Page 18 of The Alternate Captain
Vicky steps forward and places her hand on my arm. “It’s okay. I mean, I can contact him and tell him what she’s—”
“Vicky. Promise me you’ll forget all about it and leave this the hell alone.” I raise my voice this time, my captain’s tone coming into use outside of the dressing room. She knows I mean business, and she knows I sure as hell won’t back down.
“Okay. I promise.”
“Good. Now I need to—”
“Oh, and I’ve booked you a spot on the radio. You’re doing a fan call in and it’s all set for Wednesday.”
I scowl at her, but her face breaks into a smile. She’s loving every minute of this. I understand it’s part of the deal, and this week will be about drumming up the excitement for the fanstoo. I tell her to text me the details and turn to walk away, just as Bettsy and Hutch decide to show up.
“Oh, now the full party is here... do you mind if I hang back and take some photos for socials?” Vicky’s teeth gleam at me and I stare at her, unblinking. “Okay, another time then? Bye, boys.”
Vicky departs, leaving me alone with Bettsy and Hutch.
“Johnny—look, I’m sorry about earlier, but my sister is here and—”
“Honestly, Betts. Save it. Because I don’t give a shit about your sister, but I know she wasn’t handing you shots last night.” I meet his eyes, softening my tone. “Please tell me you’ve got it out of your system and you’re fully invested, because I need you, bud.”
Bettsy locks eyes with me and nods. I know it. He knows it. Our synergy is crucial.
We head back into the living area, and I’m relieved to see that Ryan has taken the wheel. He’s standing next to the TV, pointing at something, then rewinding the video.
“This guy,” he says, jabbing his finger towards a familiar face on the screen. I’d say half of the room let out groans of disapproval. “Have you noticed how much further forward he is when he plays the puck back to the neutral? It’s a risk he’s taking, but we need to make sure he’s cut off at every single opportunity. They’ve got at least three breakaways this season from that play alone.”
It’s times like these where my feelings are conflicted. Because Ryan delivers this stuff so well, maybe Sarah was right all along. Perhaps I’m not the right guy to be wearing the ‘C’. Ryan’s got his shit together. He’s in love, he’s got hockey, and I highly doubt he has to have a weekly therapy session to keep his anger under control.
Ffordey nudges my arm. “Cap?”
I take a breath. “Yeah, Prez knows what he’s talking about. Let’s consider how we can keep him in our focus.”
Ryan winks, then hands me the remote control as if it’s a talisman. I peer around at the faces of my teammates, all looking at me expectantly. But the truth is, they already know everything I can show and tell them.
Instead of resuming the playback, I toss the remote onto the coffee table. “Let’s sack this off and hit the range. Because we’re ready.”
Cheers and enthusiastic chatter fills the room and the guys gather their things.
“You okay, bud?” Prez makes a beeline for me.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
He can see right through me. His expression hardens, but to my relief, he misses the mark. “We’ve got this, Johnny. Scottsy and I are on fucking fire. Don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, I know, but it’s been such a build-up.”
It’s not a lie, except we’re not talking about the same thing.
My emotions are inturmoil. I don’t know how I’ll get through the next two hours. I lied to my mother this morning when she called to check in. I’m not chilled. In fact, I’m so far from chilled I’m lava and it’s all my fault. My concentration is at an all-time low because I’m repeating the carnage of yesterday over and over in my mind. Top it off with a horrible night of broken sleep, and it’s a whole shit show waiting to happen.
I arrive at the music college in time to freshen up. Then I wait in the auditorium lobby until my name is called, before walking through to yet another waiting room. This time, there are six more wannabe students lined up in seats against the wall with an assortment of instruments. I believe I’m the only cellist. Is this a good sign? How many spots do they have?
Before I can over-analyse the situation more than I already have, I pull my phone out, seeing a flurry of messages wishing me luck for today, but I don’t get a chance to reply. A door opens in the distance, and a woman with a clipboard calls my name, gesturing for me to follow.
I grab my instrument and follow her through to the auditorium, where I’m greeted by four stern-looking assessors sitting behind a long table.
This is when my nerves fully hit.
I’m shaking as I unpack my cello, taking care to haul my bow out of the case without snagging the hairs. I give it four turns on the screw to tighten it before I take a deep breath.
