later in jeans and practically swimming in his Stanley Cup Champions hoodie. She spins so he can catch his last name on her back, and he grins.
“Looks good on you, Fisher,” he says, holding a hand out for her.
“What can I say?” she asks, taking his hand, “Red’s always been my color.”
They get to the rink and Andrew joins Cole and Harper on the ice, and he thinks that he would go through all of it again to have his family. The hell of public evisceration, fading into obscurity, climbing back to the top.
It was all worth it to see his son make a perfect wrist-shot while his daughter defends in a game of one-on-one, his wife cheering them on while his dog barks in the stands.
He looks up into the stands, catching a glimpse of Coach Landry watching him, a knowing smile on his face, and he grins. He knows that coach knows.
He can finally say that he knows what’s more important than a Stanley Cup title. More important than the stats and the endorsements and the fans. More important than his retired number hanging from the rafters at PNC Arena.
It’s this. This life he’s built, and wouldn’t trade for anything.