Page 13 of Like A Daydream
Catalina:ouch
After brushing his teeth, he heads up the stairs to the kitchen. He’s only been to JT’s house once since he’d built it, but it’s familiar. Ainsley is standing at the kitchen counter, buttering a slice of toast. A podcast that Andrew recognizes asPucks Awayis playing at full volume from the TV in their living room.
JT is sipping a cup of coffee, looking at the newspaper like he’s geriatric instead of in his early thirties.
“Heading south of the Mason-Dixon, now,” the main host, Brad, says “Carolina captain Andrew Fisher waseggedleaving PNC Arena yesterday after the final team meeting before the off-season.”
Five things you can see. Four you can touch. Three you can hear. Two you can smell. One you can taste.
“You know,” his co-host, Chad, says, “normally Carolina fans are pretty chill, even if their team is losing. But this was a big one, so I think they have a right to be mad.”
“Yeah, but egging someone?” Brad says. “That’s a little extreme. He could have gotten seriously injured, and shots going wide happen to the best of them. Remember when it happened to Crosby?”
JT’s eyes cut to Ainsley, who turns to him, eyes wide. Neither of them has noticed Andrew standing there, yet.
“Yeah, but it didn’t happen to Crosby in the Stanley Cup Finals, Brad,” Chad says. “You can’t play at that level, on a breakaway no less, and have a shot go wide when the net is practically wide open.”
“Makes you wonder if you’ll see a trade,” Brad says. “The window has been wide open since March, and there’s been a lot of moving and shaking.”
“I don’t know what they would have to gain by keeping him,” Chad says, “he’s a great defenseman, sure, but there’s a hundred of those on farm teams across the country waiting for a shot.”
Andrew swallows hard.
“Can you shut that off, please?” he asks. JT’’s head snaps in his direction and he reaches for the remote. “I came here to get away from that stuff, not hear it again.”
“Sorry, Andy,” JT says, pressing pause. “I didn’t expect them to cover it today.”
“It’s all they’re going to be talking about until the trading window closes,” Andrew says, sitting down at the counter. “That’s what coach says, anyway. It’s the only thing I’ve been hearing for almost a month.”
“That bad, huh?”
“They started talking about it about an hour after I missed the shot,” Andrew says as Ainsley sets a mug of coffee and a plate of toast in front of him. “Thanks Ainsley.”
“So, how did you miss? That’s not like you.” Jamie asks, letting his fingers trail across Ainsley’s back as she walks by him. “You’re one of the best scoring defensemen in the league.”
“I don’t know,” Andrew says, scrubbing a hand over his face, “even if I did I couldn’t tell you. I shouldn’t have missed it. You watched the game. The net was practically wide open. It just… didn’t happen.”
“Team take it hard?” JT asks.
“Not as hard as the fans did,” Andrew nods towards the TV. “Clearly. Egging me isn’t even the worst of it. They’ve been hanging effigies of me out of apartments downtown for two weeks. They set one on fire at my front gate.”
“Are you serious?”
“Why would I lie about something like that?” Andrew says. “Landry says I’m staying with the team, though. He told me at the meeting yesterday he has no plans to trade me.”
“I don’t know why he would,” JT says, “you’ve been wearing red and black so long you would look wrong in any other color.”
“I’m glad you’re not getting traded, but can we rewind to the effigy thing for a second?” Ainsley asks.
“What about it?” Andrew asks taking a sip of coffee.
Ainsley looks at him, eyes full of concern. “Are you okay?”
“Does driving thirteen hours in the middle of the night so that I can feel safe say ‘okay’ to you?” Andrew asks with a snort. He takes a sip of coffee. “I’m not okay. Not even close. But, I’m here and trying.”
Sokka chases Roscoe through the living room and up their stairs before running back downstairs with a bark.
“Fans have all but said they want me dead, so if me disappearing is what everyone wants, I might as well give it to them for a while.” He stands up, coffee in hand. “If you need me, I’ll be downstairs, wallowing in self-pity.”
