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Page 199 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

He stood, leaning heavily on his cane as he did so. “I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, though Lord knows I’ve tried. But think about what I’ve said tonight. Think about what you’re tossing away if you don’t pull your head out of your ass soon.” He stumped toward the door. “I’ll see myself out. It’s late, and if I don’t get back to the hotel soon, your mother will have my hide.”

I almost let him leave without further comment, but there was one more unresolved issue hanging over us.

I stopped him just before he reached the doorway. “You never answered my question from the hospital.”

Your team or your son?

I needed to hear him say it.

My father looked back at me, his face unreadable. “The team will always be there,” he said. “But I only have one son.”

Then he left, and I was alone in the silence once again.

CHAPTER 51

ASHER

My father’s words echoed in my head long after he left, especially what he said about Teddy and my death wish.

Was that really the reason behind my compulsion to race? It seemed absurd. Ienjoyedracing, and it didn’t make sense for his death to be the reason behind my self-destructive behavior. It’d driven me to succeed, not to sabotage myself.

But the thrill I got from racing was the thrill of cheating death, so maybe…

My headache intensified. It was too late for this. I needed sleep first. Then I could figure out what to do with the revelations from my father’s surprise intervention tomorrow.

Unfortunately, the night had other plans for me when, less than an hour after he left, someone else showed up at my gates.

Disbelief cut through me when I saw who it was. “You’vegotto be kidding me.”

I was tempted to leave him outside, but I caved and opened the gates again. What was one more visitor? Hell, maybe I should ask the London Philharmonic to come over for a concert and then set up sleeping bags for all the paps to camp out in my living room.

Maybe the universe was doing me a favor by trying to distract me from thoughts of Scarlett—or maybe it was trying to punish me by making me deal with my fatherandthe person who reminded me most of her within the span of one hour.

I opened the front door to Vincent’s scowling face.

A bolt of irritation darted through me. He showed up at my house uninvited and had the nerve to look annoyed?

Typical Vincent.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Did someone put out a broadcast telling London I’m having an open house tonight or something?”

Given the way my week was going, I wouldn’t be surprised.

“We need to talk.” He shoved past me into the foyer. He was still wearing his kit from that afternoon’s match, which didn’t improve my mood.

Not only did he remind me of his sister, but he reminded me of my suspension. At that moment, he was the symbol of everything I’d lost, and I almost decked him for it.

I didn’t.

One, that wouldn’t solve my problems; it would compound them. Two, my issues weren’t his fault, though I wished they were. It was easier to blame others for my misfortunes than myself.

“I don’t want to talk.” Nevertheless, I slammed the door closed in case there was a pap lurking out there with a long-range night lens or whatever they used to spy on their unsuspecting victims. I trusted my security team, but one could never be too careful. “If this is about your sister…”

I couldn’t bring myself to say Scarlett’s name. It hurt too much.

“It’s not. I’m not here as Scarlett’s brother.” I flinched even as Vincent continued without so much as ahello, it’s lovely to seeyou. “I’m here as your captain, and I’m telling you toget your shit together.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Was it Kick Asher While He’s Down Day and no one told me? Why was everyone barging intomybloody house to yell at me? “I already?—”




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