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Page 175 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

“At least you and Vincent made up.” I tried to look for a silver lining. “If I’d known a few punches was all it took to heal your relationship, I would’ve tossed you two into a ring myself ages ago.”

I’d hated their fight while it was happening, but it turned out for the best. I’m gladonegood thing came out of this craptastic weekend.

Vincent wasn’t here to see me off because Sloane pointed out that we neededlessattention, not more. The fewer famous faces hanging around the hospital, the better.

“What can I say?” Asher’s grimace morphed into a small smile. “Men are simple creatures.”

“You mean Neanderthals.”

“Basically.”

We finally left the hospital grounds and pulled into traffic. Yellow from the streetlights and red from the surroundingtaillights blurred into a giant, jumbled stream that matched the chaos of my thoughts.

The paps didn’t know we were gone yet, but they would soon. After that…

This was the moment that’d kept me awake at night before Asher and I started dating. The moment when my life changed and was no longer my own.

It was one of the many reasons I’d been hesitant to get involved with him, but he’d proved time and again that none of those reasons mattered. My life hadn’t truly been my own since I met him, and if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.

However, that didn’t mean I wasn’t scared of what was coming. It wasn’t the scrutiny that unnerved me; it was the uncertainty.

Would the press paint us as heroes or villains? How deep into my life would they dig? Would they limit their attention to me, or would they go after everyone I worked and interacted with?

“Don’t worry, darling.” It was like Asher could read my mind. “We’ll get through it together.”

I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat.

We’d spent the better part of the summer preparing for the storm. Well, the storm was here, and he was right: we’d get through it together.

We didn’t have another choice.

When we arrived at the hotel, we made it to our suite without incident. Sloane had sent someone to bring me extra clothes and essentials from my flat, so I wasn’t stuck wearing the same outfit for God knew how long.

While Asher showered and I waited for my belongings to arrive, I called my parents back. I finally had the energy to talk to them, and I didn’t want to compound their worries by being radio silent.

I checked in with my father first. He must’ve been waiting for my call because he picked up on the first ring when it usually took me several tries to reach him (he was a big believer in digital detoxes).

“Scarlett.” His worried voice flowed over the line and made my eyes prickle with emotion. I hadn’t realized how long it’d been since we actuallytalked. “How are you,ma chérie?”

“I’m fine. I just got out of the hospital.” I explained the situation to him. “We’re staying at the hotel until things with the press die down.”

“The press.” My father made a disgusted noise. His opinion of the press hovered just above his opinion of politicians (whom he despised) and below his opinion of fast food (which he considered an abomination). “The press are vultures,” he said, switching fully to French. “It is their job to be as horrid as possible to get clicks. Don’t listen to a thing they say.”

“I’ll try not to.” I forced a smile even though he couldn’t see me. “How are you feeling? Is your hip still bothering you?”

“It’s okay now, but you know, it was so terrible over the summer.” My father heaved a huge sigh, and despite the circumstances, my smile turned genuine. Jean-Paul DuBois was nothing if not dramatic. “Luckily, your brother was here to help, or I would’ve been stuck with the nurse by myself. Can you imagine? Me, alone with a stranger twenty-four-seven inmyhouse? Bah!”

“Really?” I leaned deeper against the headboard. “Vincent said you quite liked the nurse after a while.”

“What? He said what?” My father sounded flustered. “Don’t listen to your brother. He should focus more on taking care ofyou and not about whether Ilikemy nurse. That’s what he’s there for.”

“He’s here to play football, Dad, not take care of me,” I said, glancing at the bathroom door. Asher was still in the shower. “I don’t need taking care of. I’m an adult.”

“An adult who was hospitalized and now has her picture all over the news.” I flinched, and my father sighed again when I didn’t answer. “I’m sorry if I sound harsh,ma chérie,but you must understand why I worry.”

My throat clogged at way his voice softened. In his eyes, I was still his little girl, but he couldn’t soothe all my hurts with a hug and a kiss anymore. That time had passed, and we both knew it.

“I understand, and I know I’ve made mistakes,” I said. “But I’m fixing them. Don’t worry too much about me, okay?”




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