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Page 130 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

The goal was a foregone conclusion. The Greens’ keeper barely had time to react before the ball sank deep into the net, and the stadium erupted into cheers.

“Gooooallll!” The announcer dragged the word out over the loudspeaker.

I allowed myself a spark of triumph.

Three to four.Almost there.

“Go, Reds!” A familiar voice screamed over the crowd.

My gaze snapped to the source, and an unfettered grin spread across my face when I saw Scarlett jump from her seat between Carina and a blond whom I assumed was Brooklyn.

I’d played in front of royalty, celebrities, and heads of state, but hearing Scarlett cheer for me beat every other match a thousandfold. It wasn’t even close.

She waved, her face glowing.

I almost waved back until I saw Vincent returning her greeting. He must’ve thought his sister was cheering for him alone.

Right. No public displays of affection allowed yet.

I shook off a twinge of disappointment and refocused on the match.

A few minutes later, Vincent blocked a goal attempt by the other team. An audible wave of appreciation rippled across the bleachers.

I hated to admit it, but the bastard really was good.

Soon, we tied with the Greens again.

Five minutes left. All we needed was one more goal.

Four minutes.

Three minutes.

I finally stole possession of the ball from Rafael. I kicked it from the left wing, and?—

“Gooooallll!!”

The stadium shook from the force of the audience’s jubilation. The Greens never recovered, the clock wound down, and we won five to four.

“Yes!” Vincent pumped his fist in the air. “That’s fucking right!”

The sweet thrill of victory streaked through my veins. It was blazing hot, I was dripping sweat, and I’d lost my temper in a deeply public way, but none of that mattered.

We won. We’d raised a shit ton of money, and I got to savor Rafael’s scowl as he slunk off the pitch.

It was the perfect ending to a rocky day.

I found Scarlett in the crowd again. She smiled at me, her face soft with pride and something else that made my pulse race.

Vincent was too busy signing autographs to notice, so I let myself smile back.

The noise around us dulled into an indistinguishable roar. No matter where we were or how many people surrounded us, she commanded my attention like a lighthouse in a storm.

Bright. Beautiful. Unwavering.

I started walking toward her, but a Sport for Hope employee shepherding the group of kids I saw earlier stopped me halfway.

“Hi, Asher. I’m sorry to keep you. You must be exhausted,” she said apologetically. “But the kids are big fans, and they’d like a few autographs and pictures. Is that okay?”




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