Page 86 of The Hellion and the Captain
They would deal with all of it later.
After they won this football match.
“We’ve got this,” he yelled to his teammates, clapping his hands together. “Let’s go!”
They needed no further encouragement as they lined up in front of him while Rhys took the ball on the sideline and kicked it into play.
Colin took the ball as Emmaline ran up the field next to him — perhaps a bit slower than usual, but despite the pain she must be feeling, her jaw was set in determination.
Rhys watched her in awe, marveling at her resilience and skill. While he would have preferred that she was recovering at home or in the bathhouse, he couldn’t help his swell of pride seeing her out there, giving her all for the team. The other Manchester Central players rallied around her, their passes crisp and purposeful as they worked to create scoring opportunities.
He could hardly believe that none of them had argued about playing with a woman — that they had, in fact, been more accepting than he had been when he had first discovered Emmaline’s identity. They had been playing with her for some time now, yet they didn’t seem to begrudge the fact that she had lied to them about who she was this entire season.
The Athletics fought them hard, desperate to win. They pressed forward relentlessly, testing Manchester Central’s defense. But Rhys’s men held strong, determined not to concede. Hardy made a spectacular diving save against Harrington, his fingertips just grazing the ball to deflect it wide as the breath left Rhys’s lungs in a whoosh.
Time ticked down, the tension mounting with each passing second. Rhys glanced at his pocket watch – only about a minute remained. They needed a goal, and they needed it now.
Colin won the ball in midfieldand surged forward, dancing past two defenders. He looked up, spotting Emmaline making a run toward the goal. With a perfectly weighted pass, he found her in stride.
Emmaline collected the ball and then feinted left, sending the last defender sprawling, before cutting back onto her right foot. The keeper rushed out to close the angle, but Emmaline was too quick. With a deft flick of her boot, she lifted the ball over his outstretched arms and into the far corner of the net.
As the ball rolled down the field, the crowd erupted in a deafening roar. Rhys leapt into the air, pumping his fist in jubilation. Emmaline wheeled away in celebration, her teammates mobbing her in elation, although they were careful of her shoulder.
In the stands, even Emmaline’s brothers couldn’t help but cheer, caught up in the moment’s emotion. Theyshouldbe happy — their sister had just scored what would likely be the championship-winning goal.
The final whistle blew moments later, confirming Manchester Central’s triumph. Rhys raced across the pitch, embracing Emmaline, mindful of her injury as he kept enough distance between them to prevent the embrace from turning romantic. Tears of joy — and maybe pain — streamed down her face as she cradled one arm against her chest and pounded his back fiercely with the other.
“You did it,” Rhys whispered in her ear, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so proud of you, Emmaline.”
“Wedid it,” she corrected him, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Together. As a team. As a family.”
Around them, their teammates celebrated wildly as the Athletics began to trickle off the field toward their own bathhouse.
Rhys left Emmaline’s side for just a moment to shake Harrington’s hand. The opposing captain glanced overRhys’s shoulder just once, likely at Emmaline, but said nothing before following the rest of his teammates off the field.
Soon enough, the opposing team was replaced by men Rhys recognized as the club committee members to whom he made his monthly reports, led by Lord Harcourt.
“Lord Cartwright is bringing out our Cup,” he said, clapping Rhys on the back. “Good work, Lockwood.”
“Thank you, Lord Harcourt,” Rhys said, needing to do his thank you now, in case Emmaline’s identity came out into the open — for then Lord Harcourt likely wouldn’t be quite as thankful, especially if he knew that Rhys had played a role in the secret.
Rhys clapped his hands together. “Line up, Central!” he called out, and his team was soon lined up in a haphazard manner, Emmaline beside him.
Surprisingly, the club committee stood behind them, allowing the team to have this moment first.
Lord Cartwright stood behind the Cup. He was a tall man with a bushy, white mustache. He had been president of the Football Association for a few years now, and as far as Rhys knew, was a fair man and a good fit for the role.
“Rhys Lockwood, as captain of Manchester Central,” Lord Cartwright called out, “I present to you the Football Association trophy for 1875!”
Rhys walked over to him, taking the Cup from the man’s shaking, outstretched arms and lifting it over his head as his team and the followers erupted into cheers before starting a chant.
He passed the trophy down the field to his teammates, stopping to help Emmaline, who couldn’t hold it with her one good arm. He smiled as he shook his head incredulously at her, standing there with one hand in a sling, holding the arm close to her body. Rhys was torn between celebrating this momentand getting her away from here to rest and see to her injury once more.
Eventually, everyone had a turn seeing the cup, and friends and family of the players began to trickle onto the field.
Rhys’s mouth dropped as he suddenly saw who was walking toward him.
“Mother? Father?” he said, hustling toward them, noting Emmaline remained with him. “What are you doing here?”
