Page 18 of The Game

He shook his head which was weird. I could see Bailey and Fredericks passing by. "Hey guys," I called, and Bailey turned a beaming smile towards me.

"Hey, Lyssa," he said as he loped towards us, twisting his black and pink ball cap backwards.

"Ooh, I think you mean Coach Rivers." I laughed.

Bailey nudged me with his arm, and Betsy's eyes stalked out as she caught the motion.

"So, this is my family," I explained and then pulling Sammy in front of me and placing my hands on his shoulder, I added, "And this is my nephew, he's a big fan." And that was it. Bailey had him swept up over the barrier and placed him on his shoulders. The little guy screeched as he got run down the steps and onto the pitch. Fredericks, bless him, glanced at Cole staring mournfully after Sammy's retreating form. "Want to come and take a closer look too?" he asked, and Cole's face lit up like it was Christmas.

I watched them down on the green with a huge smile on my face, my worries about the Lion's injuries temporarily forgotten until Betsy came up and caught my elbow. "Listen. I don't want to make you feel bad, but that idiot, Jase ‘I'm so Stuck up my Arse’ Willis just upset the little boys."

"What?" I looked up at her in confusion.

"They asked him for an autograph, but he shouted no at them and stormed off."

"What?" I repeated. I mean I knew that there was no way Jase Willis would know who my family was, but still, that wasn't how you treated fans, especially young ones. My blood simmered in my veins. For Christ's sake. Poor Sammy had posters of the guy on his walls. That could have been any child, anyone with dreams of meeting their hero.

The simmering blood inside me turned into an outright molten lava. "Watch for the boys," I told my family and marched towards the changing room.

Waller was there slapping hands. Relief and excitement snapped around the air like electricity. My eyes scanned for the Lion, but I couldn't see him. "Where is he?" I rumbled, the sound vibrating in my chest with a ferocious burn I'd never experienced before.

"Shower." Someone called. Later I'd wonder how they all knew who I was intent on talking to, but right then all I could focus on was the red mist falling in front of my eyes.

And there he was, coming out of the shower with a towel wrapped low around his waist. Across his ribs was a tattoo that in other circumstances may have intrigued me but right then I was too furious to give it the time of day.

"What the fuck is your problem?" My hands smacked palm first into his chest. His skin was hot from the shower and my fingers slid a little across his pecs. Maybe if I hadn't been so mad, I would have focused more on the fact I had my hands on the Lion's naked skin and that it was burning through my fingertips like heated velvet. But I hated him. I would have flayed that skin off his skeleton if it had given me any satisfaction.

"What?" he held his hands up in surrender, but I smacked him again on the chest. Deep within the icy recesses of his eyes I saw a flicker of fear, and I acknowledged it for what it was. He was scared, scared that I was going to out his injury, scared that I was going to announce to everyone that he'd been hiding an injury behind his hatred of me. But right then I couldn't have given a shit. His arm could have fallen off, and I would have merrily beaten him to death with the bloody stump.

"My nephew was out there with Bailey. He, for some unfathomable reason, worships the ground you walk on. So why were you rude to him and his friend? They’re just children You goddamn, obnoxious prick." I went to hit him again, but he caught my wrists easily in his grasp, his large hands slipping with ease around my bones. "You are the only thing he has that's kept him smiling through the hell he's lived through, and tonight you've gone and shattered that."

My eyes roved wildly over his face. I thought he'd back away, spurned by my anger but he didn't. He stepped closer, his warm cheek drawing close to mine as he looked at me and said, "I don't know what you are talking about."

His words were a red flag. "Of course you don't, you fucking idiot. All you know is you and your goddamn ego." I dragged in a ragged air of breath, my body shaking all over. "News flash, twatface, I don’t give a shit about you, no one upsets my boy."

His hands clenched onto my wrist. "Now, Alyssa." My name sounded funny from his lips. He'd never said it before, and it made me stutter, made this odd sensation pierce my chest. "Don't be foolish. I don't know what I've done." He took another step towards me, "But speak to me, don't shout."

The gall of the guy. I wanted to punch his lights out. "Go to hell, Jase, and take your shitty cricket with it."

And with my words, I stalked for the dressing room door and my family waiting outside.

The following day Mum and Dad took Sammy to visit his Aunty Shelley, and Cole went home to his family. By the time I'd made it out of the changing rooms the previous evening I resembled The Incredible Hulk on a comedown. Sammy and Cole were grinning ear to ear and playing catch with Bailey and Anderson, their slight at the hands of the wanker that was the Lancashire Lion forgotten.

"He's got safe hands, your little one," Bailey had winked, and I'd loved him for it.

I spent Saturday morning on mundane tasks, but the kind of jobs that kept me grounded in my new life. The little guy and I had a brunch of pancakes with Nutella and banana's, and then we went outside while the sun was still shining down. Sam threw balls at the nets I'd put up on the expansive lawn, and I hung out washing that Maria had left folded in the utility room the day before.

I loved Saturdays. They were the best day of the week for us. When Sammy had first come to me, Saturday's had been the worst. Before, they were his ‘mummy’ days. While his dad played cricket, Sammy and Vanessa would go to watch taking a picnic. It was one of the reasons I'd had the nets installed. I'd told him we didn't need to watch other people play when we could do it ourselves.

I loved watching him throw balls. His aim was nearly always accurate, and I knew he could probably bowl out anyone at his school should he try to take them down. "You're holding your shoulder up too high," I called, as I pegged school trousers onto the line.

He stuck his tongue out with concentration and brushed the hair out of his eyes before lining up his shot again. This time he kept his shoulder relaxed and then rotated his arm into a steady swing. "Much better," I called and finished fastening the last trouser leg to the line with a peg. "I'm going to go and make coffee, do you want a glass of juice?"

'Diet Coke," he called back.

"In your dreams, little guy."

I made my way into the kitchen and flicked on the radio, the hum of voices filling the air. It was like last night hadn't happened at all. Sure there was the buzz of the win still lingering in my veins, but the other stuff, the childish drama that I could live without, was beginning to fade away. I breathed in deeply and dropped my shoulders, centring myself in the moment.