Page 76 of Dream On, Liar

But there was only so much pretending I could do when someone refused to meet your eyes.

But unlike me, my father had clearly reached his limit.

He called me into the office they’d assigned him, just before morning warm ups.

And the moment I stepped inside, I felt it—that quiet, sinking certainty that this wasn’t going to be a conversation I walked out of feeling lighter. I wasn’t meeting with my father who happened to coach the England Cricket Team. I was meeting with my boss, Coach Knox.

The room smelled faintly of coffee and liniment. Papers were scattered across his desk, half-ordered, half-forgotten. He didn’t offer me a smile.

“Sit.”

I obeyed instantly, settling into the chair opposite him.

The chair felt too firm beneath me, like it was bracing for impact.

He leaned back slowly, studying me in that way he had—like he was trying to read the version of me I hadn’t said out loud yet.

“I thought I asked you to sort your act out with him.”

“I know—”

“You told me you’d called a truce.”

“We did.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, not unkind, but tired in a way that made my stomach tighten.

“Then explain to me why Rihaan has spent the last Rihaan days acting like you’re radioactive.”

He continued, but my mind fixated on a single word.

Radioactive.

Like I was something to be avoided, something that burned on contact.

What I thought were sparks, he’d considered it to be friction. I looked down at my hands before I could stop myself. My fingers were already picking at the edge of my sleeve.

“Dr. Blackwood said, he’s barely speaking to you. The whole point of you two working together was to move past this,” Coach continued. “And this morning, when I asked his opinion on you stepping for field word, he told me—very colourfully, might I add—that if he’s expected to work with you in front of cameras, he’d rather bench himself.”

The air in my chest shifted.

“What?”

“He’ll only let Faroq work on him out there.”

“That literally defeats the point why I’m here.”

“I know. So, what has happened between the end of camp and now?”

I rubbed my temple, the low thrum of a headache building beneath my fingers as my own defences rose high. “It’s the media and press conference that switched his mood. I went back to the archives to look at the bits he did, and maybe, he’s just upset that they’re targeting him. So, in his colourful words, he told me ‘Fuck this truce’.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than the words before it.

Coach rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to physically push the problem out of his head. Before he could add anything at all, Rihaan walked into his office.

“Coach? Coach Dikshit is looking for you—” He faltered when he noticed me.

My father pressed his lips together, his gaze flickering between me and Rihaan before he stood. “Did he clear you?”