Page 3 of The Alternate Captain
They lock eyes briefly, devoid of any emotion.
The buzz of my phone on the counter breaks the silence and my brother’s eyes snap to mine. Then it pings a few more times in close succession, causing Mike to strain his neck to check the screen. I grab my phone and slide it into the pocket of my jacket, hoping he didn’t get a good enough view.
“What’s that you’re hiding, Kel?” he asks, and I can feel my cheeks flame red.
“Nothing. Just people checking in about tomorrow,” I lie.
But it’s Hutch who saves the day.
“Nap time,” he announces, dropping his plate into the sink. He says goodbye and disappears through the door at the far end of the hall.
“I best get my head down, too. You going to be okay here? Make yourself at home or whatever.”
I reassure him I’ll be fine, and he disappears into his room, leaving his dirty plate where he was eating. I clean the kitchen up and retreat to the sofa, waiting until a gentle snore emits from my brother’s bedroom, telling me it’s now safe to check my phone.
John.
Excitement bubbles in the pit of my stomach.
Ffordey grins at meas I open the door to my apartment. He steps inside, narrowing his eyes as he assesses my chin.
“Has your beard grown an inch since this morning? I mean, I understand you have to shave every day, but that’s ridiculous.”
He pushes past me and walks towards my kitchen. Just as I’m about to close the door, Ryan and Danny emerge from their apartment next door, so I hold the door open for them.
I texted the guys after waking up from a nap, rounding them up for pre-game prep. Only three bothered to show up. Ffordey, our starting goalie, is only here for the good coffee. Ryan is here because he’s the only other person who cares about the playoffs as much as me, and since he shares with Danny, he was likely dragged along.
“Is it itching yet?” Danny asks as he walks past me, pointing at my beard.
I shut the door and follow them through to the living room. “Hell yeah, but it’s a small price to pay.”
Honestly, I don’t even recognise myself. I only wear a full beard during playoffs for superstitious reasons. It easily adds ten years to my appearance.
“Did you see that message your sister sent, Cap?” Ffordey asks from the kitchen. He rummages in the cupboard before setting a bag of coffee beans on the counter. Moments later, the coffee machine grinds away.
I roll my eyes. “About the sunglasses?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s a bit extreme, right?”
“Nah, it’s standard,” Ryan says. “In juniors, we always did the playoff glasses tradition. It’s just a bit of fun.”
“Well, you know Vicky. Anything for the socials,” I say.
Later this evening, she’ll have uploaded a photo burst, including each guy on the team wearing a pair of sunglasses with the word ‘playoffs’ written across the lenses. She claims that the fans love it, but I think she wants to make us all look like idiots.
“I still haven’t got over the hot wing challenge,” Danny says weakly.
“Well, forget about the socials. How are you guys feeling about tonight?”
I know I’m overly passionate, but tonight’s game could make or break us. Quarterfinals, leg two. We’re drawn one-all, so we need the win tonight—and the good news is, since we got the choice, Coach opted for us to play at home for the second game.
“Fine,” Ffordey says, bringing his coffee into the living room, and joining me on the sofa.
“Yeah? Well, I thought we could have a final look at game one,” I say, grabbing my notebook.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Ffordey says.
“Fail to prepare and prepare to fail,” I say to an audible groan from my teammates. Except Ryan, who sits next to me.
