Page 17 of The Game

He chose to bat first and was first up to the crease. My stomach tied in knots as I waited to see if he could achieve the sixes he'd thrown in my face during practice, in a live match.

He could.

He scored a breathtaking half-century off his overs. One six was eighty-five metres long and the crowd was thunderous, before he was caught out on a glanced wide bowl. He looked like he wanted to murder the player on the other side who'd dared to catch his ball. I couldn't hear what Jones, the captain of the other team said, but when the Lion came and sat on the bench, his play for this half over, his cheeks tinged with a florid pink under his deep tan. I turned my face away before he could catch me staring.

At the end of our overs, we were 130 for all. Not bad, but it was obvious that without Jase Willis' batting skills we would have been in the shitter. Bailey had done well, holding firm against an onslaught of offsided spins but Anderson and a couple of the others had crumpled under first game nerves. Waller looked like he was close to a cardiac arrest.

It was when we were bowling that the real cracks in our game began to show.

Over Waller’s shoulder, I'd looked at the bowling schedule, surprised to find the Lion's name far down the list. That didn't make any sense to me. He was a wonderful bowler, well he always had been, not that I could say I'd seen him practice the last few weeks. When Anderson held his arm to his chest after an offside spin, I cringed and clutched my head in my hands. Now, this was the sort of shit that came down to me; an injured player who couldn't do his job properly because he wasn't fit enough. I glanced up in dismay only to find the Lion glaring at me. It's okay, buddy. I feel shit enough.

The crowd went wild as the Lion walked out onto the pitch and swept the ball up from the grass. Jase Willis was the man they were here to watch, the one who they'd paid good money to see. As I got up to grab ice packs for Anderson's shoulder and to help the physio with his care, I caught a glimpse of Sammy's face in the sea of spectators before me. It was split from ear to ear in a wide grin, and I swear I could see his eyes shining from where I stood.

But then we all watched as the other team hit six after six off the Lion's slow bowl.

What the hell?

I stood and stared a little closer. His run was perfection, long striding legs and a powerful torso that shifted him forward, but when it came to the pitch, he held back. I glanced around the other players. Had they noticed it too? They were all clapping and Waller, although he'd paled under the torrent of sixes that came our way was still smiling because he'd done the maths quick enough to know that they couldn't win off their remaining balls. On the last two balls, he bowled better and eventually caught the last batsman with a wicket. He was announced Man of the Match, coming off to riotous applause and our home crowd firing up the stands with our first win. But I stood back and watched his movements, his body. I tried to keep my eyes away from him as much as I could, but this was my job.

As he wiped his hands down his shirt and made his way to give an interview for the crowd, I noticed it. He was holding his right arm higher than the left. His shoulder fixed a good inch higher than the other.

He was injured.

I would have hit myself if it didn't make me look crazy.

He was bloody injured.

It had nothing to do with my training, well not entirely at least. He was goddamn injured and trying to hide it from everyone behind his immense dislike for me.

What a fucker.

I went to grab Waller and say something, but he was busy clapping all the players on the back. Bailey caught me in a giant hug as he ran in from the furthest edge of the field. "Looks like all that yoga paid off."

I smiled, but it felt plastered on my face and fake. "Sure does."

I worked my way around, listening to the northern drawl of the Lion as his interview broadcast out over the loudspeakers. Once I'd been hugged more times than I wished, I looked up into the ice-cold glare of the Lion. I didn't move to hug him. We stood there watching each other, and my eyes narrowed, but I couldn't contain the smug smile that worked around my lips. I knew his secret, and he didn't have anything on me anymore. He shouldn't be playing—he knew it, and now I knew it.

The team strolled towards the fans gathered at the edge of the railings and started signing autographs. Journalists were snapping pictures and calling the coaching team over, but I ignored them as I made my way to Waller's side. "I need to talk to you tomorrow," I whispered in his ear.

He glanced at me but then just grinned and clapped me on the back. "Enjoy the win for what it is, Lyssa, we can talk shop on Monday."

"Monday? We can't wait until Monday." My expression froze and my hand went to clutch his arm before I stopped myself.

He stepped away from me, his hand reaching out to shake one of a reporter.

I got swept away with the rest of the team - congratulations and hugs landing on me until I could make it over to where the fans had gathered, and I could see the grey head of my dad and the smaller, shining dark brown hair of the little guy. I fought my way through until I was next to them, just a metal railing separating us. Most of the players had filtered into the changing area, but a few were still hanging around signing away. Bailey, Anderson and Fredericks were clapping each other on the back and chatting to the crowd. Betsy leant over the barrier and wrapped her powerful arms around my neck. "Good win," she said out loud before whispering, "What was that bowling about?" into my hair, hushed enough, that only I could hear.

"I've no idea. It's been a nightmare." This may have been one of the greatest understatements I’d ever made.

It was only now I was saying the words to my best friend that I realised just how awful this had all been. I would be the one to be blamed for an injured player participating in a match. It could be my job on the line, and I bloody needed that job. I seriously needed it.

There was also a voice in the back of my head wondering if he'd done it on purpose so I would get sacked—he really must hate me. I didn't know whether to be dismayed that someone I only met briefly years before, resented me with such passion he might be willing to play with an injury.

No, that couldn't be it, could it?

I detached myself from Betsy's grip and turned to the little guy and his friend Cole. Both of them had dropped lips. "Hey, what's up? We won, right?" I nudged the little guy with my shoulder and wrapped my arms around him. It took him a full second for him to hug me back.

I glanced up at Dad for an explanation but he didn't say anything, so I lifted my finger and thumb under the little guy's chin and stared in his freckled face. "Want to come and meet my friends?"