Game on, Love (Pitch and Pits #1)

2

Oliver

THE PLACE WAS PACKED.

The air was thick with the relief and happiness of another championship win. My teammates and I were in high spirits, celebrating another successful season and the hard work we all put into it. The familiar roar of laughter and clinking glasses filled the space.

The season had started with some of our lowest lows, but the wait for this night was worth it.

I stood by the bar, nursing a pint and basking in the afterglow of victory, as I thought about being in this exact spot two years ago.

Then, winning the county championship had been a dream come true, but I was still a kid with a dream. It didn’t matter that the King name was etched into the fabric of English cricket; I had yet to make a name for myself. But in the past year, everything had changed. Up until last year, I’d played in every major stadium in the world, been named the Batsman of the Year twice, had more than a dozen centuries under my belt, and had made and broken records. But each time I stepped out on that pitch, I carried the weight of my history, and still, the game only made me feel more alive than anything.

There’s always an assumption that being a fourth-generation cricketer must be some enormous burden—that I’d be crushed under the expectations, the comparisons and the headlines that screamed “Legacy of the Kings” any time I scored a century or saved a game. What they didn’t know was: I didn’t mind it one bit. In fact, I never really felt it creep up the back of my mind.

It wasn’t cockiness; I knew how hard I worked for where I was. Sure, I had the genetics, but I also had talent, and I let my game speak for itself.

In many ways, it helped that my dad raised me to never think of anything other than me. He knew the pressure of being a generational cricketer, and though he had fallen in love with the sport, he wanted me to have a choice. He’d say, “Oliver, you’re not out there to be a King. You’re out there to be you. It’s a beautiful game, and it deserves the respect of being loved. When you step on the pitch, it should be about just you, a bat in your hands and the ball flying towards you.” I used to find it funny, but when I played my first match, I understood what he meant and that simple truth was what kept me grounded.

Guilt crept up my spine the more I thought about him. He should be here.

The man who taught me how to play, who’d been my idol, was now fighting a different kind of battle, one that didn’t involve cricket.

The one battle that changed the course of my life and the love of my game.

A heavy slap on my back jolted me from my thoughts.

“You alright?” I turned to see Rihaan grinning at me, his usual easygoing personality shining through.

Rihaan Patel, an all-rounder and, like me, a third-year player, was more than just a teammate to me. I had known him since I was a teenager. Having gone to the same boarding school and spending summers together as our Dad’s coached us made us friends, but as we grew older, became part of the same team and travelled the world together, we became family.

“Yeah, just lost in my head for a bit,” I replied, returning his grin.

Rihaan laughed, the sound infectious. “Don’t get too lost, man. We’ve got a championship to celebrate!” He raised his glass, and I clinked mine against it. Rihaan had his issues, but if there was anyone who could persuade you to let loose and have fun like there’s no tomorrow, he would be the one I’d call. But sometimes, his definition of fun meant sitting on a couch for twelve hours, playing video games as he muted the rest of the world out.

“Here’s to another great season and good friends,” I said, the words feeling more meaningful than just a toast. Rihaan had been there for the highs and lows.

With Dad completely disappearing out of the public eye, the media were hanging onto me like leeches, and there were more occasions than I could count when he had happily provided a distraction and easily shifted the spotlight on himself. He hadn’t asked why; he just did it to protect me. Thankfully, now the off-season was about to begin, we both could catch a break from them.

“To the best damn team and friends around,” Rihaan agreed, his eyes twinkling with pride and gratefulness.

We both took a long drink, savouring the moment. Rihaan leaned against the bar, looking out at the crowd. “This place is buzzing tonight,” he observed, his gaze scanning the room.

“Yeah, it’s a good turnout...”I scanned the room again, more aware of my surroundings this time, recognising the familiar faces in the chaos before I felt my heart quicken.

I had never seen her before this moment. Still, as her eyes darted around the room, her body language screaming she didn’t want to be here, didn’t want anyone to notice she was here, I couldn’t help but .

Her fingers fidgeted slightly, betraying her discomfort, yet something was undeniably magnetic about her. The way her dark hair framed her face, falling in soft waves, her skin glowed like bronze dipped in honey.

Woah.

“Got your eye on someone?” I had heard him, but it was as if my brain didn’t register. I was frozen in my spot.

She hadn’t even looked at me once; no, it was clear she was searching for someone else, but she had shifted something in me.

I had never felt this captivated by someone before, and I wasn’t sure what led up to it either.

In a sea of strangers, finding her had felt like being hit by a wave that I couldn’t see coming, but instead of being drowned by it, for the first time, I found myself being pulled in, as though something deeper in my soul was finally finding peace.

I never grew up with the notion of knowing what love meant. It was merely a feeling, something only a few were fated with.

The only love I had known all my life was Cricket.

And it was the only thing that mattered.

It needed all my attention, my unwavering focus. Perfection wasn’t a relentless pursuit—the practice, the strategy, the game, it was the only passion that ever truly defined me.

It was in my blood.

So when I had nodded, indicating I did have an eye on someone.

That’s all it took.

My drink was out of my hand, and I was being pushed away.

“What exactly are you doing?” I grumbled, and even though I was taller and even if he never admitted it, stronger, than him, I was unable to resist.

Maybe I wanted to go.

I shook the feeling off. I didn’t have time for this.

“Oliver, you know you are a great friend, but I am a brilliant friend. You have only three things in your life right now: Cricket, your Dad and your cookbooks,” I stopped in my place, giving him a sharp look that made him chuckle. “Look, take this as a sign from the lord you don’t believe in, or just take it as you being a lucky bastard, and go find your lucky number 4.”

Rihaan winked, and for a moment, it felt like he was onto something before I watched his face drain of all playfulness. “Dad, what’s up?”

My own body stiffened. I didn’t even need to turn around to feel the disapproval radiating from the man behind me.

Vikram Patel was an intimidating man. Growing up I had known him for his ruthless plays against my Dad, someone who was among the best and who would go down in history as a legend. There was a time I had looked up to him, the stories my Dad had told me about his calculated plays still fresh in my mind. But the more I had learned about him, the less I saw him as the cricketing genius everyone believed him to be and more as the man who held Rihaan under his thumb—controlled him like a chess piece, and right now, that control was written all over Rihaan’s face.

“Did you know what your brothers were planning?” Vikram’s voice was low, a chill seeping into his words as I turned.

Rihaan’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Vikram’s jaw clenched, and his glare could’ve turned a weaker man to stone. “They brought her here.”

There it was—barely a few words, and just like that, it was enough to get in his head. Rihaan’s body went rigid next to me. He was caught off guard, blindsided by the whole situation.

As though reviling in the fact that his son was as ambushed as him, he shook his head and, without another word, turned and walked away, leaving Rihaan stiff as a statue.

I scanned the room, hoping to find either of his brothers who could explain what in the world was going on, but instead, I found the pair of eyes I had been wanting to see already waiting for me.

I recognised the guy next to her, but before I could connect the dots, Dev appeared next to me.

Dev was only two years older than Rihaan, but having seen their Dad moments ago, it was jarring how similar they looked. I mentally checked myself, knowing if I ever said it out loud, no matter how close I was to these guys, I would be sending myself to an early grave.

“What the actual fuck?” My eyes widened in surprise. I could count the number of times Rihaan cursed on a single hand, and all of those times, he was close to being black-out drunk. Rihaan and hard liquor were enemies who pretended to be lovers, and once he reached that high, he was a broken-hearted puppy, which was exactly how I’d learned about his complicated relationship with his dad and his siblings.

Dev, on the other hand, wasn’t phased at all. He rolled his eyes as he finished his drink in one gulp.

“Don’t look at me, this was all Vedant.” Twin brother or not, he sounded like he wanted to send Vedant to an early grave.

“What was all me?” We all could hear the smile in his voice as he joined our conversation.

“Raina,” Rihaan’s voice was sharp, his eyes pointed in a narrow glare.

It was subtle, the falter in his expressions and truthfully, with the stare-off they all were in, I wasn’t quite sure they noticed it.

Vedant just shrugged, his eyes slowly darting off to scan the room. “Just keeping my promise.”

His gaze was fixed on someone, and he must’ve found her. I followed his line of sight, which was drawn to her.

Her nervousness had disappeared as she stared at our group with narrowed eyes.

It couldn’t be.

She lifted her chin as the guy next to her grabbed her hand and pulled her in our direction.

I felt the wind being knocked out of me as I tried to focus on the conversation happening in front of me.

“—It was after your match with Durham that you woke me up with your screaming fest.” Vedant looked visibly uncomfortable bringing up this conversation, and by the look on Rihaan’s face, it was another one of his drunk moments. Durham was a shit show. We had lost the match brutally .

“You found the letter I had from Ma.”

All colour from Rihaan’s face was gone. He opened his mouth but closed it again as he turned his attention to their sister.

Their sister.

This time, when I looked in her direction, just for a snap of a second, her eyes met with mine, and, in that moment, I felt that shift in me.

What was a wave before felt like a gentle tide. It wasn’t just pulling me in, it was both of us, and when she stopped in her step for a second, I knew she felt it, too.