Page 93 of Like A Daydream
Andrew jumps awake, startled at the sound of his name. Of all the titles he’d won over the span of his NHL career, he thinks that Dad is probably the best one.
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.”
Thiskid 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’smade 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’mcoming.”
“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 inCharlotte.”
