Page 4 of The Alternate Captain
“We’ve watched this like twenty times, Cap. We’re ready. We’ve got this,” Danny says.
Ffordey extends his legs so he can prop his shoeless feet up on my coffee table. I bat them away. The fucker’s got two inches on me and it’s all leg. I don’t need him snapping my coffee table in two.
“What are you worried about?” Ryan asks.
“We need to be ready, you know? I mean, there are so many things that could happen.”
“Yeah, but we don’t know how thingswillhappen, John. We’re familiar with how these guys play—and let’s face it, their PK is terrible. We’ll draw out a few penalties. Ffordey won’t let himself make any silly mistakes. We’re good,” Ryan says.
“But—”
“Yeah, the last game. I remember. And I take full responsibility for my mistake,” Danny says.
“Stop it.” I point my finger towards Danny. “That could happen to anyone.”
Ryan cranes his neck to look at me. “We out-shot them, John. I just need Scottsy to be playing his best and we’ll be fine.”
It’s evident that Ryan has found the past season difficult. Having transferred from the NHL, his pace of game is a lot quicker than how we play, but he’s been working hard with the other winger on his line, Scottsy, to get into a good rhythm. And they’ve been owning it, in all honesty.
“Let’s just chill out,” Ffordey says. “Honestly, Cap, you need to take it easy. You’ll wind yourself up and that’s no good for you.”
I know the only reason they came over was to keep me level-headed. If I was on my own, I’d be pacing my apartment, making a visible path on the hardwood floor. I’m trying, I really am, but on game day, I just simmer with energy and determination, and I can’t relax. My brain tells me that relaxing is a waste of time. It gives me a rundown of every single thing I could be doing instead.
I press play on the remote control and watch the playback. The guys don’t protest. And soon, the only sound in the room is coming from the TV, and Ffordey, slurping his coffee. I glue my eyes to the screen. I’m fully immersed, only breaking eye contact to refer to my notes.
“Pause it a moment,” Ryan says from the kitchen. “Hello?”
Ffordey and I shuffle in our seats to look at him. I can tell straight away that it’s his twin brother, Liam, on the other end of the phone.
There’s half a conversation before Ryan steps towards the sofa and holds his phone out to me.
“Hey bud, what’s going on?” I say.
“I’ve got some news,” Liam says.
“Let’s hear it—wait, good news? Bad news?”
“Well, I guess it depends on who you are. I expect you’ll think it’s good news.”
“I’m hoping you’re going to tell me you’ve got Ronnie figuring out your contract,” I say, praying to whatever hockey god is listening that Liam’s agent will finally make headway with his aspiration to join me and Ryan.
“Well, yeah, she’s figuring stuff out. On the condition that I find a new agent after this season, but of course, we know that this is my last—”
“You’re still going with that line?” I cut him off, because I don’t want to hear his crap. At Christmas, he told me he had one season left in him before he was calling it a day.
“Yeah, I am.”
“What does your dad think?” I ask.
Liam laughs down the line. “You’re forgetting something, Johnny. I’m not Ryan.”
He’s right, of course. The twins’ dad went berserk when Ryan came here to play. But Liam and I are both aware that was purely because of Ryan’s elite status in the hockey world. The same rules don’t apply to Liam.
“I’ll keep you posted. But do me a favour, please, bud? Not a word to Vicky—not until I learn what’s happening. For the record, she says she’s cool with me coming there, but... yeah.”
I agree and then pass the phone back to Ryan, who starts pacing the hallway, his phone to his ear.
“Good news?” Ffordey asks.
