Page 63 of Game on, Love
“Does Rihaan know?”
My finger caressed her knee, trying to comfort myself more than her. “Only that he’s not been doing well. But my dad asked us not to tell people, and he didn’t want the kind of press it would bring to chase me. So, outside our family, no one really knows except for my agent.”
She exhaled softly before gently wrapping a finger around mine. It was small, but the steady feeling flooded through me. “Is he critical?”
“It’s not… life-threatening, but with his meds, there are a lot of muscular side effects. And for someone who was an athlete and used to be a lot more active, his mental health has taken a huge impact.” I replied, my gaze focused on the blank screen ahead of us when another finger wrapped around mine, almost like she was trying to give me a tight hug. “I think the hardest part has been watching him slowly lose himself without being able to do much for him.”
“I’m sorry,” She whispered, as a small tear slipped down her cheek. “That sounds impossibly hard.”
Leaning forward, I wiped it with my free hand and nodded because there was a lump the size of a red ball stuck in my throat at her broken expression.
It was then that I realised how easy it was to open up to her and that if she ever gave me the chance to, I wanted to be the person she could turn to and I wanted her to be mine.
19
Raina
I WAS A COWARD.
I have never been good at this—managing my feelings, emotions whatever you want to call it—especially when it came to romantic ones. My last try at a relationship was two years ago, and we’d started working at NexGen together. It lasted long enough for us to go out on a date before it became awkward, and I avoided him. My therapist had described my attachment style as… unique. I was self-aware yet still bound by my avoidance tendencies, and then I would wake up on a random Saturday, and I’d be ready to deal with them. It wasn’t a huge surprise why. The men in my life—my Granddad, Dad and my brothers—were always larger than life and the main focus of my family. They all were strong voices, each one louder than thunder and early on, I’d realised there was no outshining them. You just had to raise your own storm if you wanted them to listen.
For years, I was able to. But after one too many heartbreaks, I started yearning to be just there on the periphery. It kept my heart safe, and it kept me out of the spotlight. But in the end, I still wanted more for myself, and I did the work to help myself.
It was hard to admit the obvious, but Oliver saw me even when I tried to hide. And after he told me about his dad, I felt the thunder in me. The need to open up, the need to let someone in. We shared that moment, but once I was left to my own mind, I couldn’t help but wonder. What if it crashes and burns like it always did?
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, the tiredness evident in my eyes. I was in the office today—that’s how much I wasavoiding these feelings. I’d rather be in the depths of discomfort in the office compared to the fleeting ease of home.
Fleeting because Rihaan was still around, and when he was, it was not for more than a minute. I paused as the realisation flooded me, and a low, sardonic huff escaped me.
Dear lord, I was turning into my brother.
I gave myself one final look before grabbing my stuff and walking out. There was nothing ordinary about the NexGen Campus. Coloured LED lighting hanging down from the tall ceiling in blue and green—our brand colours—huge screens displaying different campaigns with athletes from various sports, celebrities from some of the beloved TV shows and movies, and entertainers from across the country. As I made my way down to the media centre, I noticed everything in a different light, even though nothing had changed.
Except for me.
Brushing away the thought, I spotted Ophelia, who was walking away as if she was running a marathon. I’d worked with her before once—according to her—because I have no memory of it. A part of me told me that she didn’t either, and the salty behaviour was because I was replacing her friend, and not the fact that we didn’t hit it off when we worked before but I ignored it.
I was running on four hours of sleep, thanks to the hurricane circling my mind, and it was a Monday. I don’t think the latter needed an explanation. My mind was running through my to-do list when I was in the team meeting, making sure I did my handover in the most detailed way to help the team, but that also meant accidentally agreeing to overlook a random campaign for NexGen and ECB when Hazel asked.
Only it wasn’t a random thing. She’d ignored my suggestion of takingmylead on how I dealt with this transition and asked me to be a part of the Christmas shoot happening today.
And ECB stands for English Cricket Board.
The shoot was a campaign for our cricket channels.
To Hazel, somehow, the fact that I loved Christmas enough to start talking about it as soon autumn started felt like a good reason for me to be both an observer and moral support.
So here I was, making my way to the studio, and even before I had a chance to look at the list of players, I knew I’d be running into him. At this point, I expected this.
And as I rounded the corner, there he was.
Oliver leaned back against the wall, his eyes focused on the floor below him.
He wore a simple navy polo jumper over a white shirt and those smart trousers that I may or may not have thought about way too many times. His hands were tucked in his trousers, and annoyance ran through me.
Why couldn’t he just be like like the rest of the guys that surrounded him? All in different shades of the same lounge wear set. At least then, I’d find a way to reason with myself about being attracted to him.
He’s a cricketer.