The Striker (Gods of the Game Book 1)

I didn’t protest when Scarlett insisted on coming with me to Holchester.

Normally, I wouldn’t subject anyone to a three-hour drive with the worst, most anxious version of myself, especially when I was sure they were offering out of politeness and not a genuine desire to give up their Saturday for someone else’s family emergency.

But when she’d offered, she’d done so with such sincerity I couldn’t say no, and I didn’t want to make the three-hour drive alone.

So I accepted.

We didn’t talk much during the ride, but her presence helped calm some of the thoughts raging in my head.

My father, who’d never been sick for more than a few days in his life, had had a heart attack.

We hadn’t spoken since my last visit to Holchester, when he’d stormed out of the kitchen and I’d left without making amends.

Regret rattled through me.

My mother hadn’t provided many details over the phone. She’d only said he was in the hospital, but what if our last words to each other were said out of anger? What if he was gone by the time I got there?

My knuckles turned white around the wheel.

“You can drive faster if you want,” Scarlett said, breaking the silence. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

I shook my head. “We’re almost there. It’ll be slower if I sped and got pulled over.”

I was already going faster than I normally would when she was in the car. She said she’d be fine, but I didn’t want to stress her out, and getting a ticket from some traffic officer on a power trip wouldn’t do anyone any good.

Scarlett’s worried stare bore a hole in my cheek, but she didn’t bring up the issue again. She did, however, call ahead and speak to someone at the hospital so that when we arrived, we were escorted directly to my father’s floor without causing a commotion—or tipping off the paparazzi.

My mother sat in the hall, twisting her hands in her lap.

She jumped up when she saw me. Red rimmed her eyes, and she wore her pyjamas with a coat thrown on top. She must’ve gone straight to the hospital without changing first.

“Oh, Asher.” She swept me up into a hug. I’d always considered her a strong person, but her body felt unbearably frail in the fluorescent-lit hallway. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Of course.” I squeezed her, my heart in my throat. “How is he?”

“He’s stable, thank the Lord.” My mother pulled back, her eyes glossy. “We were having breakfast like usual. I made him a spot of tea, and we were talking about going to France for holiday. I turned for a second to check on the kettle and heard a crash. When I turned back again, he was on the floor. He…I…”

I hugged her again, my own chest tight. “It’s okay. He’ll be okay.”

Guilt lodged in my gut for not living closer and abandoning her for London. I had my reasons, but what if something happened to my parents and I couldn’t make it back in time? I was their only child, and the rest of our family lived elsewhere in the UK or abroad. Besides each other, I was all they had.

I didn’t hate my father; I just wished our relationship was different. Plus, my parents had been married for over thirty years. If one of them was gone, I wasn’t sure the other would survive.

My mother drew in a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She was a strong believer in maintaining a stiff upper lip, and her tears visibly subsided as she locked down her emotions again.

“You’re right. He’ll be okay,” she said. “Of course he will. He’s already out of the woods. The doctor said they’re keeping him for monitoring just in case, but he should be home within a day or two.” She sniffled and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Forgive me. I don’t know what came over me, crying in public like that. My Lord.”

Now that she was in control once more, she realized we weren’t alone. She glanced past me at Scarlett, who stood a respectful distance away. Surprise flashed across her face before her earlier weepiness morphed into intrigue.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said. “I’m Pippa, Asher’s mum.”

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am. I’m Scarlett, Asher’s friend,” Scarlett said politely.

“Please, call me Pippa. I can’t stand being called ma’am. Reminds me of my mum, and no one wants that.” My mother shuddered before she examined Scarlett with an eagle eye.

Uh-oh. I recognized that look. That was her my-baby-boy-is-almost-thirty-and-still-hasn’t-given-me-grandchildren-so-I’m-going-to-play-matchmaker-whenever-I-can look.

I almost would’ve preferred she continued to sob.

“Why don’t we look for⁠—”

“Thank you for coming with Asher,” my mother said, interrupting my attempt to steer us toward another topic. “That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s no trouble at all. That’s what friends are for.”

“Indeed. Were you with him when he got the news?”

“Um…” Scarlett’s smile faltered while I suppressed a grimace. There was only one realistic reason why we’d be together this early on a Saturday morning, but neither of us wanted to confirm it for my mother, of all people.“Yes. We were having breakfast.”

Almost true, since we’d finished breakfast by the time I got the call.

“I see.” My mother pounced on that tidbit of information like a starving lioness on prey. “Quite early for breakfast on a weekend. Quite a long drive from London to Holchester too.”

She cast a pointed look at my outfit. I was wearing the same dress shirt and trousers from last night’s date while Scarlett was in a T-shirt and jeans. A toddler could’ve put this two and two together.

“We’re both morning people,” Scarlett said, her voice bright. “And the drive wasn’t too bad. The roads aren’t busy this time of day.”

We avoided looking at each other so we didn’t simultaneously combust from the awkwardness. Her cheeks were dark red, and I imagined mine were a similar shade.

“I suppose not.” My mother didn’t sound convinced. “Now I hope you’ll forgive me for being blunt…”

Oh, fuck.

“But how long have you and Asher been friends?” My mother managed to place the verbal equivalent of air quotes around the word friends without changing her tone. “Because, you know, it’s quite difficult for him to meet women he’s actually interested in. He’s never brought anyone home before.”

“Technically, we’re not⁠—”

She cut me off again. “He’s surrounded by testosterone every day, all day. I tell him, Asher, dear, it’s time to meet a nice girl and settle down. You won’t be a spring chicken forever, and I want to hold my grandbabies before I die. Does he listen? No.” She clucked her tongue. “So you can imagine how delighted I am that you’re here. Tell me, how did you meet Asher? Do you have a boyfriend? Are you interested in children anytime soon?”

Scarlett gaped at her, her eyes wide.

“Mother!” I finally interjected. “Please. Now is not the time or place for this.”

Trust her to interrogate us about my love life in a hospital waiting room, hours after my father had a heart attack. No one compartmentalized their feelings better than Pippa Donovan.

“That’s what you’ve said for the past five years,” she retorted. “I’m simply making conversation. Scarlett doesn’t mind, do you, dear?”

“Is Dad awake?” I switched subjects before Scarlett was forced to answer. “I’d like to see him.”

“Yes.” My mother’s face sobered. “The doctors said he was lucky. It was a mild heart attack, and he regained consciousness soon after we arrived at the hospital. They’re running tests on him now, but you should be able to see him.”

“You go,” Scarlett said when I glanced at her. “I’ll stay with your mother.”

If my mother hadn’t been picturing her as her future daughter-in-law before, she sure was now. I could practically see stars pop up in her eyes as she envisioned what her future grandbabies would look like.

I didn’t want to leave Scarlett alone with her—god knew what questions she’d ask when I left the room—but it would be awkward to bring Scarlett into my father’s hospital room when they’d never met.

I cast an apologetic glance at Scarlett, who gave me a reassuring nod.

Luckily, I tracked down a nurse quickly, and after a bit of back and forth, they let me in to see him.

My father’s room was halfway down the hall from where my mother had been sitting. He had his eyes closed when I entered, but he opened them at the sound of the door clicking shut. Tubes snaked around his torso, and a nearby monitor beeped with a steady rhythm.

Relief loosened the fist around my chest at the sound of those beeps.

He was alive.

My mother had said as much, but I’d needed to see it for myself.

“That was fast,” he said as I came up beside him. His voice was a hoarse shadow of its usual boom.

“I have a lot of fast cars.”

He snorted.

“How are you feeling?” I asked. I tried not to notice how small he looked in the hospital bed or how the color of his face matched the white sheets.

“I’m fine,” he said with a dismissive grunt. “This whole thing is ridiculous. I should be home by now, but they insist on keeping me here for forty-eight hours. They said I need ‘monitoring,’ whatever that means. It’s unnecessary horseshit.”

“You had a heart attack over breakfast,” I reminded him. “I’d say the monitoring is necessary.”

“Yes, well, we can’t all have healthy starts to the day, can we?”

We stared at each other. A beat of surprise passed before it dissolved into laughter, and the fist in my chest loosened another inch.

I couldn’t remember the last time my father and I laughed around each other. Before Blackcastle for sure. Maybe even before I joined the Premier League.

“You drove here from London?” he asked.

I nodded.

He grunted again, which was as close to sentimental as he’d get. My father wasn’t a fan of hugs, thank-yous, or emotions in general.

The monitor’s beeps punctuated the renewed silence between us. Somewhere along the way, we’d lost the ability to talk to each other, and one bout of shared amusement didn’t change that.

My father’s eyes drifted toward the front of the room and narrowed. “Who’s the girl with your mother?”

I followed his gaze to where Scarlett and my mother were talking. They’d migrated from their original spot down the hall, and we had a perfect view of them through the window.

“That’s Scarlett,” I said. “She’s a…friend.”

“Scarlett.” A frown pinched between his brows. “Isn’t that the name of your trainer this summer?”

Of course he remembered that piece of information.

“Yes,” I admitted. “She’s that too.”

My father’s attention snapped back to me. “Do all trainers hang out with their athletes at the hospital over the weekend?”

I stiffened at his tone. Whereas my mother was constantly hounding me to give her grandchildren, my father thought love and relationships were too big a distraction.

I’d agreed with him in theory, but that was before I met Scarlett.

“I’d hardly call this ‘hanging out,’” I said evenly. “Like I said, we’re also friends. She was with me when I got the call, and she was kind enough to accompany me here.”

My father stared at me. Whatever he saw in my face had his face creasing with disbelief.

“Oh, don’t tell me.” He leaned his head back, his expression so pained one would think he was suffering another cardiac event. “Don’t tell me you went and slept with your bloody trainer.”

My shoulders locked at his visible derision. “It’s not like that.”

I hated how sleazy he made it sound, like I’d picked her up at the pub and brought her back to my place for a quick shag.

“The bloody hell it isn’t.” Anger strengthened my father’s voice. “What have I told you from the start? Getting involved with anyone at this stage of your career is not a good idea. It’ll have your head all twisted when. You. Need. Focus. Look at your last season. Number two, and that was before you shagged your trainer. How are you going to be number one when you’re too busy thinking about getting off to play the game?”

Trust my father to rant about my performance right after a heart attack.

If he weren’t lying in a hospital bed right now, I’d snap back. As it was, my jaw ached from how hard I was clenching my teeth.

Don’t take the bait.

“Your focus this summer should be on improving your game on the pitch, not anywhere else,” he growled. “If you’re going to play for that team, you might as well win. I will not have a loser and a trai—” He abruptly cut himself off.

My pulse rocketed. The lights in the room seemed to flare, whitening the edges of my vision until his face was all I saw. “And a what?”

His lips thinned in response.

“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 you actually want 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 have never rooted 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?” It would be 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. “Now go.”

So we went.