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?"
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.