Chapter 28
When I wake up, I'm disoriented, not accustomed to waking up in my old bedroom. I panic for a moment, before I realize that the arms around me belong to Curtis, not Johan. Nonetheless, I'll have to face Johan tonight, and it scares me to death.
An hour later, I'm driving the familiar trip from Bridgeville to downtown Pittsburgh, with Curtis' hand in mine. He can sense how nervous I am, and he's doing his best to get me to relax. I'm praying it works.
When we get to the arena, the knot in my stomach tightens. Although I'm going in the opposite dressing room, it's the same building, the same parking lot, the same security guard who never does more than nod in acknowledgement when someone passes. I've never been claustrophobic, but it feels like the walls are closing in on me.
As soon as we're out of sight of the security guard, I entwine my fingers with Curtis', and squeeze his hand, hoping the connection will give me some strength. The comfort of his hand is enough until we're on the ice, and that's when I start wondering if I can do this.
I make it through the morning skate, and when it's over, Steve pulls me aside. "Andy, are you okay? Are you sure you can handle this?" he asks, obviously worried about me.
I don't answer for a long moment. I'm tempted to tell him no, I'm not okay, that I need to take the night off. But at the same time, I realize that it doesn't matter if I'm scared. I am a Red Wing now, and my team needs me. Not only that, but if I can fight off the nerves, I get a chance to show Johan that he was wrong, that he didn't break me. A chance to show him that I'm not as weak as he thought I was.
"I'm okay," I tell him, nodding slowly. "Nervous, but I need to do this."
Steve rests his hand on my shoulder, smiling slightly. "We'll get you through this. It isn't just you against them. We're going to beat them." He leaves it at that, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that he isn't really talking about the hockey game.
It's barely past two when the morning is over, and I have nearly three hours before I need to be back at the arena. I spend every minute I can in Curtis' hotel room, cuddled up against him in bed. He kisses me and tells me silly jokes, trying to keep my mind off of the game. It never quite leaves my consciousness, though.
When we get to the arena, there are several local reporters, and most of them, surprisingly, want to talk to me. Mark Madden, who had invited me as a weekly guest on his ESPN Radio show, shook my hand and congratulated me on my success in Detroit. He asks if I'm fired up to be playing against my former team. Soon after, Stan Savran asks the same thing. One after the other, I tell them that it's just another team, just another game. It's a lie, of course, and I think that each reporter sees right through it. Madden is the only one to call me on it. He turns off his recorder and smirks. "Make them regret it, Andy. Show them they made a mistake when they lost you." He claps his hand on my shoulder, wishing me luck as he walks away.
Kirk grins at me when the media finally leaves the room. "Looks like someone was a media darling while he was here," he says, mocking, completing the impression by holding a fake microphone up to me, "'So, Andrew, it's your first game playing against the team who traded you. Are you fired up?'"
I laugh weakly, slumping in my locker. "I'm not so sure about fired up. Nervous as hell, yes."
That's a lie too. Or at least a huge understatement. I'm not just nervous, I'm not even sure I can make it through the game without hyperventilating.
