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Page 185 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

Cool air replaced stifling heat.

The dots gradually receded, and I sucked in a gasp of fresh oxygen so quickly it devolved into a coughing fit.

We stopped inside the hospital lobby. Someone handed me a bottle of water, and I gulped half of it down gratefully.

“Better?” Carina asked when I finished and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

I nodded, too drained to scrounge up a coherent reply. “I need to find Asher.” Fresh panic swamped my temporary bout of relief.

“I’m on it.” Brooklyn released my other arm and marched straight up to the front desk. It took some convincing, but the incessant press coverage of me finally came in handy when one of the nurses recognized me as Asher’s girlfriend.

They refused to give me an update on his condition, but they allowed me to go up to the VIP floor with my friends and a security escort.

The lift seemed to take forever. No one spoke, and I couldn’t stop shaking from the arctic cold stealing through my body.

I was desperate to see Asher, but I dreaded it as well. What condition was he in? Why wouldn’t the nurse tell me? If he was fine, she would’ve told me, right?

The lights stabbed at my eyes. Why was the liftsoslow? If I had to be stuck in this steel cage for another second, I was going to scream.

I jabbed at the button again and again like that would somehow make it go faster. Our security escort opened his mouth, but he closed it when Brooklyn sent a scathing glare in his direction.

Finally, blessedly, we arrived on our floor. The doors slid open, and I dashed out without waiting for him or my friends.

They could find me later. In a hospital, one second could mean the difference between life and death.

Startled nurses and staff jumped out of the way to avoid colliding with me as I raced through the hall, frantically searching for Asher’s room. Luckily, there were only a handful of suites on the VIP floor, and I found his around the corner, at the very end of the corridor.

A familiar dark-haired figure sat opposite the door.

He raised his head, his eyes widening when he saw me. He stood right as I reached him.

“Vincent.” My brother’s name fell out as a half sob, half plea. I grabbed his arm, my heart a twisted mess behind my ribcage. I didn’t want to ask, but I had to know. I had to prepare myself. “The nurse wouldn’t—is he?—”

“He’s okay. Plenty scratched up, but okay.” Vincent gently loosened my death grip and squeezed my hand, his face pale but his voice steady. “They’re still running tests on him, but he’s alive and relatively unharmed.”

My knees buckled with relief.

Alive.He’s alive.The word rang in my ears.

A small, morbid part of me had been so convinced I’d arrive and find Asher gone that Vincent’s reassurance refused to sink in. It floated around the edges of my consciousness, suspended by an irrational fear that my brother had somehow gotten it wrong and Asher was actually steps away from death.

“They wouldn’t allow all the guys in here, so I offered to stay and keep everyone updated.” Vincent scrubbed a hand over his face. Exhaustion smudged the skin beneath his eyes. “I should’ve called you earlier, but I lost my phone on the way to the hospital. Once I got here, things were so chaotic that it slipped my mind. I was just catching my breath when you showed up.”

“You were with him when it happened?” My lower lip trembled. “Whatexactlyhappened?”

Had Vincent been in the passenger seat? If so, why was he completely unharmed while Asher was “plenty scratched up”? Asher hadn’t told me what the team was doing for its guys’ night out, but alcohol, testosterone, and cars were often a volatile mix. Had he been driving drunk?

A wisp of unease ate away at my relief.

Vincent hesitated. “You should talk to him when the doctors are done.” He glanced over my shoulder, and I turned to see Carina, Brooklyn, and my security escort speeding toward us.

Our escort stopped at the end of the hall when he saw I was with Vincent. My friends came up beside me and said hi to my brother, their voices muted.

Meanwhile, I stared at the closed door to Asher’s hospital room, willing it to open.

If I could only see him, I’d put my pesky worries to rest. Vincent said he was fine, so he wasfine. His well-being was the most important thing, not the cause of the crash.

Still, the unease lingered until the doctor and nurse finally stepped out and gave me the all clear to see him.




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