The Striker (Gods of the Game Book 1)
The Striker: Chapter 6

“Who drove you home?”

“What makes you think someone drove me home?” I unpacked our Chinese takeaway and avoided my brother’s eyes. “I always take the tube.”

It wasn’t Thursday, but he showed up at my flat an hour ago after he finished dealing with our father’s situation. I took one look at his face, let him in, and ordered us food.

Sometimes, sibling intuition trumped explanations.

“It’s a long walk to the tube station, and you don’t have an umbrella drying in the hall. Therefore, you didn’t take the tube.” Vincent shrugged. We were seated at my kitchen table in our usual spots—me next to the window, him next to the fridge. “Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“Wow, I have Sherlock Holmes in my kitchen. Someone call BBC One and tell them they need another reboot.”

“Ha ha.” Vincent snagged a spring roll from its container. “It wasn’t Carina, was it? Because I haven’t forgotten the time she drove my Lambo into the curb.”

“She’s apologized multiple times for that,” I said, suppressing a laugh at the memory of Vincent’s face when he saw the scratch on his precious car. Carina was like a second sister to him, which was the only reason he’d let her behind the wheel. “And no, it wasn’t her. It was someone else from the academy.”

Asher was training there and therefore a temporary member of the academy, so I wasn’t lying. Technically.

I hadn’t wanted to get into a car with him. I didn’t deal well with new-to-me drivers after the accident, which was why I rarely took taxis, but the paparazzi ambush had left me no choice.

“So it’s another staff member.” For some reason, Vincent looked relieved. Maybe a paranoid part of him had feared Asher was the one who drove me home. “Good.”

I didn’t correct him and prove his paranoia right.

Looking back, I should’ve been terrified given Asher’s reputation for reckless driving. However, he’d driven safe and slow, and our conversation had kept me from spiraling.

For someone whose mere presence put me on edge, he had a way of also easing my anxiety—namely by distracting me so much I didn’t have time to think about anything else.

A twist of unease tightened inside me. I didn’t like my contradictory reactions to Asher. I preferred to sort my emotions into separate boxes—black and white, good and bad, alphabetized and color-coded. But when I looked at him, I was a muddled canvas of gray.

I hated gray.

“So, are we going to talk about what happened?” I asked, switching subjects. Asher and I hadn’t done anything wrong, but I didn’t want Vincent to freak out and go on a tangent about me consorting with the enemy. “How’s Dad?”

All I knew was he’d had an accident. He had a lot of those now that he was retired and constantly puttering around, but they usually involved him hitting his head or slamming the door on his hand. Nevertheless, he made it sound like he was dying every time.

Vincent wasn’t the only drama queen in the family.

Still, he was our father, so it was our duty to check in anyway, hence why Vincent gave him an emergency ringtone.

“He fell and broke his hip. He’s fine,” he said when I opened my mouth. “He doesn’t need surgery. But, uh, he asked me to come home and stay with him until the season starts or he’s fully healed.”

I narrowed my eyes as Vincent wolfed down his spring roll. “You can’t hire a home nurse? It has to be you, specifically?”

“I did hire a nurse, which is why he wants me to stay with him. You know he hates being alone with strangers.”

Fair enough, but…“Vince, you can’t even make a proper bowl of soup. What are you going to do while you’re there?”

I couldn’t picture my wonderful, athletic, yet deeply out of touch brother taking care of anything that didn’t involve a football, a video game, or a party.

“Good thing soup has nothing to do with it,” he countered. “I just have to keep Dad company and make him feel better about having the nurse around twenty-four-seven. If I’m not there, he’s liable to drive her to murder.”

“How long will recovery take?”

“It’s hard to say. The doctors estimate anywhere from three to four months.”

“Hmm.” I studied him with a hint of suspicion. “You’re not doing this to get out of training with Asher, are you?”

“Of course not,” he snapped. “Trust me, Lettie, I’d rather stay in London. I don’t want you dealing with Asher alone, especially when he…”

I stiffened. “Especially when he what?”

He knows about the ride home. He knows Asher has been flirting with you and, despite what you say, a part of you likes it.

“Especially when he’s such a dick,” Vincent said after a beat of hesitation. “Don’t fall for the charmer act he puts on with girls. It’s just that. An act. I’ve seen it a million times. We should’ve never signed him,” he added with a grumble. “You see how he is. He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

Relief loosened the knot in my lungs. He doesn’t know.

“I’m not stupid. Besides, I have a strict no-footballer rule. Asher Donovan is not on my romantic radar, and he never will be.”

Attraction didn’t count as romance. That was an involuntary, hormonal thing. My body may not agree, but my brain was firmly on board and my heart was safely locked away.

However, a seed of guilt remained lodged in my chest. No matter how I rationalized the car ride, it felt like a betrayal, and I hated doing anything that might jeopardize my relationship with Vincent. Besides Carina, he was the only person I fully trusted.

“Good.” Despite his response, Vincent’s frown deepened. “On second thought, maybe I can talk to Dad and convince him his home nurse won’t, I don’t know, stab him in his sleep when I’m not there. I can be here during the week for training and take the train to Paris on the weekends. The more I think about it, the more I don’t fucking trust Donovan.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re going to travel to Paris every weekend?” I shook my head. “There’s no convincing Dad. He’ll lose his shit and you know it.”

“But—”

“Stop treating me like a kid.” I pointed my fork at him. “I’ll be fine. Anyway, didn’t the Boss make you guys train with me because he wanted you to work together? If you’re not here, that defeats the purpose. There’s a good chance he’ll call off the program altogether and Asher can go back to training on his own.”

Vincent stared at me for a long beat before his shoulders relaxed.

“You’re right.” Relief shrouded his words. “If the Boss okays my leave, which he basically has to, he’s not going to make Donovan stay with you. It would be stupid.”

I hoped that was the case. Otherwise, it meant Asher and I would be forced into one-on-one lessons. Three times a week, every week for the remainder of the summer.

An errant flutter disrupted my stomach. Disappointment or anticipation? I couldn’t tell, which was alarming.

“Exactly.” I hoped I sounded confident and not like I was trying to reassure myself. “There’s no way he would do that.”

“The sessions continue. I’ve already spoken to Frank. Vincent’s absence doesn’t change anything for you and Asher,” Lavinia said, seemingly oblivious or indifferent to my squeak of surprise.

Vincent was leaving for Paris tomorrow with the Boss’s permission. Frank was probably suspicious of his conveniently timed family emergency, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. My brother was officially off the hook for our trainings.

I’d requested a meeting with Lavinia that morning to see if his departure would affect my summer obligations.

Apparently, it didn’t.

“I don’t understand.” A swirl of anxiety pooled in my gut. “The goal of the sessions was for Vincent and Asher to learn how to work together. If Vincent isn’t here, then…”

“That was one of the goals. However, they still need to train like normal athletes. We’ve already signed a contract with Blackcastle, and they’ve paid through the summer. There’s no use undoing all of that simply because of one departure.”

“Right.” I forced a smile. Damn contracts.

“That means you’ll be working with Asher one-on-one.” Lavinia peered at me over the rim of her glasses. “Will that be a problem?”

“I—no. Of course not.”

Personal sessions with Asher. That was fine.

Totally. Fine.

Did Vincent know? He’d left our dinner convinced that the Boss would cut the training program short. If he didn’t, he was going to be livid when he found out, but he couldn’t do anything about it at this point. There was no way our father would let him come back until the nurse was out of his house.

Like it or not, I was stuck with Asher for the rest of the summer.

“Is there something else you’d like to discuss?” Lavinia asked pointedly.

My no reached the tip of my tongue just as my eyes rested on the photo behind Lavinia. It featured the cast after last year’s staff showcase. Every instructor was present except for me and Barden, who’d been on his honeymoon.

Which role are you auditioning for? I’d love to see you onstage.

A shard of ice pierced my gut.

I’d lied about being too busy for the showcase. The truth was, I missed being onstage. I missed the glide of smooth wood beneath my feet, the pulse-pounding crescendos during pivotal scenes, the feeling of transcendence when it was just me and the music.

When I was onstage, I didn’t overthink; I simply moved.

But my desire to perform again didn’t outweigh my fears. I hadn’t truly danced onstage in five years. If I tried, would I aggravate old wounds or, worse, fail altogether?

Scarlett DuBois. She was the next big star; now look at her. She can’t even audition for a school showcase.

The shard of ice slid deeper behind my rib cage.

“No,” I said in response to Lavinia’s question. “Nothing else.”

I left her office and shook my head at Carina’s questioning stare. I’d explain things to her later.

For the rest of the day, I attempted not to think about Asher or the showcase. Instead, I answered Emma’s questions about how to prep for a big show, listened to Carina regale me with wild tales about the students’ parents over lunch (dance moms were a terrifying breed), checked in with my father during a break, and ignored my mother’s voicemail about setting me up on a blind date.

“Scarlett, love, call me back when you get the chance,” she said. “I have the most marvelous prospect for you. He’s a res⁠—”

“You changed your outfit.”

My phone slipped out of my hand and clattered to the studio floor. “Jesus! Don’t sneak up on people like that.”

Asher leaned against the doorframe, the picture of effortless devastation in jeans and a gray shirt.

Ugh. How was it possible for someone to look that good in such a basic outfit?

I frowned, irrationally annoyed.

God definitely had favorites, and Asher was one of them.

“I didn’t sneak up on you,” he said, laughter coloring his voice. “You were just too busy to notice me.”

I swiped my phone off the floor. At least my mother’s voicemail had ended, so he didn’t have to overhear whatever scheme she’d concocted to “liven up” my “tragically nonexistent” love life.

“What are you doing here anyway?” I asked. “We don’t have anything scheduled today.”

It was Thursday, and our sessions were every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Asher offered a casual shrug. “I was in the area and thought I’d drop by.”

“For?”

“No reason. Just felt like it.”

“You’re telling me the Asher Donovan has nothing better to do with his time than drop by a ballet academy?”

A shadow flickered in those crystalline green eyes. “I have other things I could do,” he said. “I wouldn’t say they’re better.”

Warm air breezed through the open windows and brushed the nape of my neck. It traveled the length of my spine all the way down to my toes, making my skin tingle from the inside out.

Then Asher blinked, and the moment dissolved like honey in a sun-kissed ocean.

“Actually, I did have something to tell you,” he said. “I spoke with my publicist. She took care of the paparazzi from yesterday. They were trespassing on private property, and we were able to scare them into agreeing not to publish any of the photos.”

“Oh.” I scrambled to orient myself to his crisp new tone. It was like he’d flipped the switch from playful to professional. “That’s good. Do you know how they found you?”

“They followed Vincent.” His features tautened. “It’s not hard to spot that ridiculous orange Lamborghini of his.”

I resisted pointing out that Asher owned his fair share of “ridiculous” sports cars; Football World did a whole feature on his multimillion-dollar collection.

“He didn’t mention them when we talked yesterday.” I’d been so distracted by our father’s accident that I hadn’t asked Vincent whether he’d run into paparazzi on his way out. “He would’ve if he’d seen them.”

“I think they were still hiding when he left but found a way to sneak in afterward.” Asher examined me, his eyes inscrutable compared to their earlier warmth. “I heard he’s going back to Paris for the summer.”

“Yes. To take care of our father.” An ache settled into my knee joints.

“So training will be just the two of us going forward.”

I shifted my weight, hoping to ease the pressure. It didn’t work. “That’s what Lavinia said. There’s no point complicating things when Blackcastle already paid for the summer.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Asher didn’t move from his spot in the doorway. His response was cooler than I’d expected, which was a good thing. I was the one who’d established our no-flirting rule; I couldn’t get mad at him for following it.

The ache shot up my thigh to my hips.

I sucked in a sharp breath and exhaled, Asher’s curious change in attitude forgotten. I’d gone months without a flare-up, but the past week had been a nightmare. Stress, hormones, weather changes—there wasn’t always a rhyme or reason to my pain.

Before I could muster a reply, he suddenly straightened and jerked his head to the left.

“Hey!” Suspicion serrated his voice. “Do you work here?”

I didn’t hear a response, but a second later, pounding footsteps echoed through the hall.

Asher took off after them, and I instinctively followed despite my body’s scream of protest. My pulse rocketed with trepidation.

Was it the paps again? That was the only reason I could think of for his reaction. If it was, how did they get inside the school when security was already on alert from the first incident?

I rushed into the corridor, but in my haste, I banged my hip against the doorframe. Most people could easily shake off the hit, but for me, in my current state, it was the equivalent of a bomb going off inside me.

A cry of pain escaped before I could stop it.

Asher halted his chase and whirled around. Worry seeped into the planes of his face.

“Scarlett?” His voice sounded far-off, like I was sinking underwater while he watched from the shore.

Blood roared in my ears. The hall tilted as every ounce of attention coalesced around my legs, and the ache throbbed with the force of an sledgehammer battering its way through a wall.

Breathe.

In, one, two, three. Out, one⁠—

Another lightning bolt of agony ripped through me, so sharp and excruciating it felt like someone was tearing me in half from the inside out.

If my earlier ache was a hammer, this was a thousand spikes piercing the most tender points of my body.

My vision filled with static, and I maintained lucidity just long enough to see Asher sprint toward me before the ground rushed up and everything turned black.