17
Maeve
THERE WAS A LOW buzz as I stepped inside the pub, like the people talking and moving created an energy unmatched. Which didn’t help, considering I had regretted coming the moment I’d walked out the door.
Only Faroq had been the one to insist.
“You should show your face,” he’d said that afternoon as we sat down for Lunch, as though I had somehow forgotten how socialising worked.
“Everyone’s going. We’ve won the first one.
So, just pop in. Have a drink. Talk to the squad.
You’ll have an easy transition to Hamilton if you stop hiding in treatment rooms. If you don’t I’ll have to not you down as non-team player in your review. ”
I’d told him I wasn’t hiding.
He’d laughed.
So, naturally, I’d come. Not just because he’d all but threatened me to. Because I wanted to.
The place was packed as I searched for them. The place filled with the kind of warm, noisy chaos that made conversation feel like a contact sport. Music played somewhere behind the bar, glasses knocked together, and every few seconds another burst of laughter rose above the general hum.
I stood just inside the entrance for a moment, scanning the room.
Then Noah, one of the players shouted my name across the place, turning every head in my direction. “Maeve!”
Lifting his glass, he grinned. “You actually came!”
Closing the distance, I shrugged. “I was threatened.”
“Faroq,” He yelled, again. Searching for the senior physio. “You threatened our girl, here?”
I smiled despite myself and Faroq just shrugged. “Simply asking didn’t work, so I improvised.”
A few of the boys nodded. “Good call.”
“We’re just happy you decided to join us.”
“Even though you think we aren’t worth the time.”
“I never said you weren't worth my time.”
“Is that why you didn’t join us once during camp?”
I shrugged. “Two weeks straight had already been enough. Plus, there wasn’t anything to celebrate then.”
The table erupted, and I couldn't help laughing with them.
“You’re alright, Maeve.” Noah nodded.
“Right back at ya,” I laughed, shaking my head.
It was strange.
I’d spent so much of the last month worrying about how I fitted into this team, about whether they trusted me, whether they thought of me as the woman who'd written the paper or the physio who happened to be assigned to them.
Somewhere along the way, apparently, I’d become Maeve.
Just Maeve.
The person they teased about her coffee order and blamed when someone had to do an extra recovery session.
It was progress.
Small, ridiculous progress.
But it still counted.
After a few minutes, Raina caught my eye from another table and waved. “Come sit with us!”
I excused myself and crossed over.
She was sitting with a mixture of people I'd grown familiar with during camp.
A few of her media associates from her NexGen team, while some members of the official team that worked solely for England Lions, and two people from her own company who had been moving between the group all week, capturing an array of content.
“You survived that better than I imagined,” Raina said as I sat next to her.
“I’m as surprised as you are.” I said in a low voice. “I was having major regrets even as I left and was just gonna show my face…but it’s not bad. Although,”
“You look like you need a drink.” Raina finished for me.
“I do.” I nodded. “Can I get you anything?”
I gestured at the soda she’d been nursing.
She smiled, shaking her head. “I’m driving tonight.”
I nodded. “Be right back.”
The bar was quieter than the rest of the pub, though that wasn’t saying much.
I waited until the bartender came over and ordered, then leaned against the counter while I waited. I could feel the warmth of the alcohol already settling into the air around me, the scent of beer and citrus and something fried drifting over from the kitchen.
Feeling a presence near me, awareness spread through me as they stepped into the empty space beside me.
I didn't need to look immediately.
Because the déjà vu was so sharp it made my stomach dip.
Turning my head, I finally met Rihaan’s gaze.
For a second, the look in his eyes told me the same story.
Except tonight, he was drunk.
Not pleasantly tipsy, or trying to be relaxed.
Tonight, he was drunk enough that the careful control I'd become accustomed to seeing in him had slipped around the edges.
His hair was slightly dishevelled, his eyes heavy, and there was a looseness to his posture that I'd never seen on the field or in the treatment room.
He glanced at me. “Hey.”
“Hi.” I replied curtly.
Neither of us said anything else. I didn't ask how he was. After everything that had happened, I wasn't sure I had the right. Instead, I watched him rub his shoulder absentmindedly. His hand moved over the joint once.
Twice.
Then he caught me looking, and offered me a shrug. “It's better.”
I gave him a nod. “That's good.”
He nodded.
And that was it.
I didn’t attempt to interrogate him, or berate him about it.
But it had been the right call, because something about the way his shoulders relaxed made me think he'd expected more, still was glad nonetheless about it.
Just as the bartender place my drink on the counter, a thought came to me.
Biting my lower lip, I contemplated my words before speaking anyway. “Can I ask you something?”
He blinked, an uneasy expression flashing across his face. “About my shoulder?”
“No.”
Masking his surprise, he nodded. “Okay.”
“How come you forgot about that night?” I asked softly.
His expression changed like he hadn’t expected it, before something close to…shame made it’s appearance. Barely, or maybe I’d just read him wrong.
For a minute, I almost expected him to give me a non-answer and leave me be, but then he spoke. “I don't remember forgetting.”
Maybe it had been the alcohol, or the curiosity he’d seen in my eyes. Something he didn’t like that pushed him. Something that made him look away.
“I'm not great with alcohol.”
“That night?”
“Generally.” A small, humourless smile tugged at his mouth. “Until recently, I only remembered bits of that night.”
“Bits?”
He nodded.
“That night was crazy as hell. I’d already been pissed with my dad—and myself.
I rarely lose my temper on the field, but something…
I don’t even remember what now had irked me enough to cause a scene.
My father had gone on about me risking tarnishing his legacy.
Which is why I’d asked Matt to just help me forget, which led me to lie to you.
It had been easier not because I wanted to deceive you, but you were making me forget.
But when you’d left…I remember being pissed off, all over again. ”
My fingers tightened slightly around my glass.
“At me?”
“Yeah.” His voice wasn't accusing. If anything, it sounded tired. “I was upset you'd bailed on me.”
I looked at him, opening my mouth to offer an explanation but he cut me off before I could offer it.
“So I had my own after party.”
I couldn't help the faint frown that appeared. “With Matt?”
He shook his head. “Alone.”
His eyes traced my features so intently, it made my throat dry.
“The next morning, I basically had no memory of it. And I didn’t try and attempt to recover it either…” He trailed off, his eyes shifting to where I’d just been with his sister. “Then my family stuff kind of rolled into a giant mess, and until I ran into you, I forgot about it all together.”
I stared at him, and before I could stop myself, I asked. “What family stuff?”
He shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”
“Try me.” I replied so quick, it made him grin.
“Curiosity kills the cat, you know?”
I shrugged. “I thought you weren’t a fan of cats?”
“Hm, I might’ve had a new experience to change my mind.”
I raised a brow.
“My sister’s devil cats have finally scummed to my charm—or maybe just grown used to me, and are no longer my enemy number one.”
“Well, that’s good,” I added, unsure what else I could even say at this point.
I turned slightly, ready to head back towards the table.
His fingers caught my wrist.
Gently.
The touch was so light that I could have pulled away without effort.
I didn't.
A tiny flutter moved through my stomach anyway.
His gaze dropped to where his hand rested against my skin, then lifted to mine.
The drunkenness was still there, but something else had surfaced beneath it.
Something quieter. “Why did you leave that night?”
My heart gave an uncomfortable little beat.
I looked at him, afraid to burst the tiny bubble we’d managed to create around us. But it was the pleading look in his eyes that made me relent easily. “I found out you'd lied from my friend.”
His expression shifted. He searched my face, like he was looking for some indication that I'd misunderstood him.
I watched the realisation settle. “She knew who I was.”
I nodded. “She’s a much bigger cricket fan than I am.”
He frowned then. “Then how come you’re the one working in this sport?”
“Honestly?” I started. “It may have something to do with pissing off my mother.”
“You’re kidding.”
I shook my head. “I’d done my bachelors in Sports Medicine. Something that pleased both my mother and father, but after some stuff, I decided to do my post grad in Sports Physiotherapy.”
His eyes twinkled, like he’d found a piece of the puzzle he’d been trying to solve for days.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
And then he let me go.
“Enjoy your spicy margarita, trouble.”
I stood there for another second, my wrist still warm where his fingers had been.
Then I turned back towards the table.
I didn't look behind me to check if he was still watching. I felt his gaze following me for the rest of the evening.
Rihaan
I BLINKED AND THE corridor of our rental came back in pieces.
First the carpet beneath my shoes. Then the dim yellow lights overhead.
Then Oliver's arm hooked firmly beneath my shoulder, keeping me upright when my legs seemed to have forgotten their job.
“Easy.” I frowned at him. “I’m walking.”
“You're being carried.” He corrected me, following through on his words as he held me straighter.
“I’m helping.”
“Sure you are.” He replied softly.