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Page 169 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

Fuck. I hadn’t seen any news about me and Scarlett yet, but considering I’d missed my most anticipated match of the season so far to be by her side, I guess he’d pieced the puzzle together faster than the paps.

I held up my hands as he stormed toward me. “Vincent, I?—”

I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence before he hauled his fist back and slammed it into my face.

CHAPTER 43

SCARLETT

It turned out hospitals frowned upon fistfights breaking out on their premises, especially when one of their patients tried to hobble out of bed and stop it.

I wasn’t stupid enough to try and throw myself into the middle of Vincent and Asher’s fight, but I needed to dosomething. God knew I didn’t have the strength to yell like I normally would.

Unfortunately, I also didn’t have the strength to sit up straight, much less walk anywhere. My head made it about four inches above my pillow before sheer fatigue dragged it back down.

“Stop.” The word scraped up my throat. “Stop.”

Neither of them heard me over their grunts, curses, and the sound of fists striking flesh.

Once Vincent threw the first punch, all bets were off. Asher had retaliated, and now the two of them were grappling five feet from me like Neanderthals without impulse control.

A migraine blossomed at the base of my skull.

Rest and medical attention had soothed the worst of my pain, but I still hurt all over, and my head throbbed where I’d hitit against the corner of my coffee table. Thankfully, the angle at which I fell meant I’d only suffered a flesh wound and mild concussion; it could’ve been much worse, all things considered.

However, seeing two of the people I cared about most beat each other up in my hospital room wasnotconducive to a speedy recovery.

“You bastard!” Vincent swung at Asher again. “You lied to me!”

“We were going to tell you.” Asher ducked the hit. “Thisis why we didn’t!”

“You—”

The door swung open again, cutting off Vincent’s response. The doctor rushed in, followed by Carina, Brooklyn, and one of the nurses.

Screams, shouts, and swear words flew through the air with abandon.

I wanted to scream with them. I wanted to stand, yell, do anything except be an observer of my own life, but I couldn’t summon the strength.

The migraine spread to my eyes, my temples, my jaw.Everywhere.

“Enough!” My doctor finally wrestled the situation under control. Her eyes flashed with fury. “Everyone,out.”

“But—”

“You can’t?—”

“She doesn’t?—”

“I don’t want to hear it! I have a patient resting in here”—she pointed at me—“and you are in herefist fighting? You should be glad I don’t call security. Now getout!” For such a kind-looking old lady, Dr. Ambani had one hell of a set of pipes.

It was as if a fog had cleared, and they realized I was in the room for the first time since Asher opened the door.

Vincent and Asher swung toward me with stricken expressions. Guilt etched horrified lines across their faces, but the doctor didn’t give them an opportunity to apologize.

She jabbed her finger toward the door, and they shuffled out, their heads hanging in shame.

I tried to say something before they left, but the words didn’t make it past my lips.




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