Page 220 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)
Scarlett sat on the north side with Carina, Brooklyn…and my parents.
My heart stopped for the second time that day. I blinked to make sure I was seeing correctly, but there was no mistaking my mother’s curly dark hair and my father’s grizzled beard.
They hadn’t said awordabout attending today’s match, but there they were, decked out in Blackcastle gear—even my father.
My mother beamed and waved when she saw me looking. My father didn’t smileorwave, but his short nod was the most affirmation I’d gotten from him since I transferred.
I doubted we would ever have a “normal” father-son relationship, but it had improved incrementally since his surprise visit to kick my ass into gear during the fall. Plus, the fact that he was here today inBlackcastlecolors? That meant more than anything else he could’ve done.
I swallowed the emotion in my throat—if I teared up on the pitch, I would never live it down—and refocused on Scarlett.
She grinned and blew me a kiss with one hand. Her other hand carried a sign that saidKick Holchester’s ass from here to Plutoin huge, bright purple letters.
I burst into laughter. God, I loved that woman.
I winked and blew her a kiss back.
It was cheesy as fuck, but I didn’t care how many people groaned or how many front pages it would land on tomorrow.
I meant it with all my heart.
SCARLETT
“Do you think the logo was always there or he had someone install it after you guys won?” I asked, staring at the giant Blackcastle logo etched into the foyer floor.
Asher laughed. “I have no idea. This is my first time here. I’ve never even met Markovic before.”
It was the week after Blackcastle’s historic league win—the first under Coach Frank Armstrongandthe first under its current owner Vuk Markovic—and Markovic had invited the entire club for a celebration at his mansion outside London.
Either he’d been extremely confident about the team’s ability to win or he spent an inordinate amount of money to host such a lavish party on such short notice.
He could certainly afford it. The billionaire CEO possessed a higher net worth than some small European countries. He lived in New York but owned multiple interests in the UK, including Markovic Stadium, and he was notoriously reclusive. According to the internet, he rarely, if ever, spoke in public.
Given his reputation, I was surprised he was hosting such an elaborate party, but winning the Premier Leaguewasa big deal. As the team owner, he had to thank the players somehow.
“It’s about time you two showed up.” Vincent appeared out of seemingly nowhere. Like the rest of the men, he wore a tuxedo to fit in with the black-tie theme. “I can’t believe you made me the early one out of our trio. Do you have any idea what that’ll do to my ‘fashionably late’ reputation?”
I patted his shoulder with a comforting hand. “Punctuality is a good thing. Embrace it.”
“We would’ve gotten here earlier, but we got distracted,” Asher added, swiping two pieces of baked shrimp toast off a passing server’s platter. He handed me one and popped the other in his mouth.
My brother visibly gagged. “Don’teversay stuff like that in front of me again. I’m going to be sick.”
Asher raised an eyebrow. He chewed and swallowed before saying casually, “I was talking about the injured bird we saved from the side of the road. What wereyoutalking about?”
I laughed and nudged Asher gently with my elbow. “Stop teasing him. You two play nice while I say hi to Brooklyn.”
My friend stood on the other side of the domed entryway, talking to another Blackcastle staff member.
The foyer represented only a sliver of the Markovic estate, which was vast enough to fit multiple football pitches with room left over for an American baseball field or two, but it was still five times as big as my flat. The aforementioned gold stallion team logo gleamed against an expanse of pale green marble while chandeliers dripped with heavy, teardrop-shaped crystals above.
It would probably take me ten minutes just to reach Brooklyn, especially given how many people were here. Besides the Blackcastle team and their dates, I spotted a few celebrities and socialites—including Polina, the model I’d caught kissing Asher over the summer. She came with Gallagher, but judging by the way she kept scanning the room, she was on the lookout for someone else.
“I’ll say hi to Brooklyn with you.” Vincent moved to follow me before I stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warned.
“Think about what?” He was the picture of innocence.