On second thought, this place suits Andi Nichols perfectly.
Or at least that’s what I would have thought before today. She has a personality. She just keeps her cards close to her chest. Real close.
“Listen, it’s nice that you drove me home and all.” She pauses and looks around, still wearing her sunglasses. “But this is only a one bedroom. I mean, technically there’s a second bedroom, but it’s my office. There’s not a bed in there or anything.”
“Yeah, mine is too. My second bedroom is a gym, which you know all about. What’s your point?”
“I need to sleep. I’m really tired.”
“Okay, go to sleep. I’ll be out here on the couch.”
“I can’t make you sleep on the couch.”
“You’re not making me do anything. I don’t know if you know this, but no one makes me do anything I don’t want to do. I can sleep pretty much anywhere. I can sleep on the couch. The floor. I could sleep in a kitchen chair. Hell, I can sleep standing up if I need to. My sleep is very important to me, and I don’t let my environment control it.”
She stands there.
“Andrew, I’m serious. You saw me on the plane. I can sleep anywhere. Now you go get some rest. Your body’s been through a lot today.” I put my hands on her shoulders and gently steer her toward the door that has to be the bedroom.
Once she’s over the threshold, I go out to the kitchen to get her some water and maybe a snack. Her kitchen is predictably neat and tidy. The fridge is well stocked with lots of fruits and vegetables, all in meal-prep containers.
She seems like the type to meal-prep.
There are also several prepared meals in there from a service.
Indeed, Andi Nichols has her shit together.
I grab her a bottle of water as well as some crackers. Are crackers the right choice? She doesn’t have a stomach bug, and she’s not hungover either. Maybe she shouldn’t be eating? I google “what to eat when you have a concussion.”
Apparently, it’s a diet high in good fats, not dissimilar to the Mediterranean diet, FYI. I put the crackers back and make her some whole grain avocado toast with a side of almonds. I was right about the water. Hydration is important.
When I bring the plate and cup to her room, it’s dark. It takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the lack of light. I see Andi curled up on her side. She’s still wearing the sunglasses. From the sounds of her breathing, I’d guess she’s sleeping. I quietly walk over and put the toast and water down on her nightstand. Gingerly I pull the glasses off her face and put them there as well. I pull the light gray blanket that’s neatly folded across the end of the bed up over her body. I back out of the room and pull the door mostly shut.
Then, because I wasn’t lying about my sleep being important and being able to sleep anywhere, I set my alarm for two hours later. I’ll check on her every two hours until morning.
Maybe it should be one hour.
Andi Nichols can’t die on my watch. That would be bad. Very bad.
I adjust my alarm and lie down on her couch. There’s a large square ottoman that I pull up to create a wider area for more comfort. I pull the gray blanket down off the back of the gray couch and wonder what this woman has against color.
Never in a million years would I have predicted where this night would land. Mostly I never would have predicted the way Andi would have landed on my treadmill, but that’s not the point.
Okay, it was actually pretty funny, and I’m kicking myself for not getting that on video. Not that we need anything else going viral out there. It’s why we’re in this mess in the first place.
There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. I can’t wait for her to be a little more coherent so I can share with her the news about the charity I found. I emailed them to see what we can put together. Maybe a soccer clinic or a game or something? I’ll probably have to check with the front office to see what the policy is, but I know lots of players use official Buzzards swag for charities.
For a minute I feel like a shit that I’ve been playing all this time and haven’t done anything for charity. In my defense, it’s usually the agents or managers who set that up. My dad doesn’t want anything going to anyone unless it’s him.
I close my eyes, drifting off like my body’s used to doing. I start awake to the chiming of my alarm, groggy and not believing an hour has already passed. I open Andi’s door a crack. She’s in the same position. I cross the room in two steps putting my hand over her collarbone hoping to feel some movement. I let out a sigh of relief when it slowly rises and then falls under my palm.
I keep it there for a few more moments, making sure her breathing is rhythmical and steady. Content that she’s doing okay for the moment, I return to the living room, ready to repeat this procedure every sixty minutes throughout the night.
Despite my previous claims, I can’t fall back asleep. I putter around on my phone, making lists about ideas I have for our public image reboot. There are always the typical fancy-pants fundraisers that we could certainly help with. Appearances and signing memorabilia or something.
I bet I could get Callaghan Entay to help me out with a fundraiser. He did something like that where he signed autographs for charity. Xavier Henry’s wife, Ophelia, made Landon and me take Hannah to the function for Callaghan. She was not exactly a willing participant.
In the end, they got together and now they’re all lovey-dovey and bullshit. So’s Henry with his wife, which started as a fake marriage. It’s funny, Henry and Ophelia had to convince the world they were in love. Andi and I have to convince the world we’re not.
