Page 52 of Like A Daydream
“The shot might have gone wide,” she says, cutting across him. “But that’s nothing compared to how you’re running your mouth. Now please, leave. Or I’ll call the police.”
She holds her phone up, the LPPD number already typed on the screen, so that he can see she’s not kidding.
Apparently, he doesn’t want to be arrested because the customer leaves without much of a fight after that, and Danielle heads towards the back of the store to find Andy.
“I told you this was going to happen,” Cara says, stepping around the counter to try to block Danielle.
“Not now,” Danielle says, pushing past her to the back room. She closes the door behind her, starting her search for her hockey playing employee. He’s hidden in the stock room somewhere, behind the many piles of boxes. She’s guessing the furthest point away from the door.
“Andy?” she asks, peering around a stack of boxes. He’s sitting on the floor, legs pulled to his chest, on a phone call and trying to breathe.
As soon as he sees Danielle, he hangs up the phone and takes a breath.
“Sorry,” he says, running a hand over his face.
“Don’t apologize,” Danielle says, sitting across from him on the floor. He shifts so he’s cross-legged and their knees brush.
“I needed a minute,” he says.
“If you need a minute, you need a minute,” she replies, “it’s not a big deal.”
“I had to call my therapist,” he says. “It’s been a while since I had to deal with something like that, and I have her on speed dial, just in case.”
She stays quiet.
“I panicked,” he continues, “and my grounding strategy wasn’t working. And I left Roscoe at JT’s today.”
He runs a frustrated hand over his face again and tugs at the roots of his hair, tilting his head back against the wall.
“I thought I was getting better,” he says, and his voice is so sad she nearly reaches for him. “Like therapy was fixing me.”
“You’re not in need of repair,” she says, tucking her knees under her. “What did he say to you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I’d have to start at the beginning,” he says, half a laugh escaping him as he closes his eyes. “I thought I’d have at least two more weeks before I have to spill everything, and it’s going to take a while.”
“I have time.”
He pats the spot on the ground next to him, and she shifts, tracing a finger up his forearm gently. He’s corded muscle and soft edges and she never knew that a man could be both but it makes him infinitely more attractive to her.
And this side of him that she gets to see, she doesn’t think she’ll ever get over him trusting her enough to show it to her.
He twists the bracelet he wears on his left wrist around with his right hand. It feels like, in this moment, his entire soul is on display to her, and she thinks that this is rare. That he’s giving her something tender and precious that she needs to take care of, and keep safe.
She leans her head on his shoulder and his palm slides against hers, letting their fingers slot together as he takes a steadying breath. Then he talks, and once he starts she doesn’t want him to stop.
“Long story short,” he concludes, “I came here to escape what you just saw, and until today I was able to. So, when he came in and I bolted, it’s because it’s been a while since I’ve had a panic attack. But I should have known that this was coming, since more people have been in town for the holiday.”
“How long have you been having panic attacks, in general?” she asks, sliding a hand up his back softly. He looks so vulnerable right now, and he’s done as much to soothe her.
“Since my freshman year of college,” he says, closing his eyes at her touch. She slips her hand up the back of his neck, pressing her thumb and index finger into the base of it gently. He sighs.
“Why did you start, do you think?” she asks, rubbing her thumb in circles. She slides her fingers through the ends of his hair gently.
“I was a student athlete on a full scholarship,” he says with a laugh, “at Boston University. One of, if notthe,best hockey program in the country outside of Minnesota. I was trying to get drafted by the time I turned nineteen, and I was away from home for the first time in my whole life. That pressure is hard to understand from the outside, but it’s even worse when you’re in it.”
“Is Minnesota where you’re from?” she asks, realizing now that she’d only ever known him to be from North Carolina.
“Just a hockey player from Minnesota,” he says, nodding, “like Big Time Rush before they got their shot.”
