The next day I was waiting for the crunch of tyres on gravel. I was kitted out in my finest whites. His eyes widened as he slowly ran them up and over my body and I swear I tingled despite the barrier of cotton between his gaze and my skin. "What is this?" he asked.
"Incognito batting practice," I hesitated. "That's what you wanted, right?"
"Yeah, but-"
I grinned, teasing. "Come on, say it."
He sighed, and his shoulders dropped. "I'm not conceited, Rivers, but there isn't a cricket field in the country where I'm not going to be recognised."
"Meh. And for the record you are conceited." I lifted my shoulders until they brushed my ears, before letting them drop, then I grinned at him as his gaze became a suspicious glare. "Come on, I've got some kit for you." I led him up the stairs to my room and pulled the closet open. He kept his eyes focused on the floor, not taking in any aspect of my room at all, as his hand rubbed along the back of his neck, agitating the skin. "Here." I thrust some whites at him, along with a faded green cap and a cricket cable knitted sweater.
He stared at them and then his eyes lifted to mine. "Are these your brother’s?"
The wind whooshed out of my lungs. "What?" I struggled to get my mouth to move. "What do you know about that?"
With gentle hands, he took the clothes, his fingers delicate against the material. "I know who you are, Rivers, and I know who your brother is, and I know what happened. I might be a twatface as you call me, but I'm not stupid."
I didn't want them to, but my fingers began to tremble, and my throat did that tightening thing I hated before tears formed. "Why haven't you said anything, or asked?"
He shrugged. "I figured you'd talk if you wanted to." There was a pause. "And I can see how much Sammy means to you and I figured that’s the best thing to come out of the whole accident."
I walked away and leant against the window frame. "You played against him once you know," I remembered the day my brother had come home pumped from his match because he'd played against the great Jase Willis. I already knew he was an idiot, a fact I'd told Anthony about in no uncertain terms, and if I remembered correctly, he'd refused to sit at the dinner table next to me that night because I was a 'heathen'.
When the Lion spoke, his voice was right behind me, and his breath fluttered against the skin of my neck. "I know. He was good. I never understood why he didn't aim higher."
I turned slightly and stared at the weather-worn skin on his face. His speckled blues found mine. "He met a girl and got married, then they had Sammy, and I guess that was more important."
The Lion thought about this for a moment. "I've never imagined anything more important than cricket."
I nodded. "I know."
"And the accident?" It was the question hanging in the air, the one question that people either asked me because they wanted gossip or didn't because they were too embarrassed.
"Death by dangerous driving."
"Hence why you don't drink and drive?"
"You noticed that."
The faintest pink tinged his tanned cheeks, and he nodded.
"That's why I don't drink much at all, and why I drive at the speed limit despite having the whole of Surrey behind me, and why I will never answer a call or a text in a moving vehicle."
He stepped away, "It's a good reason, Rivers."
Flustered, I turned for the door. "Yeah, well Sammy can't afford to lose anyone else." Straightening my back, I pushed the emotional tide away. "You can get changed in here."
"Where are we going?" he called as I retreated down the stairs.
"You'll see."
We pulled up at the local cricket pitch, and I pulled the cap down lower over his eyes, leaning over into his space until was sure I could feel the heat from his body radiate towards mine. He looked ridiculous in the old boy's sweater, and I'd chuckled most of the way.
"So you play here?" He looked through the windshield at the sun-bleached green, and the pub stood next to it. It was one of those old-fashioned cricket grounds, conveniently located next to a watering hole which provided a balcony for spectators and players to sit in, overlooking the field.
"I grew up playing here, and they still let me join in, especially now I'm around a bit more.”
"But you're a girl."
I burst out laughing. "You are the most sexist man I've ever met."
He chuckled too, and the sound of both our laughter mingled in the confines of the car. "I work hard on it."
Narrowing my eyes, I stared long and hard. "It's an act thought, right?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled the handle on the car door and stretched his long legs out onto the ground.
Yanking the cap down further over his trademark bright hair he dropped his shoulders and kept his walk as average as I believe he could make it as we trailed towards the umpire. "Hi, Bert," I leant in and gave him a kiss. The Lion coughed like he had something stuck in his throat. Bert is eighty and hard of sight. He makes a solid umpire if ever there was one.
The rest of the teams were a mix of young boys, middle-aged men and the old pensioner.
"Bert, I've got a friend in town, do you mind if he joins in?"
Bert looked through rheumy eyes at the Lion, but if he noticed anything through his failing vision, he didn't look on. The Lion kicked the floor with the toe of his trainer and looked mighty uncomfortable. Honestly, I was enjoying this more than I thought.
Bert pulled out his clipboard. "Name?"
"Uh." I hadn't planned this bit.
"Jonathan." The Lion said, filling the awkward space.
"Jo-a-the-an," Bert spelt out onto his sheet. I winked at the Lion, and his lips twitched.
The sun was beating down, the sky an endless blue, and the heat was already immense. I felt sorry for him wearing that pullover, but then at the same time, I didn't. Ha. I was glad I'd arranged a playdate for the little guy, though, he would have sizzled sitting out under the sun for hours.
"I haven't played cricket like this in a while." The Lion growled into my ear as we made our way to the centre of the field where teams were being picked. As soon as I drew up, Davies one of the younger players grabbed me and linked his arm tightly through mine.
"She's mine, she's mine, everyone else back off."
I laughed. "Okay, I'm on your team."
Davies glanced his dark eyes over England’s greatest cricketer. "How's your friend's skills?" he asked. He stared a little closer, attempting to see under the cap Jase had pulled so low it sat tight across the top of his head. It was impossible to see anything above the stubble on his top lip.
"Meh, he's just starting out."
Davies grimaced. "You can have him," he told the other captain who groaned in response.
"Bitch," The Lion whispered as I went off with my team, I gave him a cheery wave and turned my back.
We fielded first. Good god, bowling at the Lion was something else. Apart from the fact the bastard actually hit that ball out into the road on many occasions. At one point, it landed on the balcony with the spectators drinking beer. "That's a six." He shouted with more glee than I'd ever heard in any of our T20 matches.
And then I caught him out, and he sulked the whole way to the deckchairs that made the team benches, his hat pulled low shielding his face. I was just relieved he had managed to keep his temper in check. More than anything his fiery disposition would give away his identity more than his eyes or his hair.
When the batting innings were over, the team waltzed off with an unprecedented two hundred and fifty runs, most of them from the bat of the former number one until I snatched his ball in my hands—ooh that sounded quite rude. We stepped up, and he jeered at me as I adjusted my helmet.
I knew he was going to try to take me down.
With horror, I watched as he offered to bowl first. Was he having a laugh? If he wasn't, I wasn't going into the situation with mirth.
What would I do if he became even more injured for training tomorrow? I couldn't possibly hope to cover it.
As I stepped up to the crease, his icy gaze bore down on me, and I knew he was just begging to take me out. There was no way he was going let my catch go in good faith. I found myself swallowing nervously as he powered a run and expelled a ball at me like it was shooting from a training machine.
Blindly, I lifted my bat and fielded it off and then I ran for my life. He wasn't going to stop though, the moment the short ball was returned to his hands he ran and aimed for the wicket. With the breadth of a hair I squeaked over the line, my butt skidding into the ground as I slipped on the dry earth.
For the first time ever I heard a shout of his laughter as he watched me slide on the ground. I waved my bat with good grace and stepped up again. This was going to be a long afternoon.
His team won. And didn't I bloody know it? He gloated the whole way back to the house.
If the other players had realised they were playing against the greatest, they were polite enough not to say and playing without pressure had loosened the Red Cat’s captain so much that his whole body was relaxed and easy in the car on the ride home.
When we pulled up on the drive, I cut the engine and stretched. I ached from all the running and diving he’d put me through. The birds were silent as dusk descended and the balmy evening flooded through the open windows.
"Why Jonathan?" I couldn't make myself look at him. It was like talking and looking at the same time would be too much to bear. There was a kindling flicker of something dark and unknown down in the pit of my belly—familiarity. I was becoming familiar with the Lion himself, and there couldn’t be anything safe about that.
There was a beat of silence before he answered, his low tones filling the silent car. "Because it's my name."
I swivelled in my seat. "No, Jason is your name." I don't know why I flushed when I said Jason, but I did, luckily it was hidden in the darkness.
"No, my name in Jonathan. When I started to make a name for myself, there was another Jonathan on the England team, so I called myself Jason to stand out."
My lips formed an ‘O’. "Wow," I said eventually.
He turned to me, his hand lingering on the back of my seat. "Question for you. Why are you pretending to have an injury when you don't?" My cheeks flamed again.
"I'm not."
"Sure, you're not."
"Okay," I turned to him, the skin of his tanned face so close in the confines of the car. "How much does your shoulder hurt?"
He sniggered a little. "Lots."
"Was it worth it?"
His eyes flashed in the dim light. "Yes."
We paused, an unnameable friction flowing between the confines of the car.
"Better ice it when you get home."
He reached for the handle of his door. "I will." Another pause and then the door opened. "Thanks, Rivers. That was just what I needed.”
"I know," I muttered softly, but I don't think he heard because he was walking away to his car.