Rihaan
STEAM CLUNG TO MY skin as I stepped back into my room, the lingering heat easing the weight that had sat between my shoulders all day. The shower hadn't solved anything, but it had dulled the sharp edges enough for me to breathe without feeling like I was carrying a storm around in my chest.
I grabbed my damp towel and the pile of clothes I'd abandoned on the floor over the last few days before padding across the hall to the laundry room. Tossing everything into the hamper, I made my way back downstairs.
Soft voices murmurs between Oliver and Raina travelled to me just as I reached the landing. I couldn't make out the words, but I recognised enough to know that I absolutely didn’t want to be near them.
Ignoring the low rumble that vibrated through my stomach, and rather than heading toward the kitchen, I slipped underneath the staircase and pushed open the small French doors tucked beside the reception room.
They swung inward with a quiet creak, revealing the narrow storage room that connected to the living area.
I slipped inside, easing the doors shut behind me before crossing to the opposite end.
Another set of French doors waited there, opening directly into the living room.
Straight across from them sat the one space in the house that belonged entirely to me.
My gaming room.
Stepping inside, the LEDs blinked to life the moment I flicked the switches, washing the walls in cool shades of pink and purple while my monitors glowed awake one after another.
The familiar hum of my PC filled the silence, steady and comforting, wrapping around me like background static that somehow made everything else quieter.
It was my little escape pod.
No expectations.
No conversations.
Just me.
Another low growl echoed from my stomach, stronger this time and I sighed, wandering over to the mini fridge tucked beneath the counter, more out of habit than hunger.
After finding nothing that appealed to me inside the fridge, I reached into the cupboard beside it and rummaged through the collection of snacks.
My fingers brushed against a familiar bag.
Oven-baked Cheese and Jalapeno crisps.
I stared at it for a moment before a short sigh slipped out of me. At how a meaningless item before then had somehow been the same thing to remind me of the person I didn’t want to think about.
All because it had been the exact same brand she'd been carrying last week.
I closed the cupboard, sank into my gaming chair, and let the bag rest against my lap. The leather sighed beneath my weight as I leaned back, shutting my eyes.
The room faded as the memory surfaced before I could shove it back down.
And, despite every intention of thinking about anything else—like how I’d planned when I’d stepped into this room—my mind wandered straight back to the moment I'd crashed into her.
Two years ago.
A memory hadn’t thought about in a long, long time.
2 years ago
House 47, Manchester
THE LOUD HOUSE MUSIC was almost enough to pull an Irish goodbye, but I was promised a good time; and a good time was yet to be had.
Although, I wasn’t exactly sure this was the place I’d have it.
The entire club seemed to pulse with the bass, every beat vibrating through the floor and up my legs.
Blue and purple lights flashed across the dance floor, making it impossible to focus on anything for longer than a second.
People packed every corner of the room, shouting conversations over music that was far too loud to begin with.
Matt, meanwhile, looked like he'd found heaven.
He was somewhere across the VIP booth, arm slung over the shoulders of one of his teammates while they laughed over something I couldn't hear, while a girl—or rather a puck bunny, as one of his teammates liked to say—showered him with attention lazily.
Someone had ordered bottle service fifteen minutes ago, and every time another bottle appeared, the whole section erupted like they'd won another trophy.
I took another sip of my drink and glanced around the room, hoping that I’d find the distraction I’d been so desperate to find half an hour ago when I’d called Matt.
It wasn’t like this wasn’t my scene. Hell, we’d won one of the toughest match we’d had in a while, this was exactly my scene, but after everything that had happened today, I wanted to do something that would help me drown out every single thought that ran in my head.
And sure, sometimes a drink—or four—would help me do just that, but…I’d wanted something more.
Truth was, after everything that had happened this year, I’d thought maybe, just maybe…things would be different.
After spending years of my life reaching for the stars, I'd finally found my way to them. After years of trying to prove to my father that I had what it took, that all the time we'd spent together hadn't been a waste, despite how often he'd implied otherwise, I'd finally made it.
But for some reason, it just wasn’t enough.
Deep down, there sat a part of me that was as lost as the day Ma had left us—me.
At thirteen, a part of me couldn’t understand how someone could abandon her own kids.
At twenty-three, that question lingered, settling into the quiet corners of my mind where no achievement could reach it. Now more than ever.
It had been almost seven years since she passed, and between the mess that was the Patel household, I was no closer to settling that feeling.
What hurt the most was that even in her journal…
there hadn’t been a part of her that regretted leaving me, and I often wondered if the rose-coloured glasses were the doing of my father, or my oldest brother Dev—
The crackle of bottle sparklers tore through the haze in my mind. My thoughts scattered, the ghosts of old memories retreating as I blinked back into the present. Laughter, music, clinking glasses. The club rushed back all at once.
This isn’t working.
Tossing back the drink I’d left in my crystal glass, I searched for Matt.
He was caught up in a conversation with the puck bunny from earlier, completely engrossed.
Feeling my stare, his eyes found mine. A grin spread across his face as he lifted the champagne bottle in his hand, silently offering me a drink.
I shook my head and tipped it toward the bar instead, letting him know I needed something stronger.
As much as I’d preferred leaving, what was I going to do?
Go back to the hotel?
Back to the room where my father was almost certainly waiting for me? All so he could continue the lecture he'd started after the match?
The thought alone made me want to poke my own eye out.
I'd already heard enough for one evening.
I swear, sometimes he acted like he had no idea what it was like to be out there on the pitch with the opposition's captain making comments between overs, or what it felt like to be pushed to the point where you just snapped.
Normally I'd ignore it, considering I’d built a tolerance with him as my coach.
But today, I'd snapped.
We were so close to winning back to back championships, that when I’d finally mouthed off, I’d learnt that he couldn’t take it back.
And before I knew it, we were standing chest to chest in the middle of the field, both yelling loud enough for half the stadium to hear. Umpires stepped in before either of us did something we'd regret, and after another minute of arguing, I'd been told to sit out the rest of the match.
It had been humiliating.
Even worse, we'd still won.
Which meant everyone focused on me instead of the result.
By the time we'd made it back to the hotel, Dad had already heard every version of the story.
Apparently players with real discipline didn't lose their tempers.
Apparently I'd embarrassed the club.
Apparently I'd embarrassed myself.
But worst of all, I’d embarrassed him, and the Patel legacy.
It didn't matter that it was my second season, and I’d been the best player the country had ever seen.
Didn’t matter how after Oliver’s injury, the media had been focused on me, and until now there hadn’t been a single mess behind me.
Didn't matter that I still spent every spare minute training because ‘rest was for the weak.’
To him, one mistake outweighed everything else.
It always seemed to.
That's why I'd called Matt.
When we’d realise that we had overlapping matches in the same city, he’d invited me to hang out with his crew, but out of respect for mine—I’d declined him. Win or lose, we’d always done that together. Even after Durham; when the team had performed on a historically new low.
But tonight, I didn’t need to be the cricketer everyone expected.
Tonight, I didn’t need to be a cricketer at all.
For once, all I wanted was to be just another bloke in a crowded night club, trying to find a distraction worth his time.
Reaching the polished counter, I let my gaze run around as I waited for the bartender.
Over the years, I’d had plenty of one night stands.
It wasn’t like it was a regular thing—No.
Just because relationships simply weren't my thing, it didn’t meant I was out looking for a hookup each night.
Even when touring around the country—let alone the world—gave me plenty of opportunities to do that.
It’s because I simply needed there to be a spark, some kind of chemistry to get me to escalate things further.
Realistically, relationship would be easier, but truthfully, I had never seen the appeal of promises that outlasted the moment, not with the example I had and I wasn't embarrassed to admit I'd never had a real relationship.
Not even a proper fling. Well... unless anyone wanted to count the awkward, short-lived crushes back at boarding school. They never did, and neither had I.