Page 26 of The Alternate Captain
There’s a flurry of activity as skaters take to the ice, a flag representing each team held high and fluttering as they skate. The whole arena comes alive with noise, and the buzz of excitement in the air makes this a unique feeling, different than anything I’ve experienced before.
“I just fancy a drink. Shall we make a weekend of it?”
“See, this is why we’re friends. I just hope to Christ that they don’t pan across us when this is on TV.”
I swig my beer, hoping the same, because we’re both meant to be at rehearsal today, and we made up a story about us both getting hit with the same stomach bug after a meal at aquestionable Chinese buffet. Apparently, we’re never allowed to dine together again, but we’re taking that as a win.
The whole arena erupts in applause as they announce the teams. We stand up and join the cheering, shouting a bit louder when my brother skates on. Honestly, despite my feelings, I am so proud of him, and seeing him out there brings a tear to my eye—or it may be the beer making me emotional. Who knows?
When the guys are out, they skate a few laps of their defensive zones and I catch sight of Johnny again. As if he’s planned it, he loops around, and looks toward our block as he raises his stick, stretching his arms out behind him so his chest puffs out.
Then his eyes lock onto mine again.
“Oh my God. Did you see the way he just looked at me?” Tom says, nudging me so hard I fight to keep hold of my beer.
But I didn’t. I saw the way he was looking atme.
For once, my notebookyields zero comfort. Sixty minutes. It all comes down to sixty minutes.
“Boys,” Coach’s voice cuts through the air, and I automatically stand up from where I’m sitting in my cubby.
“Coach,” I say, timed with the rest of the guys.
“Right. I won’t drag this out. We all know why we’re here, how much work we’ve put in. There’s every chance that we’ll be advancing to the finals—and I sure as hell know you deserve it. But of course, hockey is not a predictable sport. Anything could happen, and every second counts.” Coach takes a breath and casts his eyes around the room. “Now, we’ve studied how these guys play, and we know that they’re in that other dressing room talking about how good their penalty kill is. They have the best PK in the league—but remember, we have the best damn power play. That being said, I don’t want anyone taking stupid penalties.” His eyes flick towards Bettsy briefly before he reverts to a neutral gaze. “Discipline. Communication and 99% effort. Every shift,” he says. 99% purely because he’s convinced there’s always room for improvement, but we all read between the lines—we know the deal. “Koenig. You’re up.”
The number of pre-game speeches I’ve delivered hasn’t prepared me for this. This is different. This is playoff hockey. Whatever I say now will be in the forefront of everyone’s mind as we step onto the ice. But I slip into captain mode and make my way over to stand next to Coach.
“How are we feeling, boys?” I ask, looking around at the guys cheering back at me. Since becoming captain, I vowed to prioritise these boys. Willing to do anything to give them the best chance at success. And that sure as hell hasn’t changed. “All I want to say is we do nothing special here tonight. We playhockey. It’s as simple as that. Our focus should be solely on the next goal.” There’s a murmur of approval from the guys. “We’ve got this, boys.”
The guys fill the room with cheers and excited calls and Springy, the assistant coach, hands me a piece of paper denoting the starting roster before I stride back to my cubby.
“Let’s hear the energy. We’ve got Jonesy and Sonny starting us on ‘D’.” A roar of applause fills the room. “Hutch, Nics, and Owens as forwards. And between the pipes—” I pause for effect, “Ffordey.” A chorus of cheers and whooping follow the goalie’s introduction and then Coach exits the dressing room, leaving us to finish our prep.
As soon as everyone is busying themselves, I pull my phone out of my bag and check my messages. One from my sister, warning me she’s tagging around with the camera crew to get some footage for social media, a few others I skip, and one from my dad.
Dad
Call me.
Well, shit. Maybe he remembered? I haven’t told him we made the semi-final, but I’m guessing Vicky probably did. Before I can reply, Bettsy’s hand slaps my shoulder and I toss my phone away as if it’s burnt me.
“We’ve got this, Cap. I’ll scale it back like we discussed, but just so you know, I won’t have any problems going hard if one of those fuckers—”
“TIME.”
“That’s the call, Betts,” I say, cutting him off. “It’s showtime.”
We file out of the dressing room and towards the tunnels. We only get halfway to the ice as the crowd above us hypes up. There’s an unmistakable rhythm ofa beating drum, and then our mascot springs out of nowhere and starts fist-bumping us as we walk past. My sister pops up from behind him with her phone pointed right at me.
The atmosphere is everything when we’re announced. The crowd is loud and the music thumps over the speakers. But there’s only one thing on my mind.
I need to get another look.
“Have you seen my number one fan?” Bettsy had said after warm-ups earlier. And when I looked, I’d caught sight of her—at least, I think it was her. My heart almost fell right out of my chest.
I’m practically shaking as I round the corner and skate towards the benches. I glance up, and there she is. She’s looking right back at me, and then I notice her jersey.Ourteam.Myteam.
My heart pounds.
