Page 14 of The Alternate Captain
“I live to pay another bill,” Ffordey sighs, getting to his feet. “Anyone up for another drink?” He makes his way to the kitchen and starts rummaging through the fridge.
I’m ready to call it a night, deciding to head to the bathroom before I say my official farewell.
Closing the door behind me, I slide the lock into place and pull my phone out, finally getting the chance to check my messages.
Nothing. I collapse down to sit on the edge of the bathtub, checking again just in case.
Yep, nothing.
Instead of sliding my phone away, I start doomscrolling social media, probably out of habit more than anything.
I scroll past it at first, then do a double take, flicking my thumb upwards to revisit the post to check if I saw what I think I saw. Then it clicks into place. It’s Sarah’s hand. Sarah’s hand, with a rock the size of Bettsy’s fist, gleaming back at me. Caption: ‘I saidYes’.
I swallow hard and wait for that gut-wrenching feeling to surface, but it doesn’t. The longer I stare at the photo, the more I will myself to feel something. But nothing comes.
No feelings.
Nothing.
It’s as if I’m dead inside.
I don’t even know why we’re still friends. As I navigate to her profile, my thumb hovers over the ‘Remove Friend’ button. Counting down, I command myself to do it. To finally cut the cord and remove her for good, but I don’t. Instead, I flick through her photos, hoping to see something that draws emotion. Not even a snap of the oh-so-lucky guy entices me.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
No feelings, except that of being completely broken, which has been sitting like a heavy weight on my chest for as long as I can remember. The only thing I feel is… interrupted when there’s a banging on the bathroom door, followed by a plea to be let in.
With my phone back in my pocket, I take a leak, then wash my hands before heading back out. Hutch is in the hallway, dancing on the spot, but his face drops into a frown when he sees me.
“Did your face not get the memo? You’re winning, Johnny. Playoffs, cards—”
I stalk away, uninterested in talking to anyone. Why the fuck don’t I feel anything? What’s wrong with me?
“I’m calling it a night,” I say.
I reach for my jacket, plucking it from the back of my seat. The guys groan and protest, but I’m not in the mood. I wave my hand, dismissing their pleas for ‘just one more’. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say solemnly, eyes down towards the floor.
“Nah, c’mon, Johnny. We’re off tomorrow. Live a little,” Bettsy says, trying to coax me. There’s jeering of encouragement behind him, but the last thing I want to do is spend more time with people. I’m all done for the day.
“You finish up here, then take it easy,” I say. But the grin on his face tells me he’s got other ideas. “I mean it, Betts. We’ve got shit to do tomorrow, and if I have to drag you out of bed, I’ll be pissed.”
I head towards the front door of the apartment, only stopping to put my shoes on before slipping out into the hallway. The door closes behind me and I lean against the frame, willing my brain to kick into action and tell me what the hell I should do next.
I check my phone again. Still nothing.
I walk to my apartment door, keen to find a stick I can snap. But as soon as I’m looking for my keys, I change my mind.
Eight flights down, I pull my phone out and order a taxi to pick me up from the fuel station a few streets away. Loitering outside my building probably won’t do me any favours if someone spots me. Questions will be asked. Questions I know I won’t want to answer. I mean, I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing, but I’m convinced a whisky on the rocks will help.
But the longer I wait for the cab, the more logical my thoughts become. What the hell am I doing? I’ve got a huge weekend coming up, and I can’t afford to be cloudy-headed and hungover.
By the time the cab pulls to a stop in front of me, I can’t bring myself to get in. My moral compass has taken over.
“Are you getting in, mate?” the taxi driver says, winding down the window.
“Sorry, I’ve had a change of plan,” I say, handing the driver a twenty.
Defeated, I make the short walk back to my building, swiping in and climbing the stairs, still refusing to get back in the goddamn elevator. Luckily, I don’t meet anyone, and before I know it, I’m in my bedroom, stripping down to my underwear and climbing into bed.
