Page 142 of The Alternate Captain
“Yes, I am, Tommy-boy,” Mike says, abandoning his position and following Tom out of my bedroom. “What are we getting?”
I wait until he’s out of view before crouching and pulling my duvet from the edge of the bed.
Johnny does not look impressed.
“You’re going to have to sneak out,” I say. “I’ll call you once he’s gone. But I can’t keep doing this Johnny. We have to tell him.”
“Okay, after Christmas. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
This has to bethe wildest thing I’ve ever done.
Literally.
I rack my brain for anything that’d come close to this, but I thinkthisis actually it; travelling for over half a day to get to Johnny’s mother’s place all the way on a completely different continent.
I’ve never been outside of Europe before and here I am, in Canada, for Christmas.
As soon as I saw the mountains—the mountains that are everywhere I look—I knew I’d made the right decision to sack off the holidays at my parents’ house, because it’s like nothing I’ve seen before. British Columbia makes the mountains back home look like molehills.
Johnny’s mother’s house is right on the edge of the mountains, and it’s so beautiful, I want to cry. It’s comprised of expansive rooms with a log cabin feel I want to tell everyone about. Except, the only person I can tell is Tom, because he’s covering for me.
“Why the hell did you pick Britain over this?” I ask, gazing out of his old bedroom window. The scene outside is, of course, the mountains, and countless fir and spruce trees.
Johnny moves behind me and wraps his arms around my shoulders, finding my neck with his lips.
“I’d never have met you if I didn’t. I think the logic works out.”
I turn around and study his face. His handsome face that I think I’ve fallen in love with—even though we’re not talking about the ‘L’ bomb I dropped during sex weeks ago; Johnny hasn’t brought it up, and nor have I.
“Speaking of home, we need to carry on like we’re on UK time. Trust me. It’ll make returning a load easier.”
I welcome the notion, because I’m ready to pass out from exhaustion.
The first thing we did once we got here was take showers. Then Johnny ordered in some food, and I’ve been fighting the fatigue ever since.
Nevertheless, I do agree with him, because neither of us has time to adjust back to UK time once we get home, so pushing another hour and setting an alarm to wake up at ‘normal’ time tomorrow is probably the best idea.
When we finally climb into his bed, he pulls me close, settling on a steady rhythm of stroking my arm while we lie in silence.
My eyes droop closed almost immediately, because I’m tired, I’m really fucking tired. But my head is reeling, and there’s only one topic on my mind.
The more I try to push my thoughts away, the harder they root themselves in. And when I try my countdown from one hundred, I get through it twice before Johnny’s voice breaks the silence.
“I can hear you thinking,” he says.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
He shifts in bed, turning towards me. Though I can’t see him properly, I can make out the outline of his face.
“I’m just worried about telling Mike,” I say.
It’s all I’ve been thinking about, if I’m being honest. Ever since that close call in my bedroom, I’ve been worrying how he’ll react when we tell him. At least I think it’ll be a ‘we’ thing, anyway.
“I understand. But please, try not to worry. I’ll talk to him, and he’ll understand.”
