Page 43 of The Alternate Captain
Kelly
Why did you kiss me?
He doesn’t reply. At least, not until I’m dropping off to sleep and my phone vibrates upon my chest, pulling me back. I scramble for it, blinking vigorously to clear my eyes.
Johnny
Why did you kiss me back?
He is infuriating.
Though, I’m not sure what I was expecting. Him to tell me it was a mistake? That it shouldn’t have happened? But I fume in the darkness of my bedroom. WhydidI have to kiss him back? Why was this the best kiss I’d ever had—I mean, stuff like that doesn’t happen to me.
The more I think about it, the more confused I get. Does he like me? Do I like him? I can’t say I fully understand how I feel about him, but that stupid kiss has added nothing but confusion to my uncertainty.
I toss my phone aside and roll over, pulling my pillow over my head, willing myself to sleep. But all I can think about is Johnny.
Bettsy rides shotgun onthe way home. Ffordey is in the backseat complaining about not having enough legroom, but I’m hardly listening to his rant. I’m too busy thinking about the whirlwind that was yesterday.
I hardly slept last night knowing Kelly was upstairs, probably half naked, with her pouty lips I can’t stop thinking about. I’m really fucking grateful Bettsy can’t actually read my mind like he says he can on the ice, because I’d have both of my legs broken in an instant.
“When is Prez back then?” We hit the motorway as Bettsy sparks up a conversation. He fiddles with the buttons on my console. I swat his hand away and reset the temperature.
“Next week. Liam will be coming too, so you’ll get a chance to meet him once he’s settled in.”
“What’s he like?” Bettsy asks.
“He’s decent. Strong at face-offs.”
“See, that’s why I became a goalie. Because I sucked ass at face-offs,” Ffordey adds.
“That’s logic for you, right there,” Bettsy says. “Can’t take a face-off, so opting to get pucks slapped at your head instead. Sounds wild, mate.”
“If you D’s do your job, then it’s all good,” Ffordey says.
“Well, I cannot wait for the new season to start,” Bettsy says. “That was the longest off-season I’ve ever experienced. My mam was bustling around like a mother hen.
“She cares about you, bud,” I say.
“Too much.” Bettsy stills in his seat, gazing out of the window. I’m wondering if something’s on his mind, but he answers the question for me, turning back to address me and Ffordey as best he can. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you this,but I have—or had, I guess—a brother.” He blinks a few times, then looks towards the roof of the car as he talks. “He was older than me. Basically, he had a head injury someone could have prevented. Drunken night out. You can probably guess why my parents and Kelly behave like they do.”
As Bettsy recounts his story, all I want to do is give him and Kelly a huge squeeze—because that’s brutal. I can’t even imagine how either of them were feeling. I know Vicky pisses me off at times, and I her, but I’d be lost without her.
“Shit. That’s rough. Sorry, man,” Ffordey says, patting Bettsy on the shoulder. I offer my condolences, and Bettsy clears his throat.
“Yeah, well—that’s probably why Kelly hates hockey,” he says.
“I guess it makes sense.” Ffordey leans forward.
“Yeah, she didn’t handle it well when I was in the hospital. She was behaving strangely.” He pauses and my heart thunders. “She came to the quarterfinals back in April—the home game we had. Ended up leaving halfway through the second period after I took that hit. She said she’ll never step foot in a rink again. I had to beg her to come to the playoffs—but she’s definitely checked out for good this time.”
I hide my disappointment, giving my driver’s side wing mirror lots of attention because it actually sucks that she feels like that.
Bettsy’s phone trills from the confines of his pocket. He stretches his leg out to dig deep in his jeans, and he frowns at the screen.
“Rochelle,” he says, declining the call.
“What’s going on with her? Are you seeing her again or...” Ffordey asks.
