The Striker (Gods of the Game Book 1)

I should’ve felt more conflicted after I promised Scarlett I would stop racing. Getting behind the wheel had been my version of therapy for so long, so giving it up should’ve engendered some resistance.

Maybe that’d come the next time I heard about a race or got a message about a new Bugatti from my car guy. In the meantime, I felt…nothing. Nothing except regret and a fierce, yearning desire never to make Scarlett cry again.

I had no idea she felt that way about my racing, but I should’ve known. Her past with cars made our conversation that first night in Tokyo inevitable. On the bright side, it meant everything was uphill from there.

Don’t get me wrong—my schedule for the next three days was brutal. Aoki Watches had me booked back-to-back with promo shoots, press, meetings, and events. Sloane kept me supplied with coffee, but the jet lag and early call times kicked my ass.

Thankfully, everything with Aoki went smoothly. The brand was happy, Sloane was happy, and Leon was happy from his luxury apartment in London, the bastard. My business manager had somehow weaseled his way out of the grueling cross-continent trip.

Work consumed my days, but the nights were mine, and I spent them all with Scarlett.

It was during the nights that I took her to my favorite izakayas, where we stayed up late talking over drinks and snacks. We wandered through the temple precincts of Sensoji, its illuminated lanterns casting a pale orange glow over our intertwined hands, and indulged in rousing renditions of old nineties songs in one of the city’s many karaoke bars (note: singing, along with cooking, was not one of Scarlett’s strong suits).

Exploring Tokyo with her was a revelation.

As much as I loved London, I loved being away from the prying eyes and whispers even more.

Here, amidst the electric hustle and bustle of the biggest city in the world, we could be a normal couple. No disguises, no nerves, no hiding from paps. Just us.

My last shoot with Aoki Watches wrapped early. It was Saturday, so no one wanted to stay on set too long. While Sloane hung behind to double-check the details, I took Scarlett on a special date I’d planned with the hotel concierge’s help.

I couldn’t join her on her daytime tourist excursions, but I could make sure our last night in Tokyo was as memorable as possible.

“I hope you don’t mind heights,” I said, opening the door to the hotel’s rooftop.

Scarlett stopped dead in her tracks. “Asher.” Laughter and shock laced her words. “Tell me you didn’t!”

She had to shout to be heard because waiting less than ten feet away, its rotors whirring, was a sleek white helicopter with the hotel’s gold logo stamped on the side.

“Private sunset helicopter tour of Tokyo,” I said with a grin. “Seems like a fitting way to celebrate our last night here.”

I paid an arm and a leg to book the helicopter at the last minute, but it was worth every single penny to see Scarlett’s enraptured expression as we soared over the city. I was so used to the luxuries in my life that I sometimes took them for granted, but experiencing them through her eyes did something to my soul.

I couldn’t describe what it was, but I wanted to give her every good thing in the world.

“That’s Odaiba.” I pointed out the popular entertainment hub located on a man-made island in Tokyo Bay. “We were there the other night. There’s Shibuya, the Tokyo Tower…”

I’d taken this flight before, so I took over our pilot’s tour guide duties until we landed on our hotel’s rooftop again. The staff had done an excellent job of turning it over during our twenty-minute ride.

Instead of a large, empty expanse of concrete, the rooftop now featured a gourmet candlelit dinner for two, complete with a linen tablecloth, fine china etched with a cherry blossom pattern, and portable heaters. The setup was tucked inside an alcove that protected it from being blown away by the helicopter landing.

Scarlett’s jagged inhale made me smile.

I walked her to the table as the helicopter took off again to give us privacy.

The rooftop was ours for the rest of the night.

“Be honest,” Scarlett said as we sat down. “Was the heli tour inspired by my joke about a similar ride over Hawaii?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. But hypothetically, if it was, it’s a lot better than Hawaii, isn’t it?”

Amusement pulled at her lips. “You know that date didn’t exist. I was baiting you.”

“I know. That’s why I said hypothetically, mine’s better.”

Scarlett laughed and shook her head.

Our omakase dinner was prepared by Japan’s top chef. There was a fourteen-month waitlist for his flagship restaurant in Osaka, but Sebastian had pulled some strings and convinced him to fly here for the weekend.

One bite proved why he had a fourteen-month waitlist. Every course, from the trio of tuna sashimi to the A5 Japanese wagyu sirloin, was exquisite.

“I’m so full, you’re going to have to roll me back to our hotel room.” Scarlett groaned, but that didn’t stop her from eating the last bite of her green tea cheesecake. “This has spoiled me for life. I can’t go back to regular takeaway after this.”

“I’ll make some calls and see if the chef is willing to relocate to London,” I said with a laugh.

She perked up. “You think he will?”

“No, but it doesn’t hurt to try.”

“Don’t get my hopes up like that.” Scarlett sighed and took a sip of her sake. She glanced around, her expression turning wistful. Dusk had deepened into the full inkiness of night, and we were so high up that we couldn’t even hear the traffic below. “It’s so beautiful here. I wish we could stay longer.”

Regret twinged in my gut. We were flying back tomorrow so we could make it to London before Vincent, but I wished we could stay longer too.

“We can always come back,” I said. “It’s only a flight away.”

“I know.” She toyed with her silverware. “But it won’t be the same.”

I remained quiet.

I knew what she meant. I felt it too—the impending curtain call on our summer, heavy velvet drapes descending to divide our lives into “us” and “us and them.”

Once we told Vincent on Monday, our relationship didn’t belong to just us anymore. It belonged to everyone else too. Everyone would have opinions, and we couldn’t escape them if we tried.

“Before we leave, I do have something I want to talk to you about.” Scarlett ran a finger over the etchings on her fork and avoided my eyes.

“Okay.” I strove for a neutral expression, but I had a feeling I knew what she wanted to discuss.

We’d agreed to an exclusive non-relationship when we started dating. We basically were in a relationship, but she didn’t want to be hemmed in by the label, so I hadn’t pushed the issue.

However, if we were telling Vincent about us soon, it would make sense to redefine our status. Right?

My heart crawled into my throat while I waited for her to continue.

“I…” Scarlett finally met my eyes, her expression alive with nerves. “I know we’ve been dating without a real label, but it’s almost the end of summer so I was thinking we could maybe make it official? It would be easier when we’re explaining things to Vincent,” she rushed out. “To tell him we’re boyfriend and girlfriend instead of this weird non-boyfriend and girlfriend thing we have going on.”

“Scarlett.” I placed my forearms on the table and leaned forward. “Do you want us to be official because of Vincent or because you want to?”

My question hung in the charged air, held aloft by the thundering beats of my heart.

A second passed.

Two.

Then… “Because I want to.”

Scarlett’s soft admission dispelled the breath from my lungs. I leaned back, relief a cool balm for the knot in my gut. “Then we’re official.”

“Just like that.”

“Just like that.” I looked at her, this beautiful, incredible woman whom I never would’ve expected would turn my world upside down, and marveled that she was mine. The universe knew what it was doing after all. “I’ve been here since day one, darling. I was simply waiting for you to join me.”

Scarlett’s smile spread so wide and warm I felt it all the way in my bones.

“I haven’t had an official boyfriend in years, so this is exciting,” she said. “Does this mean you’ll hold my bag and let me borrow your shirts to sleep in because men’s shirts are always more comfortable than women’s, for some reason?”

“The shirts, yes. The bag, depends. If you have as much shit in it as the day we met, then no.” I raised a brow. “I’m a top athlete, you know. I have to conserve my strength.”

I laughed when she kicked me under the table.

“My old therapist would be proud of me.” Scarlett slid her pendant along its chain. “She said healing wasn’t just about closing the door on my past. It was about allowing myself to open one for the future too. We worked a lot on my trust issues after Rafael. If it weren’t for her, I’d carry a lot more resentment than I do now.”

I noted the past tense of her words. “You don’t see her anymore?”

She shook her head. “Some people fold therapy into their daily lifestyle, but I got to a good place. However, I know I can always call her if I need to, even if I hate asking for help.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Ha ha.” She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “My parents weren’t thrilled at first. They’re old school. There’s this stigma around therapy in their generation, but once they saw how much it helped, they were onboard.”

Curiosity wound through me.

Scarlett didn’t talk about her parents much. I knew they divorced when she was young and that she had a fairly normal relationship with them, but that was it.

“How did they…”

“Deal with my accident?” she finished. “As well as they could, I suppose, but my mother was shattered. She was worried about me, obviously, but I think she was equally devastated about the end of my career. She liked having a prima ballerina daughter that she could brag about to her friends. My father moved to London for the first few months after the crash. Vincent was already here. They rallied.”

“Do you resent your mother for that?”

I tried to imagine how my father would react if I got injured and couldn’t play football anymore.

My blood congealed at the mental image.

I’d checked in with him a few times since his heart attack, but it was always through my mother. I hadn’t spoken with him directly since the hospital. However, it didn’t escape my notice that he never reached out to answer my question.

Your team or your son?

“Surprisingly, no.” Thankfully, Scarlett’s response drew my thoughts back to her. The last person I wanted to focus on during our last night here was my father. “I knew she felt those things, but she didn’t act on them, if that makes sense. She didn’t push me to try dancing again, and she was supportive when I became a teacher at RAB instead.” The wind blew stray strands of hair across her face, obscuring her pensive expression. “We all have ugly feelings sometimes. It’s a part of human nature. But it’s what we do with them that counts.”

Every time I thought she couldn’t get more amazing, she proved me wrong.

“That’s a mature way to look at it. I’m sure your old therapist would’ve been proud of that, too,” I teased.

She offered a flicker of a smile. “Maybe. But can I confess something?”

“Always.”

“Sometimes…” Her smile dimmed. “I get so jealous of my students that I can’t breathe. I want them to be happy, and I’m truly proud of their success, but there are days when I look at them and see not only the potential they have, but the potential I used to have. They have their entire careers ahead of them, shiny and untarnished, while I’m a has-been. It’s the wrong way to think about things, but it can be…difficult to live in the shadows when I’ve trained my whole life to be in the spotlight.” Her cheeks reddened. “I know this makes me sound like a terrible person. I’m their teacher. I shouldn’t be jealous of teenagers. And I don’t feel that way all the time. But on bad days, it can make me spiral.”

“They’re human feelings,” I said gently. “Like you said, they’re normal, and you’re not trying to sabotage your students. You’re allowed to feel what you feel.”

“I know. But it’s easier to give advice than to take it.” Scarlett played with the edges of her napkin. “Emma, one of my top students, got the role of Sugar Plum Fairy in the school’s student showcase this year. She wants me to attend the opening night. The staff showcase is at the school, but the student one takes place at Westbury, and I can’t bring myself to go there.”

Westbury was one of the leading performing arts venues in London. I’d never attended a show there, but I passed by it all the time.

“I was on my way to perform at Westbury when the other car hit us,” Scarlett said, her voice quiet. “It was also where I got my first rave review for my performance in Swan Lake. That review put me on the map. In many ways, Westbury is the ultimate symbol of my old life, and I haven’t been able to step foot near it since the accident. It hurts too much to remember what used to be.”

Her eyes were a thousand miles away, and I let the revelations of the night settle around us instead of disrupting it with an immediate response.

Sometimes, listening was a better strategy than talking.

The remnants of our dinner had long gone cold. The hours stretched toward the obscenely late half of the night, but I hung on to each minute like it was our last.

If I could’ve stayed on that rooftop with Scarlett forever, I would’ve.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a long silence. “Every time we go on a date, I end up making things so depressing.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m no better,” I said. “Remember the time I brought you to Holchester and trauma dumped on you in my childhood bedroom? That was fun.”

Her laughter chased away the melancholy and brought an answering grin to my face.

“It’s not depressing to learn these things about you,” I said. “I want to know you better. The good, the bad, and everything in between.”

Scarlett’s expression melted into a different, softer smile. “Asher Donovan, I was so wrong about you at the beginning.”

“Most people are. I’m even more handsome, charming, and witty than they could’ve imagined.”

“You forgot humble.”

“Obviously. That’s a given.”

She laughed again, and everything else we wanted to say was communicated through our long, lingering gaze across the table.

Our relationship was built on unspoken words. We’d gotten better at expressing them over the past two months, but there were still a few words that remained locked away inside me.

Three, to be exact.

I was saving them for another time, when the prospect of revealing our relationship to my brother didn’t darken the horizon like a thundercloud.

For now, I simply enjoyed my last hours in Japan with Scarlett and let the future take care of itself.