Page 9 of The Alternate Captain (Elite Hockey #3)

Mike’s face resembles that of a champion, not someone who recently suffered a concussion and was sent to the hospital. He’s grinning from ear to ear, and he radiates excitement. Our mother, on the other hand, does not appear impressed at all.

“We won, Mam. We won.” He beams.

“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.

“Thanks.” He looks to Mam and Dad. “Can you give me some space, please? I need to rest, after all.”

I’m stuck in the middle. I know what Mike is like, and I also know our parents are in a state of ‘cotton wool’ deployment. If Mam had her way, she’d let none of us leave the house.

“I’ll be back in half an hour to check on you. In the meantime, please try to get some rest, Michael,” Mam says. Then she gives me the nod to follow her, and like a puppy, I do.

We leave him and Dad to talk for a few minutes, heading down to the coffee shop.

The same place where Johnny Koenig and a few of the other guys are waiting, Styrofoam cups in hand, around a large circular table.

Luckily, he doesn’t see us, but he pulls his phone out of his pocket and sticks it to his ear, before sliding his chair to stand up.

We join the queue as Dad strides in.

“Did you bring my handbag, Tony?” Mam says, looking him up and down.

“Does it look like I have your handbag, love?” Dad huffs before he turns to me. “Kelly, be a star and fetch Mam’s handbag, will you?”

I turn on the spot and stalk back towards Mike’s room, the anxiety of bumping into Johnny sitting in my chest.

As soon as Mike’s room comes into view, I see Johnny through the window of the door, standing next to his bed as they talk.

The silence from the corridor allows me to pick up a mumbling of raised voices from within the room. Hesitantly, I push the door open. There’s no avoiding him this time.

“Just leave it, will you? For Christ’s sake. Quit nagging me about it,” my brother snaps, his ire aimed towards Johnny.

But they both turn their heads towards me, and Johnny’s eyes lock with mine, his face softening for a fraction of a second before he looks away again.

Mike’s room suddenly seems cramped. It’s as if the walls are closing in on me. Johnny’s six-foot-whatever frame makes me feel fun-sized and I can’t help but stare at him. Tom was right, of course. He is handsome.

“Alright, Kel? How’s it going?” Mike adjusts himself in bed and offers me a warm smile.

“I need to grab Mam’s bag,” I say, bending slightly to reach down and grab it from the floor next to his bed. My face flames. Is this my very own ‘I carried a watermelon’ moment?

My knees wobble a little, but I use all my strength to stand up straight again.

“No worries. Oh, have you met Johnny? Johnny, this is my sister, Kelly. Kelly, this is Johnny, the team captain.”

He bows his head slightly, so he’s not looking directly at me.

“Hi, Johnny. It’s nice to meet you,” I say.

My voice doesn’t sound like mine when the words are in the air. I sound frail and pathetic.

Then he looks at me. Fully this time, relaxing his face again as he shoves his hands in his pockets. He looks older in person with a beard. Nervous, too. But confidence oozes from his voice when he speaks.

“Hi Kelly, I’m Johnny. But you can call me John.”

And just like that, my heart stops. It couldn’t be... could it ?

Mike bursts out laughing. “You can call me John? Are you expecting her to call you captain, too?”

Johnny doesn’t answer him. Instead, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and glares at the screen, his cheeks turning pink. “Shit, I need to get going, Betts. I’ll call you later, yeah?”

He strides out of the room, leaving nothing but the scent of cologne behind him. I make a mental note to tell Tom that even though Johnny is a douche, he at least smells good.

“That was fucking weird,” Mike says, looking at the door Johnny closed behind him.

But our conversation ends there, thankfully, when the door creaks open, and a nurse comes in, wheeling a machine.

She announces that it’s time to check his observations, so I use that as my cue to leave.

But I don’t make it back to the café. I get to the end of the corridor and come face-to-face with Johnny Koenig.