Page 4 of The Alternate Captain (Elite Hockey #3)

“Mike? Is that you?” I peer into the darkness from my makeshift bed on the sofa. Then, without warning, the light in the hallway breaks the darkness and I witness my brother face-planting the floor. “Oh, my... what the hell is going on?” I say, throwing the blanket off my legs and hurrying over.

“Fuck,” he groans, rolling onto his side. He pauses before collapsing onto his back.

“How much has he drunk?” I ask Hutch, but he just stares at me, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“Hiya, Kel. Did we wake you?” Mike says. I study the huge grin plastered across his face.

“Do I need to put you to bed?” I ask.

“No, I’ll be fine right here.”

Hutch’s face sinks into a frown and he lurches into action, stepping over my brother and practically falling into the bathroom. He aligns his head with the pan of the toilet, just in time for the contents of his stomach to make an appearance.

Shit. I didn’t sign up for this .

“Do you think you’re going to be sick too, Mike?” I ask. I offer him my hand, and he clasps my palm, pulling himself up into a sitting position. He shuffles himself to lean against the wall.

“No, I need a banana and a pint of water. Maybe two paracetamol, if you can find any.”

The classic attempt to avoid hangovers is hit-and-miss, but Dad always insisted on it.

I coax him to his feet and shuffle him into his bedroom, where I lay him down on his side, pull his shoes off, and drape his duvet over him. I draw the line there. There’s no way in hell I’m undressing him.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, slipping out of his bedroom and towards the kitchen.

I don’t know what Mike and Hutch do in such a circumstance, but I go for the classic solution of emptying the washing-up bowl and grabbing a tea towel.

There are a few bananas on the worktop, so I take one, along with a bottle of water and a blister pack of painkillers I find in the cupboard.

The moon illuminates Mike’s bedroom, which makes him appear even paler than he normally is, and there’s a bruise forming under his eye from tonight’s game. Setting the items down on the floor next to his bed, I check he’s breathing before backing away.

“Kel?”

“Yeah?”

“Kel. I need to tell you something,” Mike slurs. “Are you listening?”

“Yes, I’m right here,” I say.

“Kel, you understand I’m proud of you, right? You’ll be fucking brilliant tomorrow. I wish I could come and see it.” He ends the sentence with a ‘woo,’ and hiccups loudly.

“Uh, thanks.”

Christ, he must be drunk. He’s never, in my entire life, paid me a compliment. Nor has he ever seen me play outside of our childhood home, and even then, he used to complain about it. I turn to leave again, but Mike’s voice stops me in my tracks.

“Kel?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

The snoring starts after that. And once I make sure he’s still lying on his side, I leave the door ajar so I can listen out for him.

“It was the pizza,” Hutch says from the bathroom. His cheek rests on the toilet rim, arms clutching the porcelain for dear life.

“Can I get you anything?”

“It needs to come out,” he says. “It was that pizza we had, Kelly. Someone ordered a pizza, and it must have been bad. The cheese. It must have been the cheese.”

I wince as he vomits. I haven’t long met the guy and I’m standing here in my pyjamas watching him puke, with no clue how I can help him.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

But he gags again, and I take that as my cue to leave, heading back to my makeshift bed to settle myself down for a night of terrible sleep.

There’s a banging on the door that jolts me awake.

It’s an ‘I’m pissed off’ sort of banging that grows louder and firmer with every knock.

It takes me a few moments to realise where I am and what I’m doing here.

My back aches and I struggle to sit up, so I roll over and hug my pillow, willing myself to move.

Then the shouting starts. I can’t make it out, but there’s a scrambling from the hallway and then I hear the door fling open.

Footsteps.

“Ah, shit,” Hutch says, then my brother’s name is called out in a yell. “Betts? Johnny’s here. ”

My heart virtually stops in my chest. I lay perfectly still, hoping he doesn’t move any further into the apartment. I mean, it wouldn’t make any difference if he did see me here. It’s not like he knows me. But the shame sits heavy in my chest.

“Fuck’s sake. What did I tell you?” A deep and authoritative voice causes my skin to prickle. Is he talking with an accent? I can’t quite tell.

“What’s the shouting for?” Mike’s voice this time.

Then there are more footsteps.

“I told you we had an early start. How much did you guys drink last night?”

Canadian, I think, by the sound of the vowels. But I’m not a linguist, so I can’t be sure.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re coming,” Hutch says, then more footsteps ring out, as if someone’s moving further into the apartment, and my heart picks up speed.

“Nah, no way are you coming upstairs like that. You have dried puke on your face. Take a damn shower.”

“Hey, calm down, Cap. We just had a bit of fun and—”

“I knew I couldn’t trust you,” Johnny says.

More footsteps, then my brother speaks again, his voice closer this time. “Do you want a coffee or something?”

“No, I don’t want a damn coffee—” That’s when the ranting starts. Back-and-forth between Johnny and my brother. It’s as if Mike has played outside too late and Dad is telling him off.

Who is this guy? I get he’s the team captain, but what right does he have to barge in here and shout at the guys? I guess it’s a good thing that this Johnny isn’t the same person I was speaking with, because he’s a complete dick.

“You need to chill,” Mike says firmly.

“You need to realise what’s at stake here—because we sure as hell aren’t going to win with the way you guys are acting. You’re not just letting yourself down, you’re letting the whole team down. ”

I can almost feel Mike wincing at that one. The words cut through the air, but Mike snaps back straight away.

“It was one night.”

“Save it, Betts. Just get your shit together and get your ass upstairs. Pronto,” Johnny says.

A few seconds later, footsteps retreat, and the front door slams.

I sit up, looking over the sofa to see Mike in the kitchen. His eyes widen when he catches sight of me.

“Sorry, Kel. I forgot you were here. Don’t mind Johnny. He’s wound up at the moment. I hope he didn’t wake you up.”

I get up from the sofa. “Does he always talk to you like that? Because he sounds like a dick.”

“Nah, he’s fine—look, I need to get going, but good luck today. Text me later and let me know how you do.”

Grabbing his mug, he heads back into his bedroom, disappearing out of view.