35
Maeve
THE STAFF ROOM HAD finally begun to empty.
The noise from the dressing room still carried through the corridor, muffled laughter and the occasional burst of celebration bleeding through the walls. Someone had started playing music somewhere nearby, bass travelling faintly beneath my feet.
They’d won the World Test Championship.
I should have been celebrating.
Instead, I was standing over an open kit bag, folding tape rolls, assessment sheets and the last of my equipment into their respective places.
My hands moved automatically. One thing after another. A familiar ritual after every series.
Except tonight, my mind refused to follow.
The door opened behind me.
I didn't look up.
“Maeve.”
My hands stopped.
Dad.
I turned slowly. He stood in the doorway, still wearing his credentials from the day, his expression unreadable.
“Hey, what do you need?”
“I want you to tell me what really happened.” My brow furrowed.
“What?”
“With Rihaan.”
The name landed somewhere beneath my ribs.
I looked back down at the open bag.
“I don't know what you mean.”
“You do.” His voice wasn't raised, that made it worse. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “This morning, I had a conversation with him.”
I swallowed. “About?”
“Cricket.”
I looked up.
“He's thinking about leaving.”
The words didn't register immediately.
“Leaving what?”
“Cricket.”
The room seemed to lose its warmth.
I stared at him.
“He's considering walking away entirely.”
“I…” Nothing came. I hadn’t known that he’d been thinking about it. Not even a hint.
Dad watched my face. “You didn't know.”
It wasn't a question.
I shook my head. “No. How would I?”
“Then tell me what happened between the two of you.”
My mouth opened.
Closed.
My fingers curled around the edge of the table.
“I don't know.”
Dad's eyebrows lifted.
“Don't.” I looked at him. “I mean, I…”
The words tangled.
There were too many versions of the truth.
The paper.
The truce.
The arguments.
New Zealand.
The beach.
The hotel.
The kiss.
The clause.
The cabin.
Everything we’d never properly said.
I couldn’t pick one piece without dragging the rest behind it.
Dad stepped closer. “Ever since we came back from New Zealand, you two have been acting strange.”
I stared at the floor.
“Not just separately.” He paused. “Together.”
My throat tightened.
“Even over the last three weeks.”
I still said nothing.
“Between training camp and the final week, I thought it was simply the two of you finding a way to work past everything that had happened.” His expression hardened slightly. “But now I'm starting to doubt that.”
The silence stretched.
I could hear footsteps outside.
A laugh.
Someone shouting a name.
The celebration continuing without us.
Dad watched me. “What happened, Maeve?”
I swallowed.
For a moment, I thought about lying.
It would have been easier.
It would have been safer.
But the problem with lying was that he already knew me well enough to hear it before I spoke.
So I stayed silent.
And somehow, that told him more than an answer could have.
For a few seconds, I couldn't make myself speak.
Dad waited.
He didn't fill the silence. Didn't push.
He simply stood there and watched me, and somehow that made it easier to finally stop trying to hold everything together.
“Two years ago, I was in Manchester with Samyra...” His brow furrowed.
I looked down at my hands. “We’d gone out to celebrate our final night of summer.
I was going back to school for my post-grad, and Samyra finally had her dream job.
Only after being ten minutes inside the club, I ran into Rihaan. ”
I nodded at his surprised expression. “Yeah, I didn’t write the paper on him over nothing.”
And then I told him everything.
Finally, Dad stared at me for a long moment digesting my words. “I thought you didn't date cricketers.”
I gave him a tired smile. “And that's the reason why we aren't together.”
His eyebrows rose. “You aren't?”
I shook my head.
He leaned back slightly. “I thought this was all leading up to a reveal that that had been the reason you two were being weird.”
A sigh left me.
“No.” I rubbed my palms together. “We aren’t together.”
My voice dropped. “I can’t make the same mistakes you and Mum made.”
Dad’s expression softened. “Oh, trouble.”
I looked up.
“Our separation had nothing to do with my career.” He paused. “We were kids.”
I swallowed.
“I barely knew who I was when I married your mother, let alone understand who she was. And neither of us knew what love was supposed to look like.”
I stared at him.
He continued quietly. “That’s the reason why you won’t make the same mistake. You’re not us.”
I said nothing.
The words sat between us.
Then his gaze sharpened. “You love him, don't you?”
My breath caught.
“It feels like it.” A shaky laugh escaped me. I covered my face with both hands. “I do.”
The admission felt terrifying the second it was spoken. “I think I might have started falling the first night I met him.”
Dad's mouth twitched. “Which explains why you were so angry with him.”
I peeked through my fingers. “Yeah.”
“And the tequila?”
I groaned. “That too.”
He laughed softly.
I lowered my hands.
“He’s upset.” My voice lost its humour. “He’s barely spoken to me.”
Dad didn’t interrupt.
“And considering he’d taken his rehabilitation seriously, he didn’t even need to be around me that much except when he came in for taping.”
I tried to make it sound like a practical observation.
It failed.
Dad’s expression softened. “Don’t sound too sad about that.”
I looked at him.
“That is a good thing.”
“I know.” The words came out quietly. I stared at the open kit bag beside me. “I just wanted more of him, I guess.”
Dad’s smile was small, knowing. “Then go get him.”
My eyes lifted. “What about the clause?”
He waved a hand, dismissing the objection before I'd even finished asking it. “We’ll figure it out.” `
I blinked.
“He’s a good one.” Dad smiled. “And I can get behind it.”
Something warm broke through the knot in my chest.
“Thanks, Dad.” I stood and walked towards him. “I love you.”
His arms opened before I reached him.
He hugged me tightly. “Love you too, trouble.”
I closed my eyes.
And for the first time in a very long time, being his daughter didn't feel like something I had to earn.