Page 78 of Dream On, Liar

I straightened slightly.

“There is absolutely nothing I have to apologise for. Everything I wrote in my paper is what I believed in. It’s not my fault that the media are latching onto you, or treating you like you committed a feral crime. It is not my fault that they have a para social relationship with the sport that they you owe them your health, just for a few games on the board. And, it most certainly is not my fault that you’re acting so childish. If you’re that bothered by it, go make a statement for yourself. My actions were simply writing a paper, I am not accountable for the actions of others. And only a self absorbed entitled person would think the world owes him something.”

His eyebrow lifted, like he was almost amused by how quickly I’d rambled on.

But fucking hell. I had tried to be kind. I had tried to be professional, but I had officially reached my limit.

“Are you finished?”

I scoffed.

“Go to hell, you prick.”

The smirk deepened, like I’d just confirmed something for him.

But before he could respond, the door opened again as my father appeared, a bewildered look plastered across his face. “What is up with the two of you?”

I turned immediately. “He wants me to apologise to him.”

Something shifted in his expression. “And?”

I frowned. “And, I don’t think he deserves one.”

The words came out sharper than I intended, but once they were out, they didn’t soften. I felt them building in me after that, like a pressure I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Come to think of it, I’ll apologise for one thing.” I turned to face Rihaan, voice tightening, “I’m sorry for calling you egotistical. Because honestly, I should’ve been more specific. What I meant was that Rihaan Patel is an egotistical, arrogant dick who is driving his career down a one-way road towards a series of chronic injuries. There. Satisfied?”

“Maeve.” My father’s voice was a sigh, the hints of exhaustion and disappointment clear in my name.

I looked at him properly then.

And something in my chest cracked open at the expression on his face.

Just that familiar, quiet disapproval I’d spotted on him the day I’d visited his house.

“I’m disappointed that you don’t think he deserves an apology.”

The room tilted slightly at his words.

“You’re taking his side?” My words came softer than I’d wanted. But there was a lump growing in my throat.

“I’m not taking sides.”

“You are.”

“Maeve—”

“Again.”

The word slipped out before I could stop it.

And the moment it did, something inside me went very still.

Because suddenly, I wasn’t just looking at him.

I was seeing him.

Not the version I’d built in my head over years of trying to earn something I couldn’t name.