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Page 160 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

Noah’s scowl expressed hownotdelighted he was with the assignment. However, his participation, combined with my and Vincent’s approval, led the rest of the team to join in trickles and then a wave.

Soon, almost every person agreed to join the book club, though I could tell some didn’t think we were seriously going to read dino erotica every month.

We grabbed our drinks and crowded around various tables and booths. The atmosphere was the most relaxed I’d felt since I joined Blackcastle. Everyone was less on edge now that Vincent and I had called a truce, and our victory that afternoon added an extra lift to our spirits.

This was what I’d missed. I loved the sport, but I loved the camaraderie and brotherhood of being part of a team too.

It’s nice…until you fuck it up, a voice sang inside my head.

The revelation about my relationship with Scarlett was a guillotine waiting to fall. At this point, I was deep in denial and taking my interactions with Vincent day by day.

Who knows? Maybe we could keep our secret from him until Vincent and I were both retired and I invited him to our wedding. He couldn’t kill us at our own wedding, could he?

“You good?” Noah asked while half the team left to argue over what song to play next at the jukebox.

“Yeah.” I flashed a quick smile. “Just thinking about the Holchester match coming up.”

He didn’t look convinced.

The gruff goalie was the quietest, most subdued member of the team, but he was also the most observant. He had to be, considering he was raising an eleven-year-old on his own. That couldn’t be easy.

“I’m glad you and DuBois made up,” he said. “I guess Coach’s summer plan worked, even if you only had two weeks of training together.”

The beer turned sour at the back of my tongue.

“I guess so.” I avoided Noah’s eyes. “I was the one who messed up last season. I don’t want that to happen again.”

The jangle of bells above the door cut our conversation short, and a noticeable hush fell over the pub when several members of Holchester’s team walked in.

I stiffened, my fingers curling tight around my pint glass. Noah straightened as well while the other Blackcastle players glared at the newcomers like they were intruding on our turf—which, in my mind, they were.

The Angry Boar was open to the public, but London was our city (yes, I only moved here at the beginning of the year, but I already thought of it as home). Holchester was only here because they had a match against Arsenal earlier that day.

Tension brewed into a toxic storm. Even the other patrons were on high alert.

Mac and his triplet bouncers looked like they were ready to throw fists at the first sign of trouble, but that didn’t stop Bocci, Lyle, and the other Holchester players from approaching me.

“Look who it is.” Lyle’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Judas himself.”

Once, we’d been friends. I’d bailed him out of sticky situations, and he’d thrown a surprise birthday party for me at my favorite club in Holchester. It was wild to think that a standard team transfer could’ve ruined our relationship so thoroughly, but to him it wasn’t a standard transfer. I’d left mid-season to join their biggest rival without so much as a heads-up, and that was on me.

But it’d been almost a year, and I was tired of their taunts. They needed to get the bloody hell over it.

“I’m starting to think you fancy me, what with the special nickname and all,” I drawled without standing. They didn’tdeserve that acknowledgment. “Did you seek me out at my favorite pub too? I’m flattered.”

His face reddened. “I don’t fancy traitors,” he snapped. “But it’s nice to see you getting so chummy with Blackcastle. You’ve truly turned, haven’t you?”

“They’re my team,” I snapped back, my pretense of fake congeniality gone. “And they’re not the ones who hung effigies of me in front of Holchester pubs.”

Non-sports fans would never understand it, but there was nothing like a Holchester football fan who felt like they’d been wronged.

“We can’t be held accountable for the public’s actions.” Bocci shrugged. “It’s not our fault they hate you so much.”

My jaw clenched. I should’ve been used to it, but after all this time, the sentiment still stung. I could try explaining it to people, but until they lived through it, no one quite understood what it was like to have a city that once adored you turn on you at the drop of a hat.

They felt betrayed by me, but I felt betrayed by them too. Their loyalty truly was transactional.

It made sense, but it hurt all the same.




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