15
Maeve
THERE WAS A LOW, uneasy weight sitting in my stomach that I couldn’t quite shake loose.
It had been there the moment I opened my eyes that morning—quiet, persistent, like something had settled wrong overnight and refused to shift no matter how many times I tried to ignore it.
The first day of the match should have felt different. At least, that’s what I’d hoped for. Like stepping into something charged and alive.
Instead, everything felt slightly off-kilter, as if I was moving through a space that no longer quite fit me.
The day had been chaos from the start—assessments, warm-ups, last-minute adjustments, voices overlapping in corridors, the constant shuffle of bodies and equipment as the entire squad prepared to walk out onto the field.
There was barely time to think.
Barely time to breathe.
And then I saw Rihaan.
And everything else dulled around the edges.
He was avoiding me.
Not in a way anyone else would notice. Not in a way that would raise questions or draw attention to our so called ‘truce’. He still moved through the same spaces, still followed the same routines we’d found during the training camp. But I had learned him too well in the time to know.
I knew the difference between his silence and his stillness.
I knew the way he usually filled space without meaning to—small comments thrown over his shoulder, dry remarks under his breath, the occasional argument over music in the treatment room that never really was an argument.
We had found something in between us over the last few weeks. Not friendship. Not quite. But a rhythm that didn’t require effort anymore.
Today, that rhythm was gone.
When he came in this morning for his shoulder and wrist taping, he didn’t look at me, once.
He sat when told. Held still when asked. Answered when spoken to.
But only in fragments.
A nod that barely counted as one. A grunt instead of a reply.
A clipped yes or no that felt like it had been cut off before it could become anything more.
Usually, when I turned the sessions to completely focus on his pain, he’d find a way to keep the conversation going.
Like the silence made him more uncomfortable than the pain itself.
Even Faroq tried to draw him in at one point, talking about the upcoming F1 season the way he sometimes did when the room was quiet enough.
Usually, Rihaan would have picked it up, happy to talk about the insights his older brother had shared with him.
Even when it was something that made the conversation stretch a little longer than it needed to.
Almost like he was trying to test my curiosity.
Today, he didn’t even lift his head.
Just stared at the floor like it had become the only thing worth looking at.
I noticed the tension in his jaw when I worked around his shoulder, his tattoos finding my focus more times than I could count. But then I noticed the way his fingers flexed against the edge of the table when I taped his dominant wrist, like he was holding something in place by force alone.
He was in pain.
I knew that much. Still, I didn’t push. There had been too much happening around him already. Too many moving parts. Too many expectations pressing in from every direction.
So I told myself it was just that.
Just exhaustion from a long day.
By the time we finished, he was already pulling his shirt back into place, movements efficient, almost mechanical, like he was trying to finish the interaction before it had a chance to linger.
“Thanks.” He simply said, without giving me a chance to reply, or ask.
The door swung shut behind him, and I found myself watching it a second too long, like I expected him to come back through it. I couldn’t place the reason why it hurt, why something in my stomach tightened.
“Did you guys have—”
“I’ll be back,” I cut off Faroq before he could finish his question, my feet moving before my brain could catch up to my actions.
I found him just outside the room, walking with that same clipped pace, shoulders set like he was trying to outrun something that wasn’t behind him.
“Hey.”
He didn’t stop. It was as though the words didn’t even seem to register.
“Wait.”
Still nothing.
My steps quickened without me deciding to.
“Rihaan.” Maybe it was the way I’d said his name. Like I was pleading for something. Or maybe it was the hint of desperation. Whatever it was, it made him pause.
Once I was close enough, my hand shot out of it’s own command, but I stopped myself before I could touch him. “What’s wrong?”
He let out a rough breath, before he replied. “Nothing.”
My brows pinched together as I took in his tone.
When silence hovered us for a beat longer, he finally looked at me. “Something I forgot?”
“Don’t do that.”
His shoulders rose with a slow inhale, like he was steadying something inside himself before he turned completely in my direction.
Unfortunately for me, there was nothing open in his face. Only restraint. The same expression he’d worn the first day during the squad meet.
My stomach dropped.
“Leave me alone, Maeve.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Not because of what they were—but because of how cleanly they were delivered. No hesitation. No edge of humour. Nothing to soften the impact. Just distance.
I stared at him, searching for something underneath it. “What happened between now and three days ago?”
“What?” He frowned.
“You were fine with me the other day. You’ve been fine with me since we called it a truce. So what happened?”
He blinked, remaining silent as I captured my lower lip between my teeth, trying—and failing—to read his body language.
I hated that I noticed it was the first time I couldn’t do this. I hated that it felt like I was gaining his trust, and suddenly he woke up and decided to take it all back. I hated that I cared.
I finally muttered. “You’ve barely spoken to me all day.”
“So?” The word landed like a door closing, but I kept my foot to keep it from slamming shut.
“So, you’re being weird,” His jaw tightened, a small muscle jumping near his cheek. I folded my arms, trying to hold my ground even as something in my chest started to feel too tight. “Why do you always have to be so hot and cold? We have a truce remember?”
Something strange flickered across his expression before his eyes sharpened. Like he genuinely couldn’t believe that I was bringing this up.
“Again with this truce. I may have agreed to work with you, but trust me, I haven’t moved past what happened.”
“I don’t doubt that,” I quipped back, voice tightening despite myself. “That’s why I’m asking, like an adult, instead of hoping you’d read my mind miraculously. So. What’s wrong?”
He stared at me for a long moment. Then let out a clipped, humourless laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.” I replied instantly.
His gaze held mine. “On one condition.”
“What?”
“Answer the question Raina asked you on the beach.”
I faltered, but he didn’t care as he stepped closer.
“Why did you write that paper on me?” Something in his voice made my stomach drop. He stepped closer again and it was enough to make the space between us smaller.
“Over the last couple of days,” he continued, voice tightening, “between the press conference, the interviews, social media…do you have any idea how much of a microscope I’ve been under?”
I pressed my lips together, taking a step back—for my own sake. Because the proximity was suddenly chilling. It didn’t matter that the sparks I felt had left a fire in my stomach, the…resentment in his voice had woken me up.
“Twelve hours.” He said, his voice louder this time. The disbelief was evident too, almost like even after two days, he refused to believe it. “The media berated the entire board for almost twelve hours. Have you even seen it? The headlines they’ve written about the entire panel. Your father.”
“Before your research paper,” he continued, each word measured now, controlled in a way that made it worse, “there wasn’t a scratch on my career.
Not one. A month and a half ago, nobody was questioning my fitness, my bowling, my decisions.
Nobody was digging through my history trying to turn it into a headline.
And yesterday, I was left for the vultures to eat me away too. ”
My throat tightened.
A bitter exhale left him when all I could do was stare at him.
“You want to know the worst part? Ever since I’ve been part of this team, your father has ran a tight ship,” he went on, voice lower now, edged with something heavier.
“I know you know that. There hasn’t been a single scandal around me because he makes sure there isn’t.
Every media piece is handled before it ever sees the light of day.
My career has been protected from this kind of shit for years. ”
He shook his head once, like he couldn’t quite believe it.
“And then you published a paper without even telling him. So, now, they’ve finally got something to latch onto.
After almost a year since the last scandal, which barely moved anyone because the said player got fired—they’ve finally got something to use as click bait.
So, they win. You got a promotion. So, you win.
All the while the people who made calculated decisions are being dragged through the mud.
And, now, you think I need to uphold this truce of ours, for your sake? ”
I couldn’t reply.
Because I didn’t have an answer that didn’t make it worse.
Because I hadn’t thought it would become this.
Because I hadn’t thought about him like this.
His eyes held mine for a second longer.
Then something in his expression shifted.
Not anger, or hurt. But something more dull.