Page 60 of The Game

He came through carrying three mugs, his eyes guarded, and I knew in the pit of my stomach that this man had never compromised any secret he'd ever kept. He was as fiercely private as he was a terror on the cricket field. He was a man of more complexities than I knew how to unravel.

Sammy was balancing a giant silver trophy on his head but I couldn’t bring myself to focus and stop him. I was mesmerised by the man in front of me. Sammy could have been melting down the silverware and I wouldn’t have been able to drag my eyes away.

Watching him pass a mug of tea to his dad, that's when I knew. I knew I'd fallen in love with Jonathan Willis. And that's when I knew that my life would never be the same again.

"Thanks." I took my mug, my fingers shaking slightly. He frowned at them but didn't comment.

"Mum died when I was sixteen, of cancer, just before I got called up for the under nineteen’s England team." His blue gaze settled on my face.

"I'm sorry." I stared right back at him as the rest of the room melted out of existence around us.

He shrugged. "And this stubborn old fool has always refused to leave the place I grew up in."

His dad put his mug down on a conveniently located coffee table. "Why would I? I have everything I need here."

The Lion—Jonathan, Jonathan, Jonathan—rolled his eyes which made me snigger. "Apart from the fact you live on the fourth floor and can't get down the stairs."

"Hey, there's a lift."

"Which doesn't work." There was a growl under the words, but his dad didn't back down.

"It's fine; they can carry me out in a box."

Again with the eye roll. "Always a pleasure conversing with you, Dad."

"Can I?" I motioned to the silverware and the wall of photos. The Lion groaned.

"Sure, it's Dad's wall of fame."

As I walked away I heard the Lion grumbling about it being embarrassing and his dad shushing him. It made me smile from ear to ear. I stared at the photos - Jase Willis throughout his career, silverware raised above his head; him surrounded by his team holding the Ashes; so many amazing achievements. In the photographs his face shone with this complex mixture of pride and sheer determination.

I was staring at an early photograph, faded from the sun in which a young boy stood in front of the red brick of the flats, his stripy jumper still vivid, a cricket bat clutched in his hands. At his side was a woman whose face looked like it was going to split with pride, and his dad. A huddle of three.

"That was after my first ever competitive game." His breath brushed along my exposed neck, and I repressed a shiver that went all the way down to my toes.

"You look so proud of yourself."

His body moved closer to mine, his chest nudging my back and I thought for a tortured moment he might kiss my neck. He didn't. "I was. It wasn't easy being the only boy on the estate who played cricket when all the others were kicking a football around."

I turned to face him, reading every inch of his handsome face. This was him. This was the very reason for his aggressive determination to never lose, to never give up, because inside he would always be the little boy stood outside a block of flats with a cricket bat in his hands.

My heart ruptured into two as I knew I would never be able to change that. I wanted to be the other person in that picture. The mum with her arm around her son, her smile wide and her eyes shining at the camera after a game. I wanted to be that for Sammy, and maybe, just maybe, for a child of my own.

Our paths were different, always had been and always would be.

We were silent on the way home, the little guy asleep in his booster.

"Shall I take Sammy in for you?" he asked, once he'd cut the engine and the headlights highlighting the drive had faded. With the motor silenced the car had filled with an electric atmosphere. It tingled through my body, willing me to edge myself closer to him. I was sure he could feel it, a deep connection that flowed between us.

I coughed to clear my throat and my mind of the need to kiss him. “That would be great, thanks."

He scooped Sammy out of the car with minimal effort, holding him against his broad chest and I followed them down the path, my heart thrumming with every step I took, to the door which I opened with my key and shaking fingers.

I waited in the kitchen as he took Sammy up to his room.

I loved the Lion.

I stared at my kitchen counter as if thinking it within the confines of my mundane kitchen would make the sentiment less real, but it didn’t. I could visualise the Lion tucking Sammy into bed and it made me love him more, enough for my heart to palpitate and threaten to jump out of my chest.