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Chapter Thirty

C olin wasn’t sure what to expect when he walked through the door of the bathhouse at Pomona Gardens.

After a few moments of shocked silence, however, a cry of delight rose through the team, with Tommy standing and walking over to him, patting him a few times on the back, stopping when he noted Colin’s wince.

Colin had been worried that he would be late, and the match, everything he had worked for, and all that Lily had done for him, could be lost. But he hadn’t wanted to risk arriving on time, in case the constables were waiting to make good on that arrest warrant before the game even started.

As it was, he’d had to walk around the back of the field to the bathhouse so that the constables standing in front of the stands didn’t see him.

He wasn't sure whether they were there to keep an eye on the match and the crowd or to look for him, but he wasn’t about to take any chances.

He met Rhys’s eyes from across the room, catching the quick flash of respect before the captain’s usual humor – or lack of – returned.

"Cutting it a bit fine, aren't we, Thornton?" Rhys said, lifting a brow as he tightened the laces on his boots. His eyes narrowed in on Colin’s gingerly walk across the room to his usual place. "What's the matter with you?"

"Just a knock," Colin says, trying to mask the strain in his voice. "Nothing to worry about."

“Does it have anything to do with the fact that I was told you wouldn’t be playing today, and now here you are, practically limping across the room? You won’t be any use to us if you have to sit out early in the game.”

“Montgomery’s ruffians roughed him up,” Tommy interjected before Colin could say anything. Colin shot him a look, but Tommy just shrugged.

“They should know, Colin. Montgomery has framed Colin for theft and is trying to have him arrested. In the meantime, the earl has been interfering with our club, trying to sabotage us in every game we have played. That’s where the money has gone, Rhys.

He’s got Pritchard in his hooks, and he’s likely not the only one. ”

“Pritchard, the bookkeeper?”

“That’s the one.”

Colin’s eyes flicked over to Mickey, sitting in the corner, his head hanging low.

Colin knew what it was like to be desperate enough to do anything it took to take care of those around you, and Mickey had a family of his own. Yet he had still acted the traitor to all of them, which Colin could never understand.

He lifted his shirt to change, feeling all eyes on him, and when he slipped the other shirt over his head, he found his teammates staring at him in shock.

“What in the hell happened to your ribs?” Felix asked, his jaw dropping.

“It’s a long story,” Colin replied, not wanting to completely remove their focus from the game, or cause any of them concern.

“You sure you can play?” Rhys asked again, serving only to annoy Colin.

"I'll manage," Colin insisted, glad that his kit and boots were ready. He looked to Tommy, who gave him a slight nod, telling him that he had arranged all of this. He glanced around at the others, reading skepticism on some faces, encouragement on others. "Are we ready, lads?”

“Ready!” they all said. It wasn’t loud, but the intensity radiated throughout the room, enough that Colin felt a tingle up his spine.

This was it. They might not have much, but they had each other, which was what a true team was made of.

He could only hope that Tommy telling them of Montgomery’s subterfuge would rally them together and wouldn’t make Mickey do anything rash.

As he was about to walk out the door, a large hand fell onto his shoulder, and Colin turned to find Rhys standing behind him.

“We have much to discuss,” he said in a low, gravelly voice, “but we can wait until after this match. Until then, take care of yourself, you hear me? We have to look out for each other.”

Knowing what this game meant to Rhys, Colin could only nod, his gaze moving from his captain to those beyond him.

He looked around for any threat, anyone who might prevent him from taking the field, but finding no impediment, he jogged out, each step causing a slight throb to stab through him, but it was bearable enough that he was sure it would subside once the game began.

The stands rose around them like a living creature, buzzing with spectators and anticipation.

This was it—whoever won this game would move on to the championship match, one that Colin had never imagined he would actually be a part of.

This was his chance to prove himself in front of his home crowd, to be more than the poor son who had left his education because he had no choice but to make a living by whatever means necessary.

He looked for Lily in the crowd, but there were so many people, it was difficult to see any one person in particular, although he could have sworn he felt pulled to the top left corner of the stands. He could only hope she was there, watching him, while keeping herself safe and out of any trouble.

Lord Nathaniel better not come anywhere near her, especially when Colin couldn’t be any help to her. All he could do was trust Lily to stay close to her family and Emmaline, and for her father and her friend to look after her.

He would do what he did best – besides loving her.

He took his position, trying to block out everything but the game and the rising din of the crowd.

Until his gaze snagged on one man, standing at the field level in the bottom corner of the stands, just within Colin’s viewpoint.

Montgomery.

Even from halfway across the field, Colin could sense the disdain in his features, likely because of Colin taking the field, which was not part of his plans.

Montgomery looked from him to the constables and back again, only from what Colin could tell, he didn’t plan to do anything – yet. He was only trying to get in his head.

Colin refused to let him.

A scruffy, pockmarked fellow walked up to Montgomery, and Colin could have sworn money changed hands, but just as the man scuttled away, mingling with the throng, the ball was put into play as Rhys sent it flying across the field to Tommy.

The match erupted around him, and Colin’s world narrowed to the field, holding only the players and the ball. Pain lanced through him as he ran, a constant reminder of his precarious state, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the flow of the game.

The Athletics were as fast and ruthless as he knew they would be, taking early possession, but Colin and the rest of his Manchester Central teammates fought back with a dogged intensity that seemed to surprise their opponents.

With renewed determination a few minutes in, Colin wrested the ball away from an Athletics player and sending it flying across the field toward Felix, hearing the roar of approval from the crowd – well, at least half the crowd.

The Athletics had packed their supporters into the stands, which now appeared to be full.

Felix shot the ball toward the keeper, slipping it past him and through the goalposts. His team swarmed him, and he accepted their congratulations before they all quickly returned to the work at hand, for there was so much left to do.

They had barely regrouped when a trio of the Athletics players surged forward with the ball, taking on only two Manchester Central defenders.

Mickey leaped forward to try to take the ball from one of them, who deftly passed it across the field, hitting his teammate, who sent it flying into the goal.

Colin studied Mickey, uncertain of whether he had made the play on purpose or whether it was a stroke of bad luck.

“You all right, Mick?” he called out.

Mickey nodded, but his face was nearly green. “Fine,” he said, turning his face away from Colin’s pointed stare.

The game continued, no one team dominating, but a steady back and forth. If Colin wasn’t so wary about what underhanded methods Montgomery might employ, he would have enjoyed himself and the best game he had played in a long time.

He didn’t miss the growing number of constables lining the field, and he wondered how many were for him and how many were to hold back the restless crowd that was growing louder as the game advanced.

He was ready for anything.

However, he was taken by surprise at just what Montgomery sent for them next.

Lily wasn’t sure if it was because of all she had shared with her father, or because of the importance of the game and her father’s insistence on having the best viewpoint possible, but he had allowed her to sit in the stands today, albeit in the covered area reserved for those who could afford it.

A kaleidoscope of hats surrounded her, most of them belonging to men.

Emmaline, of course, was sitting beside her – although sitting was a stretch, for so far, she had spent most of the game alternating between standing, jumping, and sitting for the briefest of periods.

At one point, she had even stepped onto the bench behind her, but her father, who was also present, had frowned at that and encouraged her off of it.

Lily was watching the game keenly; however, her eyes were not on the ball nor any of the other players – they were on Colin and Colin alone, who she had immediately spotted in the middle of the melee.

He was playing injured, that much was obvious, but there was still an unmatched determination in the way he moved, a relentless drive that made her breath catch.

As worried as she was, her gloved fingers clutched the edge of her seat, anticipation threading through her with every play.

Half had just been called when motion caught her eye from below, and she gasped when a group of ruffians, their ill intent obvious, wormed their way onto the edge of the field, across from the stands where all the constables stood.

The crowd saw them coming before the players did, an uproar gathering as the men, two of them armed with clubs, swarmed toward the Manchester Central bench.