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Page 173 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

The next World Cup was bearing down fast. Qualifiers for Europe started in the spring, and I could alreadytastethe thrill. There was no way England wouldn’t make it into the tournament. Our national team was the best it’d been in over a decade.

“We’ll see about that,” Vincent scoffed, but his words lacked bite. This time, he was the one who paused before continuing. “I’m not proud of what I did. If I could go back, I would’ve done things different, but the past is the past. We can’t change it.”

I closed my eyes. Old memories resurfaced, as vivid as if they were happening right at that moment.

The shrill of the whistle. The cheers and boos of the crowd. The smell of grass and sweat, and my sheer, utter disbelief when the ref whipped out a red card.

It was the closest I’d come to punching someone on the pitch in my entire career.

Every time I trained, every time someone criticized me and I thought I couldn’t keep going, I relived that moment. Ichanneled my grievances and used them as fuel not only to be better, but to be thebest. And it worked.

The red card had affected the trajectory of my career in many ways, and as much as I’d despised Vincent for it, not all of the consequences had been bad. It’d pushed me to where I was today.

“No, we can’t change the past,” I said. “The same way Scarlett and I can’t go back and tell you before today. But what’s done is done. There’s no use dwelling on it.”

Honestly, I was relieved our relationship was out in the open. The circumstances of the reveal weren’t great, and Vincent’s first response had been less than ideal. However, we’d needed that fight. We had too much bad blood for it to be smoothed over with words.

Vincent blew out a deep sigh. “No. I guess not.”

We didn’t say anything else. Instead, we took the moment to simply sit and acknowledge the closing of one long, rocky chapter in our shared history.

Coach, Holchester, the paps, the public’s inevitable discovery of my relationship with Scarlett and the ensuing fallout…that was the future.

The future would always be there, but today, we’d finally laid the past to rest.

CHAPTER 44

SCARLETT

The hospital kept me overnight and discharged me the next evening.

That same night, an hour before I was discharged, news of my relationship with Asher broke.

Football superstar ditches match for his hospitalized girlfriend!

The thin line between love and hate: Asher Donovan revealed to be dating his biggest rival’s sister!

Who is Scarlett DuBois, Asher Donovan’s secret girlfriend?

It was pure chaos. My phone blew up with so many calls and texts that the battery couldn’t handle it, and it died before I made it home. Paps swarmed the hospital, hoping for a money shot, a sound bite, or even better, a video of Asher with me.

Fortunately, Sloane had flown in from New York last night to deal with the situation on the ground. She, along with hospital security, was able to usher us out a side exit and into a discreet black SUV without anyone stopping us.

A familiar man with salt-and-pepper hair waited in the driver’s seat.

“Good evening, miss.” Earl smiled at me in the rearview mirror, but his eyes were filled with concern.

“Good evening, Earl.” I mustered a half-hearted smile in response. I was happy to see him again, but it was hard to scrounge up much enthusiasm when my life had careened off the rails in the past hour.

The lingering consequences of my collapse didn’t help. Thanks to plenty of rest and medical attention, my pain wasn’t as debilitating as it was yesterday, but it was stillthere.It was in my muscles, my joints, and my bones—and in certain moments, it felt like it was in my very soul, tearing me apart from the inside out.

Dr. Ambani wanted to keep me in the hospital for an extra day, but I’d insisted on going home. I wanted the comfort of my flat, and there wasn’t anything more they could do for me that I couldn’t do at home.

Sloane stood next to the open car door, blocking me and Asher from the view of any passersby.

“Earl’s taking you both to the Ashworth,” she said, naming one of London’s top luxury hotels. “I have to deal with the paps first, but I’ll be in the car behind you. I’ve already briefed the hotel staff. When you arrive, the general manager and security will personally escort you to your suite.”

“Wait.” My heart climbed into my throat. “Why are we going to a hotel? I thought I was going home.”




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