Page 28 of Dream On, Liar

“Why did you even hire him in the first place?” I asked. “Out of all the goddamn companies in this city, and he had to work directly under you for his placement?”

For the first time since the conversation started, something unreadable flickered across Dev’s face. It went away almost as instantly.

“He asked for my help.” He replied simply. “I gave him a chance, and he’s good at what he does.”

I let out a short laugh under my breath. “That’s it?”

“What answer are you looking for, Rihaan?”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again because I didn’t even know anymore. Maybe that was the problem.

Because maybe it shouldn’t have bothered me this much. Maybe I should’ve been over it by now.

But the truth was, I’d spent most of my life feeling like the odd one out in our house whenever it came to my siblings. They moved around each other differently. Shared secrets with each other easier than they ever could with me. Had more memories to count without me—than with me. Half the time, it felt like the three of them existed inside some silent little club that I never got invited into.

And apparently now Ishaan had slipped into it too.

That was the part nobody seemed to understand.

When I’d originally asked them not to meet him…it wasn’t because I’d been bothered by the cheating, or even the existence of a secret half brother.

It was because I was afraid.

Raina had just come back into our lives…in my life. I knew she had slowly started to mend her relationship with Vedant and Dev, but now with someone else in the mix, I’d finally thought that maybe this time, it’d be different.

Only, standing here now I realised at how easy they’d made room for him. How naturally everybody else had adjusted around the fact that this whole other person existed, even when his existence was tangled up with the exact thing that had driven our mother away in the first place, they still wanted to build something with him.

Meanwhile, I still felt like I was standing outside the conversation trying to catch up to something everybody else had already accepted without me.

Maybe it was easier to be around someone who wasn’t me. Someone who didn’t hold grudges when they weren’t at fault. Someone who didn’t blame them for how they felt.

The voice came in sharper, cutting into my gut like I’d been struck with a serum of truth, and instead of speaking them out loud, hoping that they’d somehow help me vanquish these thoughts. I’d decided to not burden them with the inner workings of my mind. Because, there wasn’t any point to it. They’d already made up their minds, so I may as well prove them true.

7

Maeve

THE RAIN TAPPED VIOLENTLY against my window as the weak strip of sunshine I’d woken up to twenty minutes ago disappeared behind thick grey clouds, and somehow, the timing felt painfully poetic.

I stayed flat on my back for a moment longer, staring up at the pale ceiling while my alarm buzzed uselessly beside me. Somewhere down the hallway, I could already hear movement from the kitchen. Cabinet doors opening. The clink of toaster being used.

Samyra.

Meanwhile, I was lying there reconsidering every decision that had led me to accepting this job in the first place.

Which was ridiculous, really, because objectively, this should’ve been huge for me. Becoming one of the lead physiotherapist for the England Cricket Team at twenty five wasn’t small. People worked years for opportunities like this. My peers back during my masters would’ve probably framed the announcement if given the chance.

And for exactly three glorious days, I’d actually allowed myself to enjoy it, to expect the glory that would come once the news went live this morning.

Only, when I’d turned my phone on, people had spotted my news for a minute—and I mean that both metaphorically and literately—before Rihaan posted on his social media.

Not just announcing that he was letting go of his father—the Vikram Patel, and yes, the ‘the’ was absolutely necessary considering he was one of the most decorated cricketers alive, as his manager—but the fact that Vikram had been beside Rihaan since the very beginning. He’d coached him practically his entire life, managed his career from the start, and, to the media at least, had always been seen as Rihaan’s right hand. When people spoke about the Patel men in cricket, their names were practically said in the same breath. Even after the disaster of that live interview, which resulted in people questioning whether it had been Vikram all along, forcing him to play through his injuries, more than most people still rushed to Vikram’s defence, insisting that whatever he had to say, he’d been the steadiest force behind Rihaan’s rise. Which meant that my career milestone got swallowed whole by headlines, interviews, social media edits set to dramatic music, and grown men online declaring Rihaan had either completely lost it and made an impulsive move, or just maybe pulled the move that might save his entire career after all.

Either way, it had been catastrophic for my mood.

When my last alarm buzzed through the room, I finally dragged myself upright with a groan and crossed toward the windows overlooking the street below. Notting Hill looked muted under the grey morning sky, all cream terraces and rain slick pavement. Expensive enough to make my bank account cry on a monthly basis, but still worth every painful penny.

We’d moved into the flat two years ago, and both of us had fallen in love with it almost immediately. The tiny balcony that made the perfect reading spot and people watching. The stupidly large windows. The bookstore across the street that somehow convinced me buying hardcovers with the most gorgeous sprayed edges counted as a self care after a bad day. The cute coffee shop with the angel number as their name that made me smile each time I looked out the living room.