Page 65 of The Game

"Well clearly you need help," Mum snapped, my retort was stinging on the tip of my tongue when Sammy came running back around the corner. I leant forward and hissed. "No, Mum, I just didn't know what I wanted before."

She sank her wine. "And what exactly is that?"

"Life."

And there it was, the one thing I never knew I wanted. A life of my own.

I enjoyed the chance to soak up a rare Monday morning lie in. Mum and Dad took care of Sammy. I could hear the little guy’s "Flugh, flugh, flugh," as she scrubbed at his face with a flannel lathered with soap. I grinned and pulled my duvet under my armpits. Anthony and I had dreaded the flannel, preferring to run around with mud on our faces than have soap injected up our noses. Now, that could sting for hours.

For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt relaxed.

I'd been honest, not just with the people I loved, but rather with myself.

Since I was sixteen I'd been driven by one thing, one desire; to be the very best I could be. I grazed my finger over the scar on my eyebrow. In ten years, I'd never let myself dwell on the memory of that day. The day I'd met Betsy, and we'd become best friends over my gushing blood. The day that I'd caught the man who would later become the Lancashire Lion out, and he'd given me a glare that would have turned me to stone if I wasn't so jubilant that I'd just caught out the English rising star.

I hadn't been modest. I'd shaken my booty in his face, and he'd turned purple.

Then later, when I'd been smoked in the eye with the hard, red ball, he'd smiled and said girls shouldn't play if they couldn't take the pain. Then he'd turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me bleeding.

I'd taken pain every day since that moment to prove that I was worthy of playing.

Because of what he’d said.

Jase Willis.

Jonathan Willis.

Ironic indeed that he was the one to turn my heart to wanting something other than pain. Something other than cricket.

Sighing and stretching beneath my duvet, I felt such relief wash through me, I could have cried. I just had to get through the final game and then I would walk away.

The envelope Betsy had given me still sat on the nightstand, and I fingered the crumpled paper. Inside was a prospect I hadn't thought of.

After Mum and Dad had left to drop Sammy at school, I slipped out of bed and jumped in the shower, standing for a long while, allowing the water jets to spill over my skin. My mind was in a dirty place as I thought back over my moments in the shower with the Lion. Sex had never been a thing for me, not really. The game had always been more. But as my body heated and I remembered what it had been like with him, I knew I'd never go back to the way it was. My body wouldn't allow it. I wanted that permanently, the thought of having to try to meet someone who I could create that with was daunting. But now I knew it was possible, I knew I'd have to try.

Once I was dressed, I headed to the shed in the garden where all my spare cricket supplies were stashed. More wickets and pads than one woman should own, surely? Half of it was Anthony's though, which mean's half of it was Sammy's. And it was Sammy that was going to enjoy it that afternoon.

When I parked the car outside the school reception, the sports coach jogged lightly down the steps and helped me unload the car. "Thank you so much for this. The kids are going to love it."

"Well, Sammy said he couldn't cope with much more Kwick cricket."

The coach grinned. "Sammy needs to remember that not everyone comes from cricketing royalty."

I thrust another massive holdall filled with a lifetime of cricket bats into his arms. "Why did you tell him he would only ever play local cricket? That was cruel."

The coach shook his head. "It was just a push, of course, he is better than that."

"But your words weren't encouraging. They were spiteful."

"That's sport."

Girls shouldn't play if they can't take the pain.

I loaded another heavy bag, right, time to make that bastard sweat. "That's not encouragement."

I spun my back on him and made my way around the side of the building to where the field was located, swinging just my car keys in my hand. The overloaded, cruel-mouthed pack donkey stumbled behind me.

I was unloading the bags, working out where to pitch mini games when a shout pulled my attention. Twelve bright pink figures strolled over the grass, some form of flamingo mirage. I straightened up, not sure what I was looking at. I blinked and then I blinked again.