15 #2
“You want to know why I’m so hot and cold with you?
Because, Maeve—every time we make some kind of progress, I get a reality check.
I want to move past it, but how can I when it’s affecting the only thing I have in my life?
We’re stuck with each other, sure—but we’ll never be friends.
You’ve made it clear how you have plans to ask for a transfer once this tour is done.
Great. You can live with the consequences of your decisions, like you think I need to. ”
Rihaan took a step back, before pausing. “And you want to know what the worst part about this is?”
My voice quivered as the words left me easily. “What?”
“You haven’t even once apologised,” He muttered, making me pinch my brows. “You keep on saying how—”
He stopped himself at my expression, clearly mistaking my search for the accuracy of his words as a sign that I didn’t agree with him. Which, truthfully, I didn’t—but if some words was all it took to stop this mind fuck between us, I’d say them.
“Forget it.”
He turned.
“Wait—”
But he was already walking away.
“Rihaan.”
He didn’t stop.
I stood there, watching him disappear down the corridor, the sound of his footsteps fading too quickly.
And just before he turned the corner, he turned to give me one hard look. “Fuck this truce.”
THREE DAYS.
It had been three days since the truce I had clung to like it meant something solid, something real had been called off.
And this time, Rihaan came with all guns blazing.
I wished I could say that it didn’t bother me that Rihaan had barely said a word to me since that conversation.
Not a sarcastic comment. Not a passing remark. Not even the low, habitual grunt he used when he was too tired to form sentences but still wanted to acknowledge I existed in the same space as him.
Nothing.
But then it stretched into a second day.
And by the third day, it wasn’t something I could pretend away anymore.
It had become a presence of its own.
Heavy. Intentional. Directed.
Like he was actively choosing not to let me in.
I tried.
God, I tried.
I told myself it was fine—that he was angry, that he had every right to be, that people didn’t just reset after something like that.
I buried myself in work, in assessments, in taping wrists and shoulders and pretending the rhythm of it all could drown out the fact that he wouldn’t even look at me properly anymore.
But there was only so much pretending I could do when someone refused to meet your eyes.
But unlike me, my father had clearly reached his limit.
He called me into the office they’d assigned him, just before morning warm ups.
And the moment I stepped inside, I felt it—that quiet, sinking certainty that this wasn’t going to be a conversation I walked out of feeling lighter. I wasn’t meeting with my father who happened to coach the England Cricket Team. I was meeting with my boss, Coach Knox.
The room smelled faintly of coffee and liniment. Papers were scattered across his desk, half-ordered, half-forgotten. He didn’t offer me a smile.
“Sit.”
I obeyed instantly, settling into the chair opposite him.
The chair felt too firm beneath me, like it was bracing for impact.
He leaned back slowly, studying me in that way he had—like he was trying to read the version of me I hadn’t said out loud yet.
“I thought I asked you to sort your act out with him.”
“I know—”
“You told me you’d called a truce.”
“We did.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, not unkind, but tired in a way that made my stomach tighten.
“Then explain to me why Rihaan has spent the last Rihaan days acting like you’re radioactive.”
He continued, but my mind fixated on a single word.
Radioactive.
Like I was something to be avoided, something that burned on contact.
What I thought were sparks, he’d considered it to be friction. I looked down at my hands before I could stop myself. My fingers were already picking at the edge of my sleeve.
“Dr. Blackwood said, he’s barely speaking to you.
The whole point of you two working together was to move past this,” Coach continued.
“And this morning, when I asked his opinion on you stepping for field word, he told me—very colourfully, might I add—that if he’s expected to work with you in front of cameras, he’d rather bench himself. ”
The air in my chest shifted.
“What?”
“He’ll only let Faroq work on him out there.”
“That literally defeats the point why I’m here.”
“I know. So, what has happened between the end of camp and now?”
I rubbed my temple, the low thrum of a headache building beneath my fingers as my own defences rose high.
“It’s the media and press conference that switched his mood.
I went back to the archives to look at the bits he did, and maybe, he’s just upset that they’re targeting him.
So, in his colourful words, he told me ‘Fuck this truce’. ”
The silence that followed felt heavier than the words before it.
Coach rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to physically push the problem out of his head. Before he could add anything at all, Rihaan walked into his office.
“Coach? Coach Dikshit is looking for you—” He faltered when he noticed me.
My father pressed his lips together, his gaze flickering between me and Rihaan before he stood. “Did he clear you?”
“Yeah,” Rihaan nodded once. “But, I’d liked to be on the low order for today. Pain’s at a seven today.”
A sharp breath left me as my father nodded.
Just as Rihaan turned to leave, my father stopped him. “Rihaan.”
“Yeah?”
“You know I wouldn’t ask this of you, if it wasn’t important. But I’m asking you to sort this out before I have a very expensive problem on my hands.”
Then his gaze sharpened.
“I’ve been understand with both of you so far.
And while I understand where you’re coming from Rihaan, this can’t go on any longer.
If that means treat this like a contract, then do that.
You both know go to negotiate your terms, lay it out.
But if neither of you can be adult enough of to do it, no one will be leaving this room happy. ”
And then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the room too still.
For a moment, I didn’t move.
Neither did Rihaan.
I hadn’t even realised he was already there until I felt it—the weight of his presence across from me. He was leaning back against the chair opposite, arms folded, posture loose in a way that didn’t match the exhaustion in his face.
There were shadows under his eyes. A tightness in his jaw that hadn’t been there before. Like he hadn’t been sleeping properly. Like something had been sitting on his chest for days and refusing to move.
He looked…worn down.
Not angry.
Not sharp.
Just tired in a way I didn’t know how to fix.
But so badly wanted to.
The thought was enough to startle me, making me trip over my words as I spoke. Just so I couldn’t dive deeper into why in the world my brain had thought of it.
“So,” I said. “What will it take?”
His eyes lifted to mine, almost surprised by the sincerity in my voice.
And for a second, something flickered there—something unreadable, something that made my stomach tighten before I could name it.
Then his mouth tilted.
Slow. Controlled. Before it turned into a smirk. “An apology.”
I shrugged. “I’m sorry.”
He raised a brow. “Don’t try to bullshit a bullshiter, trouble. We both know you don’t mean that.”
My expressions morphed into an unbothered agreement. “You didn’t specify. I wonder my father said you know how to negotiate.”
Fire blazed through his gaze. “Okay. You want it specified? I want you to apologise like you genuinely mean it. Then, I want you to go out and ask Raina to help you write an announcement that apologises for your behaviour, and the chaos your paper brought.”
I blinked, but when I sensed the seriousness of his tone, I couldn’t help it.
A short, disbelieving laugh left me. “You’re joking.”
“No.” The certainty in his voice made my chest go tight. “I won’t work with you until you do.”
I straightened slightly.
“There is absolutely nothing I have to apologise for. Everything I wrote in my paper is what I believed in. It’s not my fault that the media are latching onto you, or treating you like you committed a feral crime.
It is not my fault that they have a para social relationship with the sport that they you owe them your health, just for a few games on the board.
And, it most certainly is not my fault that you’re acting so childish.
If you’re that bothered by it, go make a statement for yourself.
My actions were simply writing a paper, I am not accountable for the actions of others.
And only a self absorbed entitled person would think the world owes him something. ”