Page 98 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

“Say it, Dad.” My vow to ignore his bait sank beneath a surge of adrenaline. “You will not have a loser and a traitor in your house, right?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were about to.” Blood roared in my ears. It was one thing to hear strangers call me a traitor. It was another to hear my own father almost say it. “Be honest. Do youactuallywant me to win?”

“What the hell are you talking about? Of course I do.”

“I’m not so sure.” This wasn’t the place for this conversation, but I couldn’t stop the flood from consuming what was left of our civility. It was here, in this garishly lit room, with its monitors and sterile floors, that my ugliest thoughts spilled out. “I think a part of you secretly hopes I’ll lose because if I lose, it’ll validate what you said about how I never should’ve left Holchester in the first place. If I win, that means Holchester lost, and you haveneverrooted against them. So tell me, Dad. At the end of the day, if you had to choose, who will it be? Your team or your son?”

I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t lose my temper. But my words reverberated through the air with an intensity that caused my father’s face to flush.

Crimson washed over his skin like blood seeping into snow. The heart monitor’s beeps increased in frequency until they blended into a stream of noise instead of disparate sounds.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to.

We both knew what his answer was.

Less than a minute later, the door flew open and the nurse charged in with a scowl. She scolded me thoroughly for raising my father’s heart rate and promptly kicked me out.

I muttered an apology and left. My own heart slammed against my rib cage with bruising force.

If you had to choose, who will it be? Your team or your son?

Anyone who wasn’t familiar with Holchester football fan culture would say it was a ridiculous question and that family was the obvious answer, but I’d seen men go to prison for beating another senseless over a missed penalty kick. Others have taken out bank loans to buy merch and follow the team around the world.

For some people, football mattered more than anything else. I had a sinking suspicion my father was one of them.

“What happened?” my mother asked when I stepped into the hall. Her worried eyes traveled from my face to my father’s room and back again. She must’ve heard the nurse yelling at me. “What did he say to you?”

What did he say to me, not what did I say to him.

As much as she loved my father, she was well aware of his faults and our long-running dynamic.

“The usual.” I didn’t look at Scarlett, who stood quietly next to my mother. I was too embarrassed by the family drama. “I’m sorry, I should’ve kept my cool. I know how he can get, and he just had a heart attack. I shouldn’t have risen to the bait.”

My mother glanced at the window again. “He’ll be okay.” Anxiety threaded her voice, but she didn’t press for more details. “I know how your father can get too.” She touched my arm with a gentle hand. “Why don’t you and Scarlett go to our house and freshen up? There’s no use having all three of us wait around when his condition is stable. I’ll stay and call you if anything changes.”

“Are you sure?” Itwouldbe nice to change into a more day-appropriate outfit. I kept an emergency stash of clothes at my parents’ house for occasions just like this.

“Yes. I need someone to bring me a change of clothes and lunch anyway. Don’t make me eat hospital canteen food.”

I cracked a real smile this time. “Change of clothes and lunch. Got it.”

“Don’t rush back,” my mother warned. “I don’t need you getting a speeding ticket.” She gave me a gentle shove toward Scarlett. “Nowgo.”

So we went.

CHAPTER 25

SCARLETT

I wasn’t sure what to expect from Asher’s childhood home. A giant football-shaped halo, maybe, or some other sign that it once housed a future superstar.

Instead, I was greeted with a normal house that looked like every other on the block. White window frames, brick walls, a little black gate separating the front garden from the pavement.

“I’m sorry. This probably wasn’t how you imagined spending your Saturday,” Asher said ruefully as he unlocked the front door.

“I didn’t have anything special planned, and I’ve never been to Holchester, so I actually have to thank you for the free trip,” I said, earning myself a quick smile. I hesitated, then asked more softly, “How are you feeling?”