Page 20 of The Game

"Yes, Sir." He replied and again my heart gave that little ache. "You wanna play cricket with me and my Aunt Lyssi? She's really good."

The Lion's eyes stayed focused on Sammy, not once flickering to me. "I'm sure she is, but I just came to give you some things. Do you want to come and get them?"

Sammy looked like he was about to combust as he nodded fast enough to make his head drop off his shoulders.

I hung back as they walked to the silver car and I watched as the Lion popped the boot with his key fob and pulled out a bat and some children sized kit. Once it was laden in Sammy's arms he brushed the little guy on the head, leant down and whispered something and then got back into his car—the whole time not giving me a backwards glance, like we didn't know each other at all, let alone worked together.

Fine.

I spent the remainder of the day repositioning the little guy's posters so he could put his signed bat on display in the centre of his room, hanging the signed kit and then going to pick up his friend Cole because he’d also had a goodie bag left for him.

The incident at the close of the match had been forgotten about by everyone, apart from me.

On Monday, I shouldered my bag and made my way through the gaggle of journalists. They weren't here for me. They wanted to speak to the stars of the sport although the odd question regarding working with Jase Willis was still flung in my direction. I just dropped my head and ran for it. I was working my way up to talk with Waller and discuss my hunches about possible injuries within the team, when the man himself beat me to it by knocking on my changing room door. "Are you alone?" He looked like a startled rabbit, and I pulled the door open wider.

"It's okay. I'm by myself there is no mob of naked girls here, yet."

Waller breathed a sigh of relief and stepped in. "Do you mind?" he asked. In his hands, he held a blue-wrapped plastic packet.

"Nope, we need to talk anyway." I needed to get on with this. I needed to do the right thing for the team, regardless of the fact that the moody arse had made my nephew’s year by personally delivering him signed gifts. I had to do the right thing; it was my responsibility to everyone, even the Lion himself.

I grabbed my bag and pulled out my clean uniform I'd washed and thought about ironing over the weekend. "Oh, here." Waller handed me the packet.

"What is it?"

"Open it." He shrugged.

I did, pulling back the layers of plastic that revealed a pink T-shirt, and a pair of decent length shorts inside. 'Why've I got this?"

Waller shrugged. "Captain’s orders." He moved away from the bench. "I'll leave you to get changed. Team chat in five on the pitch."

He walked out, the door swinging shut behind him and I was left clutching the pink shirt. It was a proper T-shirt, it had sleeves and everything. The air in the changing room was stifled, and absorbing it into my lungs ached.

Just like that, my need to tell Waller about the injury to the Lion's right shoulder ebbed just a little. I could always listen to the team talk and then tell him.

Yes, that would be best.

I think.

If the guys were expecting a clap on the back and a big fat day off they were sadly mistaken. Waller gave them the rollicking of their lives for leaving it so close to the call. The Lion stood with his arms folded, glowering, and I was sure that every so often his eyes flashed to mine like he was daring me to say something.

I didn't. Although, it went against every professional bone in my body.

"Rivers," Waller barked when he'd finished, and the vein pulsing in his temple started to slow. "You're up."

I took a deep breath and stepped forward. From the corner of my eye, I sensed the Lion stiffen.

"You're batting was strong, with good solid fluidity, and you had them over a barrel," I said. "The Pilates is paying off with your stamina." I winked at Anderson. He hated Pilates more than anything else in the world, but I knew if he were to watch the game recording back he would see how much his posture had improved in the last few weeks. They'd all improved. Their core muscles had kept them solid in the middle as they powered with their arms to connect the bat to the ball.

There was a general murmur, but I ignored them. "Your fielding was dire." Waller had already told them this, but my job was to tell them why. Why had they struggled with their concentration and let so many fours slip by their hands? "We need more gym, more cross training and more stamina."

I pulled my notebook from the back pocket of my new shorts and began to flip through the sheets of notes I'd scrawled over the weekend. The bits of the weekend when my mind had accidentally started to recall the Lion in faded jeans in just a fraction too much detail.

It was Fredericks that spoke. "No more yoga, you are wasting our time with it."

I shook my head. "No, I’m not. Yoga is about strength, breathing and mental alertness. It's about focus, something you all need."

There was a flurry of dissent from around me, and then something happened I wasn't expecting—the Lion spoke. "Stop bitching like a group of girls." He growled, that northern, slow drawl filling the air. "If we need yoga, then that's what we do."