Game On (Game On 1)

I shook my head. “McCoy is different. He's so smug and so arrogant, and so-”

“Okay,” Miguel interrupted, probably sensing the rant that was threatening to explode from me. “I know. But you'll have to find some way to control it. Think of something calming. What relaxes you?”

“You.”

“So think about me,” he replied, leaning in to kiss me.

'I always think about you when I fight with him,' I thought, guiltily, but shrugged it off as I returned Miguel's kiss.

“I hate to leave you so soon,” he said, “but work is calling me.”

“I know, for me too.”

“Cheer up! Isn’t it next weekend you’re going back to Boston?”

My mood instantly lifted at the thought of it. Before I’d accepted my job in L.A, I’d accepted an invitation to my friend’s wedding reception. Alison was one of the first people I met when I moved to Boston. She was a physiotherapist at the hospital I worked at and she introduced me to Stacey, who wound up being my roommate. Alison’s wedding to her long-term boyfriend Michael was an event I’d been looking forward to, and even though the wedding ceremony was family only, I didn’t want to miss the evening celebrations. Richard approved my days off because it was planned before I moved to Westberg, so I had three full days, most of which would be spent with my Boston buddies.

“Yes. I can’t wait. I wish you could come with me.”

“Me too. I’m already jealous of the guys who’ll have the chance to dance with you.”

“There’ll be no dancing,” I laughed. “Not slow dancing anyway. I save that for you.”

Miguel’s eyes softened like he wanted to say something more but instead, he kissed me again.

“We still on for dinner tonight?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

Before he left, he gave me a warm smile, and everything was right with the world again.

A couple of hours later, after tending to Bryce’s groin strain, another sprained ankle, and sending Jude to hospital after he re-injured his knee during training, I had to meet Cody Rivera on the pitch to go through some simple back exercises with him. I’d recently started treating Cody for spondylosis - a disorder which affects spinal function - after he complained of back pain and stiffness. He was officially out of any matches for the next few weeks but he came to training every day to watch. Such was his dedication, he didn’t mind doing his exercises out on the pitch so he still felt like a part of the team.

Rivera already knew the exercises. My job was to stop him overexerting himself. He was desperate to get back to work, but his enthusiasm caused him to push too hard, risking making his condition even worse.

I loved working out on the field. First of all, it meant I wasn’t stuck in my stuffy office in the blazing heat. It had air conditioning, but it didn’t compare to being out in the open. Secondly, I got to see Richard, Will, Freya and Miguel put the Warriors through their paces. It fascinated me to watch them working together, all so focused and strict.

Cody was doing knee lifts when some shouting caught my attention. A certain amount of noise was normal, but someone had yelled out for Richard and I whipped my head around to see what was happening.

I’m certain my heart stopped beating for a second.

Miguel was on the ground between the goalposts, tightly holding the ball he’d saved. Radleigh towered above him and I’d looked over just as he drove his foot into Miguel’s stomach, a dangerous look on his face. The shock forced Miguel to lose his grip on the ball but McCoy kicked him again, harder than before. Everyone on the pitch ran over to stop him, but he managed to get one last blow in before he was dragged away, leaving Miguel curled up in pain.

I sped across the grass even though my legs were shaking from the brutal beating I’d just witnessed. Richard called for the medics, and I knelt down beside Miguel.

“Leah,” he mumbled. “I’m okay.”

Gently stroking his cheek, I said, “Really?”

He gave a weak laugh. “Not really but I will be.”

The medics were quick to reach us and I stepped aside so they could help him to his feet. He was shaking, and clutching his stomach tightly.

“We’re gonna take him to the E.R,” one of the medics said. “He’ll need to be checked for broken ribs, and any other internal damage.”

Internal damage? If McCoy had seriously injured Miguel, I’d kill him with my bare hands.

“Can I come with you?” I asked.