Page 184 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)
I kept waiting for the letters to rearrange themselves into a new sentence, one I could accept, but the headline remained the same.
BREAKING: Asher Donovan rushed to hospital after car crash in north London.
CHAPTER 47
SCARLETT
The irony of me racing to the hospital for Asher after he’d done the same for me two weeks ago wasn’t lost on me, but I didn’t dwell on the parallels of our situation.
I was too busy trying not to hyperventilate and lose my ever-loving mind.
Brooklyn floored it through the streets of central London while Carina monitored the news for any developments (none so far). They’d sprung into action immediately when they found out what happened, and I was so dazed I didn’t even have the energy to fret over Brooklyn’s driving.
My stomach sloshed with each jerk and stop. I wasthisclose to throwing up, but if I threw up, I’d slow us down.
I couldn’t slow us down. Not when every minute counted.
The news reported which hospital Asher was at, but the articles were so light on details that my imagination grabbed the blank spaces and drenched them with gruesome images.
Asher broken. Asher burned. Asher…
My dinner resurfaced in my throat. I curled my fingers around the edge of my seat and clung on for sanity until we reached the hospital.
One. Two—A small hiccup interrupted my attempts to breathe. I clutched the seat tighter and fought another sob.
Three.
Four.
The second Brooklyn parked, I flung open the door and sprinted toward the entrance. Carina shouted something, but I couldn’t hear her over the noise.
The crowd…God, if I thought the press turnout when I left the hospital had been wild, the sheer number of paps here tonight was mind-boggling. It made what I’d had to deal with so far look like quaint family gatherings in my nan’s backyard.
“Look! It’s Scarlett!” One of them spotted me, and the rest descended like vultures on fresh spoils.
“Scarlett, do you know how Asher’s doing?”
“What are your thoughts on the crash?”
“Are his injuries serious?”
“Scarlett!”
“Scarlett!”
They closed in around me in a seething, undulating ocean of black. Cameras flashed every other second, nearly blinding me, and my nausea intensified into a form of vertigo.
“Get out of my way!” I shouted, but my voice was lost in the cacophony. I tried to push through the crowd, but there were too many of them.
Panic and claustrophobia squeezed my lungs. The world spun. I had to get through. Ineededto get through before he—if he?—
Dots danced before my eyes.
Breathe. I need to breathe. I need to?—
“She said to getout of the fucking way!” Brooklyn’s audible anger swelled above the noise.
I heard several shouts of surprise followed by a pained grunt before firm hands grabbed both my arms and dragged me out of the viper’s pit.