Post Captain Novels & Stories

Captain Mario greeted them as they stepped out of the caddy. "Hi, Captain Mario. Thank you for welcoming us. We can't wait to meet your crew." Charles greeted the captain back. Charles and Esther then walked up the passenger bridge and followed Captain Mario to the living room, where a line of crew members were there to greet them. "Allow me to introduce you to my team." Captain Mario began. "Roger and Laura are my 1st and 2nd officers respectively. Quincy is the officer on watch." "Imelda is my bosun. She has Payton the lead deckhand and two assistant deckhands, Ethan and Aaron. Our security officer is a former army sergeant. We call him Sarge."

Even Alex was taken aback, and before I could call him over to ask what the hell did I just hear, he jogged over—both the two guys turned their heads when Alex called them. ‘‘Captain, she’s waiting for me…’’ Alex said panting, and I frowned in a state of bewilderment. Captain? How the hell did he ever made to the rank of captain with an attitude like that? ‘‘There’s a project that we must complete as a group after school...’’ The guy he called captain rolled his eyes, and threw him an indifferent look, as if he didn’t give a fuck about his explanation. I watched as he stepped back into the building, clenching his fists at his sides. He looked bloody annoyed.

They have similar facial features and hair colours. That guy suddenly gazed at me. "And who's this beautiful lady over here??" He asked nicely, smiling with his eyes. "This is Bambi." Greyson introduced. "Oh hey, i'm Shane Grant. This asshole's brother. Good to have you here." He joked, grabbing my hand and shaking it. Greyson was already tall. But Shane was a bit taller and his skin was a bit darker. But he is so much more chatty and energetic than Greyson can ever be.

Maybe I should’ve, but… I didn’t want to shatter whatever this strange, safe little bubble we were in was. So I just nodded slowly and let the silence settle back in. He noticed, of course. Noticed the pause. The tension. The unspoken weight lingering in the air like a storm cloud that hadn’t quite broken yet. And then, like the master deflector he clearly was, Captain leaned forward and smirked. “You know,” he said, picking up the comic I’d tossed aside, “you’re lucky I like you.” “Why’s that?” “Because if it were anyone else disrespecting my collection like this—” he flipped through the pages with exaggerated care— “I’d throw hands.”

I couldn’t look away from the captain of the Richmond Kings. My thoughts spun wildly, haunted by the face behind that cage helmet. I sucked in deep breaths, though none seemed to be enough. This had to be a dream. I refused to believe that this was my life because I’d done everything possible to avoid this moment. Jameson’s deal with Coach Stetson was supposed to save me from him. How could the universe be this cruel? “If you’re looking for a playmate, Malachar, look closer. You’re the only kid in the room.” I crossed my arms despite my erratically beating heart. “So return my kit. Now.”

The adrenaline from the game finally fading and my muscles began to throb. “Hi,” her fingers pushed back my damp hair. “How are you feeling?” I chuckled. “Really sore…” Someone touched my ankle and my eyes clamped shut from the pain. “Oh fuck!!” “I wonder how such a baby became the Captain of the Black Hawks,” I heard Marcus snare and I looked at him. I glanced back at Olive without any reply to his childish effort at rilling me up. He growled. “I'm guessing this plump bitch is your caretaker. Explains a lot really.”

Franklin’s POV The rival captain was not a small man. He filled the doorway in the practical sense, broad through the shoulders, still in his match kit, and his expression was the particular expression of someone who has seen something they intend to get an explanation for and are not going to be redirected from that intention. Rydan and I both stood. The captain looked between us. Then he said, “Sit down.” It was the kind of voice that expected to be listened to. We sat.

Marcus sat with the phone still in his hand, the Phase Two message glowing on the screen. He didn’t answer it, Instead he opened a new thread, selected three names from the team roster — players who talked, who listened, and who had already shown curiosity about old stories — and began typing. To the first: ‘Heard the junior-league stuff with Rivera never actually got cleared. Scholarship mess, quiet deals. Makes you wonder how much of that followed him here.’ He sent it, waited a moment, then opened the second chat.

Nathan happened to walk by, stick in hand. I figured that as captain he'd at least do something about the toxic bullying. Instead he was frowning, still griping to the vice-captain. "Our blue-line defense was like wet paper today. Bunch of useless idiots." He didn't even glance at the jerseys strewn across the floor, just took one long stride over them and strode off. Watching his arrogant back, I let out a bitter laugh. Back in my dorm that night, with nowhere to vent, I logged straight into my hockey-forum alt account: IceTyrant.

“I’m not exactly a sports person.” “You will be after tonight. The energy is addictive. Hawthorne versus Westfield is always brutal—especially because of the captains. Brad Walker versus Sebastian Hale. Pure rivalry.” I raised an eyebrow. “Sebastian Hale?” “Captain of Westfield. Tall, insanely talented, and actually a decent guy from what I’ve heard not the cocky asshole type like Brad and his crew. The stands go wild whenever he’s on the ice. Total heartthrob material.” She winked. “You’ll see why.”