Page 46 of The Hellion and the Captain
She had no idea if it was because of their growing closeness or if he would have protected any player in such a way. Still, while she appreciated his concern, she also worried that others might start to notice Rhys’s particularly protective instincts toward her.
She would just have to stay clear of Reeves as best she could.
For it was how she would protect Rhys — even if he didn’t know he needed it.
Rhys had noticed the mounting tension between Emmaline and Victor Reeves, one of the powerful forwards from the Athletics, and he had tried to hold himself back, allowing Emmaline to do things her way.
But when that last particularly vicious tackle had sent Emmaline tumbling, her cry of pain echoing across the pitch, Rhys had seen red. It had taken every ounce of restraint within him to keep from sending his fists flying into Reeves’ face, for that would only have proven how much he cared about her well-being.
Even now, one more wrong move, and he didn’t care what anyone thought — he would make sure the man never saw a football field again.
Mickey had the ball on the back half of the pitch now, and Rhys could only hope he could make the pass up the middle toward Colin.
He did, and Rhys breathed a sigh of relief. All Colin had to do was not kick it too high… suddenly, he saw Emmaline streaking up the far side of the pitch, no defender upon her. Colin must have seen her at the same time, for he sent the ball flying across the pitch. She caught it with her feet and began breaking toward the net. She brought her foot back just as Rhys noticed Reeves sprinting toward her.
Not on his watch. Leaving his position, Rhys ran toward them, taking an angle so that he would cut between Emmaline and Reeves. Just as her foot connected with the ball, he stepped in front of Reeves, who slammed hard into him, and they both went sprawling onto the ground, Reeves blurting expletives toward him.
“What in the bloody hell is wrong with you, man?” Reeves seethed as he pushed himself from the ground, shoving both hands into Rhys’s chest. “I didn’t even have the ball.”
“I know exactly what you were planning,” Rhys growled back. “I told you not again. Not on my watch.”
“You’ve taken quite a liking to your new pretty boy,” Reeves said, sneering at Rhys. “Perhaps?—”
Rhys wasn’t going to let him speak any longer. He wouldn’t allow the man to insult Emmaline, nor to give anyone else any indication that everything was not as it seemed. He brought his fist back and sent it right into the man’s gut.
Reeves’ eyes bulged as he stared at Rhys in disbelief before crumpling to the ground.
“What the hell?” Oliver Harrington, captain of the Athletics and actually a decent sort, came running toward them. “That was out of bounds, Lockwood,” he said, and Rhys knew he was one insult away from turning this into an entire brawl.
“He was out of line, Harrington,” Rhys said. “He deserved what was coming to him. You’re a good sort, but you must keep your players in check.”
“Lockwood,” Harrington said with a sigh. “This doesn’t need to go any further.”
“I don’t want it to,” Rhys said. “As long as none of you make this into anything more, we can continue to be friendly rivals.” He held out his hand. “Are we good?”
Harrington reluctantly took his hand. “Good. For today. This shit can’t happen again, understood?”
“Tell that to Reeves,” he said, before finally taking in the cheering supporters and the elation on his own team’s faces.
“Oh, and Harrington?”
“Yes?”
“Good game,” he said, finally cracking a smile. “Better luck next time.”
Emmaline lay on the bench in the bathing house of Pomona Gardens, her eyes closed as she waited for the rest of the men to change and bathe and leave.
“You good over there, Williams?” Tommy called out, and she lifted her hand and gave him a thumbs up.
“Just collecting myself,” she said.
While she needed to wait to change until the rest of the men had left and would prefer not to see any of them in states of undress when she had to play side by side with them every day, she also needed the time to recover. Her ribs ached as though someone had used her as a punching bag, while the rest of her body didn’t feel particularly pleasant either.
She would have to come up with quite an excuse for her maid not to question this.
“Good game,” she heard the men say to one another as they finally began to file out of the room.
“See you at the pub, Williams?” Mickey asked, his voice slowly fading, meaning he was leaving.
