Page 48 of The Alternate Captain
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous, too. If I had an NHL or a decent AHL hockey career behind me, I wouldn’t have to worry about paying the bills when I’m forced to retire from hockey. I can almost hear my dad’s disappointment speech when I got drafted in the sixth round. And the pressure he put on me after that only made things worse.
“I feel like I need a Plan C at this point,” I say.
Ffordey’s got his nose buried in a book. He and I are in a similar situation—relying on our degrees to see us past our hockey career. His time in the AHL was akin to mine: short and sweet, and we’re bonded over our Canadian roots—except he’s from Alberta.
“I think I’m going to write about ‘Risk management in the Era of Uncertainty,’” Ffordey says, flicking through the textbook.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “How did you do on the risk management module?” I ask, but he waves me off, tossing the book back on a pile before standing up.
The guy’s six foot six and towers over the shelves in the library, which is cramped and overcrowded. Also, the freshers are filtering in, book lists in hand, trying to work out where to find their reading material. He’s intimidating.
Checking his watch, he pulls his phone out and then grabs his backpack and swings it over his shoulder. “I’m done for now. Are you coming?”
I tell him I’ll see him later and he bumps my fist before striding toward the exit.
The thought of writing a thesis has my palms sweating. I mean, I could think of better things to do with my time, but it’s the last push before I can graduate and be done with it. I only manage another twenty minutes of scouring the shelves, finally giving up and throwing all my things into my bag before leaving the library.
My focus is on my rumbling stomach, and I’m so engrossed in the group chat blowing up on my phone about the plans for after the season opener, that I don’t realise someone is coming straight towards me until there’s a clatter of items on the floor in front of me.
Instinctively, I reach down to help them up, but then those green eyes meet mine and my heart stops for the briefest of moments.
I’ve had the morningfrom hell.
Just when I think it can’t get any worse, Darren spots me when I walk into the music room. He moves towards me, weaving through a cluster of students, and comes to a stop right in front of me.
“I hear you didn’t get in, Kelly. I’m sorry,” he says, leaning close so I can see my reflection in his saxophone, which he has slung over his torso.
There’s a faint trace of a smile on his lips. Twat.
I hesitate for a moment, taking a step back.
“No, but I understand they didn’t take any cellists.”
I’m not sure if it’s one hundred per cent true, but I’ve been telling myself that, based on the intel I’ve gathered.
Darren raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Well, regardless, it’s a shame for you, of course. But obviously, I’m glad you’re still here.” I give him a weak smile and move to step around him, but he holds his arm out to stop me. “Do you fancy catching up at some point? We can get a coffee or something.”
I shove his arm aside. “I’m busy. Sorry.”
“Already? We just started back.”
“Yes. I’m very busy.”
“Oh, right.” A smile creeps onto his face and he cocks an eyebrow up. “Busy with your new boyfriend, right?”
I guess news travels fast through a friendship group that’s hardly in contact anymore. Shit, shit, shit.
“There you are, Kelly.” Tom appears from behind me and steers me over to our seats.
I slip past Darren, inwardly apologising to my cello as I give him a gentle whack on the legs with it on my way past.
Tom scowls at Darren. “What the hell did he want?”
“I think his original intention was to gloat, but then he asked me if I fancied catching up.”
Tom lets out a yelp of disgust. “You’re joking, right?”
I shake my head, unclipping my cello case and prying it open.
