Page 25 of The Alternate Captain
“Where’s the bar?” he asks, craning his neck.
I lead the way.
There’s a whole rainbow of colour in the rink’s atrium, supporters from every single team. Even the ones who didn’t make it this far. Some fans proudly display homemade medallions, signifying their allegiance to one of the final four teams.
Tom stops to take a selfie with a mascot before we make our way to our block with our beers and 50/50 tickets.
“What row are we?” Tom asks.
“B.”
As agreed, we’re here today. Tomorrow, my parents will sit here, and Tom and I are relegated to the top row. It’s only a problem if Mike’s team make the final.
“Do you think your brother will spot us?”
“I hope not,” I say, following Tom down the steps to our row.
It’s almost full and we’re arriving a little later than I wanted, but Tom insisted on a few beers in the Wetherspoons across the road beforehand.
“Do you think people realise you’re his sister? I mean, you really do look alike.”
“No, we don’t,” I say, my jaw dropping.
He lets out an evil laugh and we shuffle into our seats halfway across the row. We’re on the left side of the benches.
“Mike’s team will be in front of us, so it’s very unlikely that he’ll spot me.”
Famous last words, though, because when the teams finally make it on the ice ten minutes later, Mike looks up at me, flashing me a toothless grin.
“Why didn’t you tell me there’s so many good-looking men on his team? I mean, I’ll take up hockey if it means...”
“Can you even skate?”
“No, but I can learn. Can you?” Tom asks.
“Well, yeah, but only because I played hockey a little when I was a kid.”
Tom glares at me. “I’m sorry, I don’t buy it.”
I roll my eyes, using the remaining warm-up time to give Tom a rundown of my very limited hockey career, which involved playing for twenty minutes on a Sunday afternoon, and watching my brother the rest of the time.
“Well, I still think I should take it up,” Tom says, getting to his feet as the buzzer sounds, signalling the end of warm-ups. “I’ll get us some more beers.”
I fan myself with the programme as Tom leaves, settling my gaze on my brother, who circles the net and joinsnumber fifty-six, Johnny.
There’s a nervous energy in my stomach as I watch their conversation as they glide back towards the benches. Mike says something directly into Johnny’s ear and he nods, just before his head pops up and he looks me directly in the eyes. He’s not that far away, really. One row and then the bench. But there’s no mistaking that the gaze he holds is for a second longer than would be expected of someone who’s glancing in your general direction. His expression hardens slightly before his eyebrows knit together.
I shiver involuntarily, and a warmth fills my whole body. I stand up quickly, quaking on the spot as I excuse myself to the other fans in my row as I shuffle past them.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I say to Tom as I pass him on the steps.
There’s a queue, but I join the back, chewing on my fingernails as the line shuffles forward. What did Mike say to him?
I wait until I’m safely in a cubicle to freak out. And once I’m out, I splash my face with water, disregarding my make-up.
I grab two more beers from the concession stand before heading back to my seat, thrusting the plastic pint cup into Tom’s hand. Because I’m taking him down with me.
“What’s going on?” he asks, accepting it without question.
