Page 30 of Game on, Love
After the gala, a part of me had expected us to go back to dancing around each other, but she’d sat at the kitchen counter, half-asleep, in my hoodie, letting herself be seen in a way that felt like being let in on a secret kept hidden from the world. It made me feel things I’d never felt before.
“You’re distracted again,” Rihaan said, breaking the silence.
Sighing, I looked at him and his own gaze was fixed on something behind me. As though, he’d been checking himself rather than me, and it got me thinking about how he had been avoiding home more than often recently. It was off-season, so it wasn’t unusual for him to be out of the house, but this time it felt intentional.
“Pot meets kettle,” I shot back, and his eyes narrowed in my direction.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his tone already defensive.
I shrugged, keeping my expression casual. “You’ve been off too,”
Rihaan scoffed, folding his arms. “No, I haven’t.”
“You’ve barely been home since Raina moved in,” The words landed heavy between us, and he stiffened.
“I’ve just been busy.” He bit back, his jaw tightening.
I raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. “It was a rest week,” I said pointedly. “And we both know what it means inyour world—you holed up in the gaming room, eating junk and playing video games until your eyes are bloodshot.”
He hesitated, his gaze fixed on the empty pitch like he was trying to find an argument but was failing miserably.
In the end, he just sighed before muttering. “It’s complicated.”
In that moment, I knew better than to press him, so I just nodded. Still, the thought lingered—maybe he wasn’t avoiding her. Maybe he just didn’t know how to deal with her after years of letting whatever tension existed between them simmer under the surface.
He hadn’t been pleased when she moved in, but he was quick to let her know that he wanted her to stay. As the realisation kicked in, I couldn’t help but think that maybe her pulling away wasn’t about me, but it was just… her.
The thought settled heavily in my chest, stirring at something I wasn’t quite sure of, but it felt like, in that second, I understood her better.
I knew what it was like to carry things you couldn’t explain or share. To build walls so high that after a while, you’re not even sure how to let anyone else in. And when you notice someone starting to chip away at it, you feel like you’re being stripped away of the only sure thing in your life.
I felt the air in my lungs rush out of me as another realisation dawned on me. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t get her out of my head. Because it felt like she was the only person who understood how much effort it took to keep it all together.
Suddenly, I wasn’t scared about her walls, but the fact that somehow I needed to think about the cracks that were starting to appear on my own.
TRAINING WITH SOMEONEyou’ve known for years gives you an advantage. When the rhythm hasn’t settled, you don’t get frustrated. Instead, you work around it until you find the click.
It was our first day back on the pitch, and neither of us was ready to call it a bust, no matter how distracted we’d been. Instead, we pushed each other harder, each delivery and swing sharper than the last until we found the flow.
The morning sun burned away by the time we switched to targeted drills that forced us to focus on the finer details. Rihaan worked on his famous yorkers, testing his accuracy, while I perfected my placement shots. Drills weren’t even close to being as fun as proper games, but considering it was just the two of us today, it was productive and didn’t push us too hard when we were supposed to be on a rest week.
Sweat dripped our skin like soft summer rain by the time we called it a day and packed up our equipment.
Rihaan glanced at his phone, frowning at whatever had his attention. “Uh, I’m heading out. I’ll catch up with you at home.”
He didn’t wait for my reply; he just turned around and raced out without a backward glance. I sighed, zipping up my bag before turning my attention to the pitch for one last time before making my way back home.
By the time I unlocked the front door, my shirt stuck to me, and the ache in my shoulders was starting to set it. Dropping my bag on the floor, I walked past the reception room, the familiar scent of polished wood and faint lavender filling my lugs as my steps echoed faintly.
My family townhouse was stunning, I’d give it that and my Mum had done a great job redecorating it when me and the guys moved in. The marble counter tops in the kitchen with chairs gleamed, and the plush couch in the connecting living space made it feel twice its size.
But once, this space had been chaotic—cricket equipment on the floor and under the couch, magazines on the coffee table, and the smell of my Mum’s cooking wafting through the kitchen as I returned back home with Dad after our training session. It was home. And, while there were still elements to it I still loved, the constant feeling of something missing was there.
I walked into the open space, a hand on the hem of the back of my shirt to pull it off but stopping once I spotted her.
Raina was dressed up—sleek dark blue top, black skirt and tights with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was busy looking at her phone, unaware of my presence, and I took the time to take her in. I’d gotten used to seeing her in oversized hoodies and a messy bun with a soft look as she curled up with cats. But now, as she leaned against the kitchen counter top, I was taken back to the moments when I first saw her and something warm flushed in my chest.
“Going somewhere fancy?” I asked, leaning on the opposite side of the counter, hoping to sound casual but failed miserably as the curiosity in my voice was evident.