Page 195 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)
“Yes, sir,” I said quietly.
I walked out, my ears ringing with condemnation.
It’s about the pattern. It’s about compulsively choosing to do something that leads to self-harm.
Something is driving thosestupid, impulsive decisions of yours.
I can’t stand by and watch you self-destruct.
Do you remember the favor you owe me? Please go.
My head pounded from the tumult of voices swarming my brain. They overlapped and blended together, their collective volume rising to a point where I could no longer hear my steps against the concrete floor or the anxious hammer of my pulse.
Scarlett, football, my control over my own bloody life…everyone and everything I loved was slipping through my fingers.
If I didn’t get my shit together soon, I’d lose everything I’d worked so hard for.
Permanently.
CHAPTER 50
ASHER
That weekend, Blackcastle played Tottenham and did just fine without me. They squeaked out a miraculous goal in the last minute, but a win was a win, and as happy as I was for them—for us—I couldn’t stop something unpleasant from slithering through my veins.
It was like my absence didn’t mean anything.
Like I didn’t matter.
The dark cloud that’d followed me since the crash grew heavier, and I begged off celebrating with the team afterward. It wasn’t like I’d contributed to their victory.
Maybe if Teddy were alive or I had another best friend, I’d have an outlet to vent the sickly emotions coiling inside me. Since I didn’t, I was forced to drown in them alone.
“I can’t believe you’re pulling a Noah on us,” Adil said when I told him I was going home. Noah rarely came out with us after a match.
However, even the ever-persistent Adil didn’t push me to join their revelry. The team had been walking on eggshells around me since the crash and my breakup with Scarlett. I hadn’t confirmed it myself, but they must’ve noticed how Iclammed up when she came up in conversation and grilled Vincent about it instead.
It was mortifying—I hated being the object of pity—but at least they had my back. No one gave me shit about what happened with Bocci. Many of them had been present for the race, and they’d wanted to make him eat his words as much as I had.
“Anyway, enjoy your night off. I’ll see you on Monday.” Adil slapped a hand on my shoulder. Neither of us mentioned that I didn’t have nightsonanymore since Coach benched me. “Take it easy, Donovan.”
I forced a smile and nodded as the team piled into their cars for a night at the Angry Boar. Noah had gone home, and Vincent was noticeably absent. Maybe he was already at the pub. We hadn’t talked much the past few weeks, and I suspected he was avoiding me given my broken relationship with Scarlett.
It was for the best. I couldn’t look at him without thinking about her, and I couldn’t think about her without feeling like someone had jammed a sword through my gut.
I drove straight home from the stadium and cut a direct path to the kitchen. Thankfully, my security team had succeeded in scaring off the paps that used to lurk around my house, so I didn’t have to worry about them on top of everything else.
Yes, I was wallowing.
No, I didn’t give a shit.
I grabbed a glass bottle of Coke from the fridge and popped the cap off. Normally, I didn’t indulge in much alcohol or soda during the season, but since I was benched for the foreseeable future, I allowed myself a cheat drink—or two, or three.
I leaned against the counter and took a swig, my eyes sweeping dispassionately across the giant kitchen until the copper gleam of cookware caught my eye and a flood of memories assaulted me.
I thought you were an intruder.
Why would you think that?