Page 31 of The Alternate Captain
“And we’re ecstatic for you, love. But how are you feeling?”
“You know when you wake up on Christmas morning and you really hope you got—”
“Not about the game, Michael. How’s your head?” Mam moves closer and starts fussing with his bed sheets.
When they took him to the dressing room, he seemed completely disoriented and unaware of his surroundings, or the game still being played on the ice. Mike only found out they’re playoff champions ten minutes ago.
“Ah, it’s fine. Where’s Dad?”
“He’s parking the car,” I say, sitting down in the plastic visitor chair next to his bed.
Mam steps aside and forces a cup of water in Mike’s direction before stepping to the end of the bed and pulling out the clipboard from the holder.
I know for a fact she can’t read hospital notes properly; she works in finance. She flicks through the sheets before putting it back and excusing herself to go and find the nurse. Now it’s only us.
“I feel terrible,” he says.
“I’m not surprised.”
“No, I mean, forcing them to come here.”
“You didn’t force them, they wouldn’t have not come,” I say.
“Yeah, but hospitals and all that.”
I nod, then quickly change the subject back to the game that Mike is so excited to have won. At least this will help keep his attention away from the worry of bringing our parents to a hospital. Luckily, this isn’t the same hospital in which they had their last moments with our brother, Jeremy.
“Just try to relax. Don’t let yourself get worked up with worry.”
“Stop babying me, Kel. I mean it.”
The door squeaks as it swings inward, and Dad steps into the room, followed closely by Mam.
They both stop at the foot of the bed, solemn expressions on their faces.
“Dad, we w—”
“I think it’s best for you to come home and spend the off-season with us, son,” Dad says, hands deep in his pockets.
Mike’s brows pull together. “You think? Or Mam?”
“I do. I mean, we can keep an eye on you. Make sure you’re well and—”
“But I have a summer plan. I’m supposed to work with Danny at his old man’s construction site.”
“Well, you can tell Danny thanks, but no thanks,” Dad says. “I’m sure he’ll understand, given the circumstances.”
I look at Mike, but his eyes flick towards our mother and I see it—the plea. But she shakes her head.
“This is for the best, Michael. Please. We need to make sure you’re safe. If you want to play again next season—”
“What do you mean, ‘if I want to play again?’” My brother’s voice becomes hoarse.
“Mike,” I say, moving to his bedside. “You need to rest. Don’t let yourself get worked up.”
“Well, tell them they need to go. Can you get me my phone please, Kel? I need to speak with Johnny.”
My stomach drops. But I grab Mike’s phone from the windowsill and hand it to him.
