Page 54 of Dream On, Liar

Rihaan huffed out a short laugh. “Yes. We are.”

“I thought you’d gotten over that after you pulled that little stunt,” I gave him a bored look. “Boy, you sure know how to hold grudges, don’t you?”

“Don’t kid yourself, trouble.” His voice dropped a dangerous octave as his eyes darkened. “If someone—anyone else in the sport had done this? They would’ve been ridiculed and their paper would’ve been made into a joke. You’re the daughter of one of the greatest men in the sport, who now is the coach of the England cricket team. You think that’s all on your merit?”

“I have never needed my father to help my career along.”

He barked out an amused laugh. “If you think that, then I hate to break it you— you’re simply naive. It takes one search to find out who your father is. And sure, maybe you do have the brains to be where you are but it’s your father who gave you this promotion. So, if I were you, I’d get off my high horse about professional advice. You don’t know what’s the cost to get here on merit, and you sure as hell don’t know my body to know if I’m insecure, entitled, or arrogant.”

“The pot says to the kettle,” I snapped. “As you said, Rihaan. It takes one search to find who your father is too. Don’t tell me you believe that you only got the opportunities to be here all on your merit.”

He shook his head once. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, well, neither do you.” I climbed the steps before he could add another baseless thing to the conversation.

“WHAT IS THE MATTER with the two of you?” My father thundered the moment we both stepped into the room he’d settled in.

“She started it,” Rihaan murmured, making me roll my eyes.

“Such a child,” I whispered, low enough to be just heard by the man next to me, his scoff a proof.

“If this is you two on the first day,” My father ignored us both. “I don’t think I want to know what two weeks of training camp will do to you. Let alone the tour.”

He paused then, looking at both of us intently.

“Hey, this was your great idea,” I shrugged, because frankly, quitting sounded real appealing right about then. “Don’t look at us like we put you in this situation.”

“Now, who’s being childish?” My father raised a brow.

“Your child, Dad. That’s who,” I replied, a grin pulling at my lips.

“And thank you for that, Eve.” He shook his head, but his shoulders finally dropped, releasing the tension they’d been holding. “You want to tell me what that was about?”

Before Rihaan could reply, I offered the truth like it was nothing, knowing full well that knowing the man beside me would never manage to hide his frustration and would do the work for me. “Oh, nothing. Just Rihaan going past his allowed volume, ignoring the warning and then refusing to perform a shoulder stability test.”

Like a fish taking the bait, Rihaan fell for it. I felt his hot glare burn into my skin, giving my father all the confirmation he needed to know whether I had been telling the truth or not.

If Rihaan’s glare was dark and enough to make you rethink your steps, the glare my father wore was enough to make a person run away altogether. It cut sharper than blade.

“Do I need to have another talk with you, Rihaan?” My father spoke, his voice equally sharp as his expression.

“No, sir.” He replied, before giving me another look and exiting the room without waiting for a response from either of us.

Taking a deep breath, I met my father’s gaze, hesitantly. Over the past two weeks, things had seemingly gone back to how they used to be, and a part of me was worried that any progress the two week long distance and silence made between us was about to be ruined. Any thoughts of being told off, again, vanished when I noticed the lighter expression in his eyes as he settled into his chair.

Biting down my surprise, I filled in the silence instead. “Did you know that all cells in your body completely change every seven years?”

He shook his head, unbothered by the sudden topic change. I suppose after years of me doing this to him had prepared him. “Really?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “I mean, all cells have different lifetimes. Some die and regenerate after a few days, or a few years—but every seven years, you can basically claim that you’re a ‘new’ person.”

“Interesting.” He leaned back in his chair. “What’s your point, trouble?”

“My point is, tomorrow, you’ll be a new person for the,” I closed my eye, deliberately. “Sixth time. Damn, Dad. That’s a lot.”

“You calling me old?”

I lifted a shoulder. “Be glad I’m not calling you ancient.”