Page 2 of The Alternate Captain
“That ticket is next to Scottsy’s wife. She’s cool.”
“I don’t know Scottsy nor his wife,” I say.
“Do you pay any attention when I talk? Scott McCoy? The winger.”
“Oh, yeah, him.” I roll my eyes. I have no idea.
“Look. The ticket is in the envelope. I won’t be mad if you don’t come, but I will be pissed if we advance and you don’t come to the finals.”
Mike shuts off the hob and grabs some plates, filling the air with the clattering of crockery. He glances at his watch, then reaches for his phone just as the front door swings open.
In walks a guy a few inches shorter than my brother, but wearing an identical outfit of sweats, a team hoodie, and a baseball cap.
“Well, look who crawled home,” he says, without looking up. “Hutch, this is my sister, Kelly.”
Hutch pauses, scanning me quickly before placing his gear bag on the floor.
“Shit, I didn’t realise you had a sister, Betts.” He grins.
“If you weren’t gay, I’d say to keep your fucking eyes off her. Why do you think I haven’t introduced her or Stacey to any of you fuckers?” my brother says. “Besides, she’s got a boyfriend.”
“I don’t—”
“I’m bi. But whatever. Is that your guitar in the hall?” Hutch says, grabbing a plate from Mike.
I don’t have a boyfriend. Mike’s friends were always told that my sister and I had boyfriends. To him, it was a firm sign of our unavailability.
“It’s a cello,” my brother interjects, jabbing his friend in the ribs.
“A cello? I have no fucking clue...” Hutch says, sitting at the counter next to me. “Is that like a big violin?”
Mike scoffs.
“Yes, it’s exactly like a big violin,” I say.
“So, how long are you here for?” Hutch asks.
I awkwardly perch myself on the next available stool and reach for a fork. “Just the night. I’ve got an audition tomorrow at the music college so I’m crashing here—I mean, if it’s okay with you?”
“Of course it’s okay,” Mike cuts across. “Kelly will have my room, and I’ll get in with you,” he tells Hutch.
“Like fuck you will,” Hutch says.
“Don’t be mean.”
“Don’t give me a reason to be. You can take the sofa. You snore.”
“I’ll take the sofa, I don’t mind,” I say. The thought of what could lurk in my brother’s sheets grosses me out.
“I’m changing my sheets for you,” Mike says, pointing his fork in the air towards me. “You’re taking the bed. I don’t want you going back to Mam moaning about your bad back from sleeping on the sofa.”
I roll my eyes and eat my meal. Knowing Mike, he’ll be back here this evening either shit-faced from celebrating a win, or shit-faced from commiserating a loss. Either way, the sleeping situation will sort itself out when I will inevitably put him to bed, in his bed.
Mike and Hutch both glance up from their plates.
“Are you nervous?” Hutch asks Mike, as he finishes his food.
“No. Are you?” he replies.
