Page 200 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)
“You see those?” He pointed at the medals displayed inside a glass case in the hall. “If you want another one, you need to get your head out of your ass. So you’re suspended and your girlfriend broke up with you. Boo-fucking-hoo.”
My shoulders stiffened. “You said this wasn’t about Scar—about her.”
“It’s not. It’s about the way you’re actingbecauseof her,” Vincent snapped. “You want to be the greatest footballer in the world, yet you can’t hold it together after one breakup. Let’s say you get back together. What happens if you get into a fight before a match? What happens if she breaks up with you again before the World Cup?”
“I—”
“You’ve been moping like a teenager for aweek, and it’s time you got over it.” He barreled over my response. “Now I’m going to say this once—and if you tell anyone, I’ll fucking deny it—but we need you back on the pitch. Team morale is down, and we can’t keep up our streak without you. Webarelywon against Tottenham. Most importantly, you need to get your shit together and figure out a way to win Scarlett back. For some reason I can’t fathom, she still has feelings for you, and frankly, I’m sick of seeing her mope around too.”
I stared at him, stunned into silence for the second time that night.
I couldn’t believe Vincent DuBois, of all people, was giving me a pep talk. A harsh and annoying one, but a pep talk nonetheless.
Either he’d conspired with my father on tonight’s double attack, or the universe had determined I needed that much of a kick in the ass to get my shit together.
I suspected it was the latter.
The shock of the night’s events cleared some of the daze I’d been walking around in for the past two weeks.
It pained me greatly to admit it, but my father and Vincent were both right. I prided myself on my drive and determination, but I’d displayed neither since Scarlett ran out of my hospital room the night of the crash.
Why was I sitting around waiting for inspiration to strike instead offightingfor her and for my spot back on the pitch? I kept thinking it was impossible to prove a negative, but was it really?
Even if it was, I’d achieved the impossible before. I could do it again.
For Scarlett, I could do anything.
Clarity dissolved the rest of my daze, allowing Vincent’s words to fully sink in. “She’s moping around?”
He gave me an exasperated look. “Out of everything I said,thatwas your takeaway? And yes, she is, unfortunately, moping.”
My heart skipped a beat. I hated the thought of Scarlett being sad, but moping was good. Moping meant she hadn’t moved on.
Our issue wasn’t a lack of feelings for each other, but Vincent’s confirmation was the fuel I needed.
“You know, you could’ve saved half your speech,” I told him. “My father was just here. He also told me to get off my ass and fight, so you’re a little late with that.”
Vincent frowned. “Seriously? I have more to say. I rehearsed on the ride here.”
“Save it. I got the message.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good then.” He looked uncertain now that his original plan had been thwarted. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
My mind spun as it formed and discarded dozens of strategies.
I had to prove to Scarlett that I wasn’t the same reckless hothead who’d raced Bocci that night.
In order to do that, I needed to take concrete action. Do something that would highlight how serious I was about changing.What can I…
My heart stopped for a second before it kicked into double time.
I got it.
“I have a plan,” I said in response to Vincent’s question. “But I need the team’s help.”
The next afternoon, the entire Blackcastle football club piled into my house for an “unofficial team meeting.”
They bitched and moaned about the last-minute summons, the long drive, and the imposition on their day off, but every single member showed up.