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Page 112 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

Tears clogged my throat. I didn’t blame them for being skeptical. If I were them, I’d be irritated with me too.

I was so wrapped up in my mortification, I forgot about the person who’d entered mid-rehearsal until I heard his voice.

“Scarlett.”

My feet stilled.

One blink peeled the shadows away from the seats and carpet, revealing a familiar muscled frame and sculpted cheekbones. A pleat of concern creased his brow, but his eyes were soft when they landed on me.

Asher.

The auditorium had emptied out, so it was just the two of us, and the echo of my name lingered.

Scarlett.

That was all it took.

The tears climbed up my throat and tore loose with a small sob. Once the first broke free, the rest followed, filling the cavernous space with the humiliating sound of my failure.

Ihatedcrying in public, but my threads of control had frayed with each minute of rehearsal. I’d reached the end of my restraint, and all it took was finding one safe shelter before I broke down.

Asher was by my side in an instant, his arms encircling me as I pressed my tear-dampened face into his chest. He didn’t say a word. He just held me, his embrace so strong and steady, I was sure it could withstand even the most devastating of storms.

“I screwed up,” I sobbed. “The rehearsal. I screwed it all up. I forgot the choreography, I threw everyone off, I…” A hiccup splitmy self-loathing in half. “I can’t do it. I’m not even the principal, and I’m already making a mess of things.”

Past me would’ve slapped present me over the words leaving my mouth. I’d believed anyone could do anything if they tried hard enough, but I was tired ofhavingto try so hard.

Some days, it was a struggle just to get out of bed. I was constantly at war with my body, my emotions, and everything that should’ve been on my side but wasn’t.

I was exhausted. All I wanted was to stay here forever, surrounded by Asher’s warmth and the reassuring beats of his heart. Here, I didn’t have to try. I could just…be.

“Youcando it.” Firmness underlaid his otherwise gentle tone. “This is the first time you’ve performed with a cast in years. Give yourself the grace to grow.”

“To grow and do what? They’ll never let me sub in for Yvette now,” I said, my voice small. I didn’twantto sub in for Yvette. If I fucked up during the performance the way I had in rehearsals, I’d never be able to show my face at RAB again. I’d never be able to look atmyselfin the mirror again. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Lavinia calls me into her office tomorrow and takes the understudy role away from me.”

My tears finally slowed to a trickle. I pulled away from Asher’s chest and swiped angrily at my cheeks. “I should’ve practiced more, but I’m…”I’m afraid.

I was too embarrassed to voice the insecurity out loud.

My doctor said I could dance as long as I didn’t overdo it, but I worried that Ihadto overdo it in order to master the choreography. I was rusty after years away from dancing. I did fine in the opening scene before I got distracted and everything went to hell, but could I sustain that through multiple practices and a full performance?

Surprisingly, my muscles weren’t screaming after the day’s exertions, but they were fickle. They were fine one day and agonizing the next.

Even if Icouldsustain that level of performance, I had to contend with the psychological pressure of being onstage again. What if my memories sucked me back into the abyss during the showcase? What if I froze again and became a laughingstock? How could my students take me seriously if I couldn’t master one performance?

Despite bouts of nostalgia for my old career, I loved my job at RAB. I’d clawed my way out of a hole of bitterness and resentment to build a new life here, and I didn’t want to jeopardize it.

“If you want to practice more, we can practice more. It’s not too late.” Asher’s thumb skimmed over my cheek and wiped away a stray tear. His eyes searched my face. “Doyou want to practice more?”

Different responses rushed to the tip of my tongue.

Yes. No. I don’t know.

Nowas the easy answer.

Yeswas the optimistic challenge.

I don’t knowwas the truth, so that was what I went with. “I’m probably overthinking, per usual,” I said with a weak smile. Now that the tears had tapered off and I had other company besides my treacherous thoughts, it was easier to pull myself back from the brink of despair. “The chances of me dancing in Yvette’s place again are slim. This was probably a one-time thing.”




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