Chapter 11
When I wake up the next morning, my room is empty. I sit up in bed slowly, rubbing my swollen, scratchy eyes and try to make sense of the night before. By the time Curtis had brought me home, it was after midnight. Kirk was sitting in the kitchen, wondering where I was. Like the coward I am, I fled upstairs and left Curtis to explain.
I hope he's still here.
Once downstairs, I smell coffee brewing, and I realize he's still here; Kirk never makes coffee. Sure enough, as the kitchen table comes into view while I round the corner, I see Kirk first, then Curtis.
Then Steve.
"Andy," Curtis says, his eyes intent on me. They're rimmed with pink, and I notice that he's still wearing the suit he had on last night. He never left.
"Um...morning," I greet them. Kirk pours me some coffee, and then comes back to the table. For a while, we all stare at my mug, but then I feel three pairs of eyes on me.
"First of all," Steve starts, "on behalf of the team, I want you to know that we've been impressed with you. More importantly, we need you to realize that we're all here to support you."
I nod, biting my lip, terrified of whatever is coming next. Scratch. Demotion. Trade. Who knows, maybe they'll just buy out my contract and tell me to get out of the league.
"Andy, I understand that there was a bit of a problem last night..." Steve continues.
"I know. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to give up the puck to Forsberg," I interrupt.
He shakes his head, "Forgiven. Forgotten. Not a big deal," he pauses, leaving me a moment for utter confusion to set in. "After the game, Andy, Curtis said that you were upset about something..."
I sneak a glance at Curtis, who is staring down at his hands. "I was worried, Andy," he speaks up softly.
Steve clears his throat, "Andy, he said that you mentioned...that you asked him not to hurt you," he's trying to find the right words, so he's talking in a slow, deliberate manner, and it's helping to calm the nerves tightening in my neck. "Why did you think that he would hurt you?"
"Because I lost the game for him," I admit meekly.
Steve's eyebrows knot up and he leans on the table a bit. "Did you think that he would hit you? Like...punch you or something?"
I shrug again, "Maybe. Or...maybe he would yell at me or something."
Kirk pushes back from the table suddenly, and starts pacing the room. "Why?" he asks, pausing for only a moment. "Why would he yell at you or punch you?"
I stare at my fingers, curled tightly around my coffee mug, hoping for the warmth to stop the chills running up my back. "Because I deserve it," I reply in a small voice.
Kirk sighs in exasperation and resumes his pacing, a scowl distorting his features; Curtis keeps staring at the table, but I can see his jaw clenching. My eyes are starting to tear up again, so I take a long, deep, shaky breath in an attempt to calm myself.
"Andrew, how old are you?" Steve asks suddenly.
"23."
"How many full years have you played in the NHL?"
"Well,...I've played in parts of..."
"Full seasons, Andy."
I pause to think about it, "This is only my second full year."
His eyes meet mine, "What happened last night on the ice was a mistake. You're young, Andy. You will screw up from time to time," he explains, then a wry grin curls one side of his mouth, "Actually, you're still going to make mistakes when you're a veteran in this league. It's unavoidable. You're only human."
"But...if...if no one reminds me, I'll be worse," I protest. "It's...well...it's something that I depend on. I need the discipline."
"Being yelled at? Being hit?" Steve asks, "Do you think that a black eye is going to improve your play?"
I shrug, blinking back the traitorous tears that are threatening, yet again, to spill out onto my cheeks.
"Andy, I know you don't want to talk about this," Steve says, and the concern in his voice makes me look up. His eyes are full of worry, and it almost makes me feel safe. "I'm not going to ask who taught you that this was a good thing. All I'm going to say is this: effective immediately, you will be visiting a therapist two days a week. This is not optional, Andy."
Numb, I nod in agreement. Great, so now they think I'm crazy. But...at least Steve isn't asking me who did it. At least I won't get Johan in trouble.
Kirk stops and stares at Steve, looking as if he's ready to kill someone, "What, that's it? I want to know who the hell did this."
Shit.
