Game on, Love (Pitch and Pits #1)

24

Oliver

THE LIGHTS IN THE theatre dimmed as the ads flashed on the big screen, and I glanced at Raina. She was sitting in her chair, leaning backwards as though trying to relax, but as my gaze travelled to her hands and the way she played with the edges of her sleeves, it told me all that I needed to know. Without a second thought, I leaned across the arm between us and covered her hand.

While her brothers did their horror night, we’d decided to spend the day away from the house. It wasn’t anything new, really. I had done the same ever since I had learnt about their tradition. It wasn’t like I wasn’t a fan of psychological thrillers; I just didn’t understand the need to do a day's worth of marathon. I may have grown up in the city, but the summers were still very much spent at our family house in the countryside, and when it’s pitch black, and all you can see out your window is darkness… you learned to avoid a thing or two to save your peace.

So, I’d spent most of my day in training and doing more media bits, while Raina had spent the day at a shoot for her pre-race show. I didn’t particularly have any plans for the evening, so when she suggested tagging along with her to a documentary screening of all places, I said yes.

She had invited me, thinking as it would keep us out of the house, while also ticking one of her own things on her list, seeing it was a cricket documentary, but as we walked in, the staff behind the counter recognised me—as a customer—and Raina; we’d realised that we were both regulars at the same theatre and had been coming here for years. And just like that, it was another thing that tied us together.

She tapped the back of my hand, which was now nestled between both of her hands, her narrow gaze fixed on the screen. I tightened my hold before dipping my head near her ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Huh? Nothing,” She leaned away and met my eyes. “Why?”

“You’re anxious. I want to know why.”

She tugged on her bottom lip before replying. “I think this was a bad idea.”

“Why?” I couldn’t help but frown; coming here was her idea.

She hesitated, unsure of how to explain.

“We can go if you want, but I also want to know what’s wrong.”

She sighed before speaking. “When we were entering, I saw a different poster than I did when I looked it up.”

“Okay…”

“Your dad is in the documentary.”

A slow breath released from my lungs. “I know.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I’ve watched it before.”

“Oh,” She slumped in her seat. “Wait, why did you say yes to this then? We could’ve watched something else.”

“You wanted to watch this one,” I shrugged, and her expression softened.

Before she could say anything, the screen flashed with the title and stole her attention for a second before it was back on me.

“I’m okay,” I reassured her. “It’s actually one of my favourite ones he was in.”

She nodded, relaxing under my hold. I couldn’t help but smile as she turned back to the screen, and her expression turned into one of focus.

I’d watched this documentary only a handful of times before. It had the history of the sport, the cultural impact, the current formats—domestic and international, behind the scenes, training, the game and the legends who shaped what it was today, and My family was a prominent part of it.

A couple of years ago, when it originally came out, it was something I had watched with admiration, but after Dad got sick and I saw the man, he disappeared right in front of my eyes; each time I saw this, it filled me with the complicated tangle of pride and dread.

Knowing what awaited, I spent the majority of my time watching Raina. The way she leaned forward when an intense moment played or when they broke down the strategy of a shot—I couldn’t help but be filled with relief that she was genuinely able to enjoy something that meant everything to me.

Well, not everything. Not anymore.

Halfway through, when the footage transitioned to the era of my dad’s prime, I felt her shift slightly. From old footage of him at the crease, his unmistakable focus and confidence as he made and broke records to clips of different commentators and their evident respect for him, his game and his captaincy. His charisma on and off the field was displayed in his interviews, press conferences and candid moments he shared with his teammates.

The camera lingered on an iconic shot of my dad raising his bad after his last century at the Oval, the crowd roaring in the background, and a lump formed in my throat as the narrator spoke.

“ Often ahead of his time, his strategic approach to the sport wasn’t one without controversy. The Kings had a tradition of being too aggressive and too ruthless, but there is no denying the impact they had on the sport. And as Oliver King is set to make his debut in 2020, with an already stellar record in previous series, we can’t wait to see what kind of mark he brings to the sport.”

As the montage followed, my thoughts kept circling back to the comment. I had barely done anything to make a mark like the King men before I had, and I wondered if Dad was disappointed. There was never an expectation tied to me, but who was I if not my game?

A feather touch trailing on the back of my head pulled me out of my thoughts. “Do you agree with that?”

“With what?”

“Calling them ruthless… seems harsh for a sport that titles itself a gentlemen’s game.” She frowned as though almost offended for me, and a cool wave settled over me.

I brushed my thumb over hers, my focus back on the screen as the documentary shifted to different players. “I can only speak for my Dad. But even with him, it was more like he could be when he wanted to. He demanded a lot from his teammates, from himself….”

Too much , in the end. But I didn’t say that out loud. “He was magnetic, on and off the field. His mind worked out the game in a way I’ve never seen anyone else do it before, so to him, it never felt like a demand, rather than his norm.”

“That must be an impossible expectation.”

“For his teammates, yes. He never put it on me, though. He only ever asked one thing from me: to enjoy the game. But…”

“But instead of making you feel like it was an expectation, it made you feel like he didn’t believe in you,”

I nodded, and her eyes softened.

She waited for me to say something, and when I didn’t, her eyes flicked to the screen as they talked about the different formats, and she tilted her head.

“Why are they worried about T20s? Isn’t that bringing in a new generation of audience into the sport?”

I relaxed at the distraction. This , I could talk about.

“It is. The format made the sport… digestible for some and made it faster, but it has taken away the true essence of the sport. Test matches are about patience and endurance, and in comparison, T20s are fireworks.”

“But not everyone has five whole days to dedicate to a match.”

“Agreed, but T20s are constantly adapting their format to fit into the attention span of the new audience. Plus, commercialising it makes the sport be a hub for fixed matches and discourages viewers to get into the sport.”

She nodded thoughtfully like she was finding similarities between her world and mine.

We didn’t speak for the rest of the documentary, but the way she squeezed my hands every short while told me she wanted me to feel her presence, and each time she did it, the grounding feeling ran through me, doing exactly that.

Her willingness to understand the unspoken request and allow me my time to share things with her at my pace filled me with the same ever-so-consuming, rushing feeling.

As we walked out of the theatre and stepped out in the cold, I realised that our hands were still linked with each other. I wondered if she realised it, but on the chance she didn’t, I didn’t point it out.

Making our way to the tube, she broke the silence. “I really liked that documentary. Especially the way they had taken the shots on the field. I wonder how it all pulls through when they are filming.”

I smiled.

Of course, she noticed that.

I’d picked up that she loved the creative thinking that went into filming through her own content, almost like each frame meant something to her in her storytelling, even if it was a news piece. How did I know that? Well, I had already told her that I looked her up once, so nothing was stopping me from doing it again.

“Like the way they told the story, how they captured the emotions without making it too heavy but also making it enjoyable for both new watchers of the sport and avid fans.”

“Have you ever thought about creating one of your own?”

“A sports documentary?”

I nodded. “You’d be great at it.”

She frowned as though that idea hadn’t come across her before, but the small glint I noticed in her eyes told me that, now that it had, it wasn’t completely far-fetched.

When we reached the station, the familiar noise of the underground greeted us as we scanned in. The distinct hiss of the trains, the echoes of steps meeting the tiled floors and the chatter of the crowd filled our ears. Friday evenings meant chaos and cramped spaces, but as Raina walked slightly ahead of me, her movements were sure, like she had done it a thousand times before.

But tonight, the crowd was particularly thick, and while she knew exactly where she was going, I couldn’t help but slip my fingers through hers again. She glanced up at me, amusement playing in her eyes. “Afraid of getting lost?”

“More like afraid of losing you.”

She blinked, once, twice , like waiting for me to add something like ‘in the crowd,’ but I remained silent.

We stepped onto the platform just as the train arrived, the wind rushing as it screeched to a halt. The doors opened and people rushed in and out, and I guided us both inside the already crowded train. The only space left was the corner where the luggage was meant to sit or for people to lean against the small padded seat if they had no better option.

Knowing we had a small ride ahead of us, I nudged her gently so she wouldn’t get jostled by the crowd, sliding in the corner first. She wasn’t a germophobe, but her argument for outside clothes told me she also wasn’t one to lean against anything in the less-than-pristine state, which was the London Underground.

My shoulder blades touched the metal, my height giving me just enough advantage of the crowd to keep an eye out, but my attention was entirely on her.

Tugging her hand lightly, I pulled her against me. I was expecting a little back and forth about there barely being space for one person, but when she sagged a little against me, I wondered if the day was catching up to her.

“You tired?”

“A little,” She whispered just as we reached a stop, and I waited for people to get off the station. As soon as there was a little more space for her, I turned her and guided her to sit sideways on my thigh.

“What are you doing?” Her whispered voice was a mix of mortification and amusement. “I can’t sit on you. People will—”

“Mind their own business,” I replied easily, sliding my arm around her waist. “Look around, love. No one cares.”

“But—”

“No buts. You said you were tired, and we both know you would’ve refused if I asked you to swap places with me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

She glanced at me sideways. “Don’t be smug.”

“If that’ll help my case. Then,” I wiped my face of any emotions, and she sighed as she shook her head. “It’s twenty minutes, Gorgeous. Don’t worry about it.”

She took my words in and settled against me properly. Her body angled in my direction, her hair brushing against my jaw, her body gently relaxing more into mine by each second, and satisfaction hummed through me as I tightened my hold.

OPENING THE FRONT DOOR, I could hear the bass of the loud, creepy music playing in the theatre room.

Raina groaned softly. “They still aren’t done.”

“It’s the last one. Vedant said they’ll be done around this time.” I whispered before leaning closer to her. “You want to scare them?”

A glint flickered in her eyes as she turned to me.

“Yes,” She said it in such an obvious tone, like how it was even a question that made me chuckle. “Let’s wait for it to end, though.”

I grinned, completely chuffed that she was in on it. Locking the door behind her, we tiptoed our way to the top of the stairs, the muffled sounds echoing the first floor.

“Why would you go in there—you idiot!” Rihaan’s exasperated voice was barely audible as we reached the top of the stairs, and Raina had to cover her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

Nudging her into her room, I whispered. “What’s the plan?”

“Give me your phone,” she replied, and without asking, I slid it out of my pocket and handed it to her. She connected my phone to the home theatre, and I held my breath, expecting it to announce it like it always did, but as the loud bang from the movie filled the hallway at the same time, I relaxed.

As we waited for the movie to end, we placed our stuff on the ground and Raina looked up creepy sounds while I watched the theatre room.

After a couple of minutes, three shadows appeared on the floor, and I waved to her. She moved behind me, now holding Milo, and we watched them all leave with a half-traumatised expression caused by whatever gore-filled ending they’d watched. “Rihaan, this was literally the worst one you could’ve picked to end on.”

“I agree. Why do you have to pick the most random ones? There was no plot.”

Rihaan gave his older brothers a stupid look. “The plot was it was a scary movie.”

“And yet, you were the only one calling them idiots,” Vedant muttered, rubbing his temple.

“I’m not driving back after that. And I can’t even crash in the guest room,” Dev glared at Rihaan.

I looked over at Raina, raising a brow in question, and she gave me a nod, her eyes glimmering with mischief.

I had to press my lips from laughing as a chill-seeking rattling sound launched from the home speakers, echoing through the whole house. But Raina went a step ahead as she used the central lighting of the house to turn off all the lights.

“What the fuck—”

Raina turned on the lights in a flickering effect, and I caught the identical look on the faces. They all were frozen with an expression that said they were ready to bolt, and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. My laugh spilt out of me rapidly, and I felt Raina slap my back in an attempt to make me stop.

“Raina?” Dev called out, now mildly irritated but still clearly flustered.

I felt Raina release Milo in their direction, who raced to their feet, making the three of them jump. The chaos that followed after was exactly what I’d hoped for and had me falling to the ground, completely losing it.

Vedant shouted something incomprehensible as he tripped, making Milo hiss at Rihaan, who then yelped as he tried to get away while Dev cursed under his breath. I propelled myself using my arms, leaning back on the wall as I laughed, while Raina was laughing so hard I doubted if she could breathe.

“Oh my god ,” She said in between her laughs, wiping a few tears that had streaked down her cheek.

“Fucking hell,” Vedant clutched his chest like he’d just survived a near-death experience as she turned the lights back to normal.

Dev just shook his head, his eyes still wide. “That was…you two are insane.”

“Oh, you guys have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” I held my stomach, and the three annoyed gazes that were directed at Raina turned into a full-on glares towards me.

“This was your idea?” Rihaan asked as he frowned.

“Hey, it’s you three who wanted to have a full horror experience. Don’t blame us for giving you a taste of your own medicine,” Raina grinned. “Maybe this will teach you not to watch scary movies alone.”

“When I suggested you two do something together, I didn’t mean send us to an early grave,” Vedant scoffed, and she stuck her tongue out, walking towards them. My gaze followed her as she picked up Milo, but what caught my attention was the way Rihaan looked at me. His eyes were bouncing between me and his sister with a frown before he muttered something about going to bed, and I sighed.

I’d said to Raina that I had no intention of choosing between her and her brother, and I had every right to keep my word. I just maybe didn’t take into account that even though she chose to believe, he might not.