The Striker (Gods of the Game Book 1)

The hospital kept me overnight and discharged me the next evening.

That same night, an hour before I was discharged, news of my relationship with Asher broke.

Football superstar ditches match for his hospitalized girlfriend!

The thin line between love and hate: Asher Donovan revealed to be dating his biggest rival’s sister!

Who is Scarlett DuBois, Asher Donovan’s secret girlfriend?

It was pure chaos. My phone blew up with so many calls and texts that the battery couldn’t handle it, and it died before I made it home. Paps swarmed the hospital, hoping for a money shot, a sound bite, or even better, a video of Asher with me.

Fortunately, Sloane had flown in from New York last night to deal with the situation on the ground. She, along with hospital security, was able to usher us out a side exit and into a discreet black SUV without anyone stopping us.

A familiar man with salt-and-pepper hair waited in the driver’s seat.

“Good evening, miss.” Earl smiled at me in the rearview mirror, but his eyes were filled with concern.

“Good evening, Earl.” I mustered a half-hearted smile in response. I was happy to see him again, but it was hard to scrounge up much enthusiasm when my life had careened off the rails in the past hour.

The lingering consequences of my collapse didn’t help. Thanks to plenty of rest and medical attention, my pain wasn’t as debilitating as it was yesterday, but it was still there. It was in my muscles, my joints, and my bones—and in certain moments, it felt like it was in my very soul, tearing me apart from the inside out.

Dr. Ambani wanted to keep me in the hospital for an extra day, but I’d insisted on going home. I wanted the comfort of my flat, and there wasn’t anything more they could do for me that I couldn’t do at home.

Sloane stood next to the open car door, blocking me and Asher from the view of any passersby.

“Earl’s taking you both to the Ashworth,” she said, naming one of London’s top luxury hotels. “I have to deal with the paps first, but I’ll be in the car behind you. I’ve already briefed the hotel staff. When you arrive, the general manager and security will personally escort you to your suite.”

“Wait.” My heart climbed into my throat. “Why are we going to a hotel? I thought I was going home.”

I didn’t want to sleep in another strange bed.

“You can’t go home. The place is swarming with press,” Sloane said crisply. “So is Asher’s house. The best thing you can do is lie low in a place where they can’t find you. The Ashworth is the most discreet hotel in the city. They’ll keep your presence a secret.”

I flinched at the mental image of paps overrunning my quiet, tranquil neighborhood. It was my safe haven, and knowing that its sanctity had been breached felt more violating than any picture or video they could’ve snapped.

“It’ll only be for the night,” Asher said, ignoring Sloane’s sharp glance. “We’ll get you home tomorrow.”

“If the situation improves,” she caveated. “I’ve contacted a security company that’ll assess the situation and implement measures as necessary, but that’ll take time. I’ll see you later at the hotel.” She closed the door before we could ask more questions.

The cramps worsened. “How bad is it?” I asked as Earl pulled away from the curb.

I’d purposely avoided clicking on the links friends, coworkers, and random acquaintances had sent me since the news broke, but curiosity gnawed at my insides.

Asher hesitated. “It’s not too bad,” he said carefully. “Right now, it’s mostly fact-based stories—if you define ‘fact’ loosely. Who you are, how we started dating, my history with Vincent. That sort of thing.”

“But?”

“But it’s early,” he said with no small amount of reluctance. “The news just broke. I don’t know what narrative the tabloids will spin in the upcoming weeks and months. They could tire of us before it gets really bad, or…”

“It could actually get really bad,” I finished. I’d seen the way they tore public figures apart in the past. The thought of them doing the same to us made me want to throw up. “I can’t believe we live in a world where people are that invested in others’ relationships.”

“A lot of people are deeply invested in a lot of strange things.” Asher squeezed my hand. “Luckily, I have the best publicist to guide us through it.”

“The scariest one too.”

“That’s why she’s the best.”

This time, my smile inched a tad higher. Having Sloane on our team did make me feel better. She was a professional. She knew what to do, right?

Fatigue weighed heavy on my limbs. I’d slept for nearly sixteen hours straight, but I was still groggy and prone to fits of exhaustion.

However, I clung to consciousness the best I could. I had a feeling this would be my last truly peaceful moment alone with Asher for a while.

“How’s the public taking your absence from yesterday’s match?” I asked.

Given the fanaticism of certain fans and the bitter rivalry between Blackcastle and Holchester, I dreaded their reaction to Asher skipping the match.

“Ironically, they seem to be taking it better now that they know why I missed the match,” Asher said, his tone wry. “Of course, there’s a vocal minority that’s furious with me, but a majority of the internet thinks what I did is romantic.”

“It is romantic.” I reached between us and laced my fingers through his. His warmth traveled up my arm and settled in the vicinity of my heart. “But I’m sorry you missed it. I know how much it meant to you.”

“I’m not,” he said simply. “It doesn’t mean as much as being with you.”

Emotion tangled in my chest. I didn’t trust myself to respond with words, so I squeezed his hand and looked out the window while I gathered my composure.

We had to pass by the hospital entrance to reach the main road. The SUV’s tinted windows prevented anyone from seeing in, but that didn’t stop the skitter of chills down my spine when I saw the crowd of paparazzi near the entrance. Armed with giant camera lenses and an air of rabid anticipation, they reminded me of an angry mob on the verge of hysteria.

And they were all there because of us.

Asher Donovan dating his biggest rival’s sister would’ve been a story.

Asher Donovan having a secret relationship with his biggest rival’s sister and skipping the first major match of the season to run to her hospital bedside? That was a sensation.

Bile sloshed in my stomach. I tore my eyes away from the spectacle and refocused on Asher.

“Have you talked to your parents?” I asked in an attempt to take my mind off the scrutiny awaiting us. I’d received a dozen voicemails from both my mother and father. I imagine his parents were equally concerned. However, based on what he’d told me about his father, the elder Donovan was probably more upset about his skipped match than anything else.

“Not yet.” A grimace tugged at his lips. “That’s an issue for tomorrow.”

“At least you and Vincent made up.” I tried to look for a silver lining. “If I’d known a few punches was all it took to heal your relationship, I would’ve tossed you two into a ring myself ages ago.”

I’d hated their fight while it was happening, but it turned out for the best. I’m glad one good thing came out of this craptastic weekend.

Vincent wasn’t here to see me off because Sloane pointed out that we needed less attention, not more. The fewer famous faces hanging around the hospital, the better.

“What can I say?” Asher’s grimace morphed into a small smile. “Men are simple creatures.”

“You mean Neanderthals.”

“Basically.”

We finally left the hospital grounds and pulled into traffic. Yellow from the streetlights and red from the surrounding taillights blurred into a giant, jumbled stream that matched the chaos of my thoughts.

The paps didn’t know we were gone yet, but they would soon. After that…

This was the moment that’d kept me awake at night before Asher and I started dating. The moment when my life changed and was no longer my own.

It was one of the many reasons I’d been hesitant to get involved with him, but he’d proved time and again that none of those reasons mattered. My life hadn’t truly been my own since I met him, and if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.

However, that didn’t mean I wasn’t scared of what was coming. It wasn’t the scrutiny that unnerved me; it was the uncertainty.

Would the press paint us as heroes or villains? How deep into my life would they dig? Would they limit their attention to me, or would they go after everyone I worked and interacted with?

“Don’t worry, darling.” It was like Asher could read my mind. “We’ll get through it together.”

I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat.

We’d spent the better part of the summer preparing for the storm. Well, the storm was here, and he was right: we’d get through it together.

We didn’t have another choice.

When we arrived at the hotel, we made it to our suite without incident. Sloane had sent someone to bring me extra clothes and essentials from my flat, so I wasn’t stuck wearing the same outfit for God knew how long.

While Asher showered and I waited for my belongings to arrive, I called my parents back. I finally had the energy to talk to them, and I didn’t want to compound their worries by being radio silent.

I checked in with my father first. He must’ve been waiting for my call because he picked up on the first ring when it usually took me several tries to reach him (he was a big believer in digital detoxes).

“Scarlett.” His worried voice flowed over the line and made my eyes prickle with emotion. I hadn’t realized how long it’d been since we actually talked. “How are you, ma chérie?”

“I’m fine. I just got out of the hospital.” I explained the situation to him. “We’re staying at the hotel until things with the press die down.”

“The press.” My father made a disgusted noise. His opinion of the press hovered just above his opinion of politicians (whom he despised) and below his opinion of fast food (which he considered an abomination). “The press are vultures,” he said, switching fully to French. “It is their job to be as horrid as possible to get clicks. Don’t listen to a thing they say.”

“I’ll try not to.” I forced a smile even though he couldn’t see me. “How are you feeling? Is your hip still bothering you?”

“It’s okay now, but you know, it was so terrible over the summer.” My father heaved a huge sigh, and despite the circumstances, my smile turned genuine. Jean-Paul DuBois was nothing if not dramatic. “Luckily, your brother was here to help, or I would’ve been stuck with the nurse by myself. Can you imagine? Me, alone with a stranger twenty-four-seven in my house? Bah!”

“Really?” I leaned deeper against the headboard. “Vincent said you quite liked the nurse after a while.”

“What? He said what?” My father sounded flustered. “Don’t listen to your brother. He should focus more on taking care of you and not about whether I like my nurse. That’s what he’s there for.”

“He’s here to play football, Dad, not take care of me,” I said, glancing at the bathroom door. Asher was still in the shower. “I don’t need taking care of. I’m an adult.”

“An adult who was hospitalized and now has her picture all over the news.” I flinched, and my father sighed again when I didn’t answer. “I’m sorry if I sound harsh, ma chérie, but you must understand why I worry.”

My throat clogged at way his voice softened. In his eyes, I was still his little girl, but he couldn’t soothe all my hurts with a hug and a kiss anymore. That time had passed, and we both knew it.

“I understand, and I know I’ve made mistakes,” I said. “But I’m fixing them. Don’t worry too much about me, okay?”

“It’s in a parent’s nature to worry.” Nevertheless, my father didn’t press the subject. “If the attention gets to be too much, or if you need a break from the city, you can always come and stay with me. Paris is better than London, anyway.”

Another smile flickered over my mouth. “Thank you. I’ll visit you soon. Just…just not now, okay?” I couldn’t run away to France and pretend my problems didn’t exist, no matter how much I wanted to.

We spoke for another few minutes before I hung up, took a deep breath, and called my mother. As expected, she was beside herself.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said after I gave her the same summary I gave my father. She sounded like she’d been crying. “I know how much the showcase means to you, and you know how thrilled I am that you’re dancing again, but you have to take care of yourself. I’m not in London anymore to watch over you, and I just…” I could practically hear her shaking her head as she sniffled. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

“Trust me. I’ve learned my lesson,” I said. I hated making her worry, but I also hated how everyone in my family infantilized me sometimes. “I know better than to push myself that hard in the future.”

There was a long silence before my mother spoke again. “Are you sure you want to stay in the showcase? Perhaps it would be better if…” She trailed off, but her sentiment was clear.

I sat up straighter, my heartbeat quickening. My mother had always been my biggest supporter when it came to ballet. She’d been devastated when my doctors said I’d never dance professionally again, and I knew part of her secretly hoped I’d make some sort of miraculous recovery so my career could pick up where I’d left off.

For her to suggest I pull out of the showcase…she really was worried. I should’ve known when she didn’t even bring up Asher. Normally, my love life was at the forefront of her mind.

“I’m sure,” I said, my voice firm. “It’s only a few months away. I can do this. I have to.”

If I quit, all my hard work would’ve been for nothing. I would’ve been hospitalized for nothing. I refused to let that happen, especially when there was so much riding on my performance. I needed to prove to myself I could do it, if only for one last time.

“Alright.” My mother must’ve heard the determination in my voice because she didn’t argue. However, her sigh contained a multitude of worries. “Just promise me you’ll take better care of yourself, okay?”

“I will,” I said as the bathroom door opened and Asher stepped out. I gave him a small smile, which he returned. “I promise.”

ASHER

To say Coach was angry was like saying Mount Etna got a little spicy sometimes. He was, to put it simply, livid.

It was the Monday after the Holchester match. Scarlett and I were still camped out in the Ashworth’s presidential suite, and when I’d arrived at Blackcastle’s training grounds, the paps were already out in full force. I’d have to pull MI5-worthy maneuvers after practice to ensure they didn’t tail me back to the hotel.

However, I’d rather deal with the paparazzi than endure Coach’s wrath.

I didn’t know a face could turn so many shades of red in so little time, but he proved my previous understanding of biology wrong. When it reached a particularly fascinating hue of magenta, I worried I’d have to add killing my coach to the list of grievances certain members of the public had against me.

“You do not skip matches to see your girlfriend!” The vein in his temple throbbed so furiously I half expected it to pop out, reach across the table, and strangle me. “Of all the bloody stupid, reckless things you’ve done, that has to take the fucking cake!”

“She was in the hospital.” I defended myself as much as I dared. I understood why he was upset, but it wasn’t like I’d skipped the match to frolic on the beach. I had a good reason. “I got the call right before the match, and I had to make a split-second decision. If it was your daughter in the hospital, wouldn’t you have done the same thing?”

I wanted to snatch back the last sentence before it even left my mouth. Coach was extremely protective of Brooklyn, and referencing her in any way while he was in a rage was probably not my best idea.

A thundercloud darkened his face. “What did you just say?”

I blanched. “I mean, it was an emergency, sir,” I amended. “I’m sorry I missed the match, but I wouldn’t have done it unless it was important.”

Thankfully, none of the tabloids had reported on the reason for Scarlett’s hospitalization. To me, the reason was important, but I suspected Coach didn’t think it was serious since she’d been discharged after an overnight stay. Hell, he wouldn’t consider anything short of near-death serious. However, he couldn’t prove it.

Judging by the tic in his jaw, he’d come to the same conclusion, but he wasn’t happy about it.

“Next time,” he said. “You call me, and you tell me what the bloody hell is happening. I don’t want to hear it from your fancy-ass publicist.”

Was that it? Was he about to let me off the hook?

I held my breath. “Yes, sir.”

“Now.” Coach’s glare pinned me like a flailing bug to my chair. Shit. Not off the hook after all. “Can you explain why both my captain and my lead striker walked into practice today looking like they lost a round in an MMA fight?”

I forced myself not to touch my cut lip. The paps had, of course, caught wind of our injuries when we arrived at the training grounds. They were probably spinning salacious tales about our fight over Scarlett at that very moment.

They wouldn’t be wrong, but I wasn’t going to regale Coach with the ugly details from Saturday.

“Vincent and I had a misunderstanding that…escalated over the weekend, but we sorted it out. I promise it won’t happen again. Sir,” I added quickly.

“It better not.” The vein in Coach’s temple pulsed again. “I’ll let it slide for now, but if I catch one bloody whiff of dissent between you two today or any other day, I won’t be so lenient. Now get the hell out of here and join your teammates in training. You’ve missed enough work this past week.”

Relief flooded my veins. He wasn’t benching me or making me, I don’t know, scrub the stadium with a toothbrush. Thank God. “Yes, sir.”

The meeting had gone far better than I’d anticipated, but I hightailed it out of there before he changed his mind.

I only missed warm-ups and the first five minutes of training, so it didn’t take me long to catch up.

The rest of the team didn’t hold my absence on Saturday against me—they had wives, girlfriends, and beloved family members too; they understood—but I could tell by their stares that they were curious about Scarlett and my meeting with Coach.

“What happened?” Adil pounced during our first break. “What did Coach say?”

The other players drifted over, their ears perked as I summarized our conversation.

“You’re lucky, mate.” Stevens slapped me on the shoulder. “If the match had been a loss and not a draw…”

Shudders rippled through the group. If we’d lost, I’d be six feet under the pitch instead of standing on it.

I’d watched a replay of the match. We’d played well, but so had Holchester. They didn’t have any megastars in their current lineup—Bocci was the closest they had to one—but they were incredibly cohesive. That was their biggest strength and our biggest weakness.

Hopefully, that changed this season. We were already playing better together now that Vincent and I had patched things up, but we had room to improve.

“Forget the match,” Samson said. “I want to hear about your secret girlfriend. DuBois’s sister?” He whistled. “Ballsy. Very ballsy.”

Heads swung between me and Vincent, who was walking toward us from the water station.

I was not in the mood to discuss my love life with anyone right now. Luckily, Vincent cut in before I had to respond.

“Is this training or is this a gossip session?” he asked pointedly. “We’re not here to discuss our personal lives unless you want to tell us about the girl you hooked up with during our last away match.”

The rest of the team laughed and elbowed an embarrassed-looking Samson. He’d brought a girl back to the hotel but refused to tell any of us who she was, which was unusual for him. He was typically an (over)sharer.

“Man, Captain, why do you have to always do me like that?” he said with a shake of his head.

Vincent grinned. “You make it too easy.”

We didn’t get a chance to speak further. Greely shouted at us to gather for our next set of conditioning drills, and our good-natured teasing immediately morphed into concentration.

Our assistant coach was running today’s training. He was usually nicer than Coach, but he ran us ragged. By the time practice ended, no one had the energy to do more than shuffle into the locker room for a hot shower and a change of clothes.

“Thanks for running interference earlier,” I told Vincent. We’d finished cleaning up around the same time, and I fell into step with him as we walked toward the car park. “When the guys were asking about Scarlett.”

He lifted a shoulder. “She’s my sister. I don’t want those idiots thinking about her in any romantic way.” He side-eyed me. “Too fucking late for you, though.”

I smirked.

“How is she?” Vincent asked. “I talked to her on the phone last night. She says she’s fine, but you know her. She’ll say she’s fine even if she’s forced to run a marathon barefoot over hot coals.”

“I know.” Scarlett’s stubborn resilience was one of her most admirable and most worrying traits. “She’s feeling better. Still lethargic and in pain sometimes, but she’s taking the week off work to fully recover.” It’d been her idea, which gave me a measure of relief. She wasn’t pushing herself to jump straight back into work. “She has a call with Lavinia today to discuss the tabloid and showcase situations.”

The paps were staked out at RAB again, but Scarlett was most nervous about the showcase. She worried that Lavinia would pull her as the lead.

I had conflicted feelings about the issue. I wanted Scarlett to get the chance to shine, but the thought of her enduring two more months of rehearsals made me break out in a cold sweat.

There was only so much the human body could take.

“Good. I’m glad she really is feeling better.” Vincent sounded relieved. We turned the corner toward the final set of exit doors. “What about the pap situation? They’ve been hounding me too, but not as much as you two.”

“I hired a team. They’re securing our houses.” My place already had a high-tech security system, but it wouldn’t hurt to shore up its defenses. “Once they’re done, we’ll move back home.”

We couldn’t stay at a hotel forever, and Scarlett was getting antsy.

“It’ll blow over.” Vincent seemed like he was trying to convince himself more than me. “The paps have short attention spans. They’ll find a new target soon and move on. But I swear…” His face clouded. “If any of them hurts Scarlett in any way, I will fuck them up.”

“I’ll be right there with you.”

Despite our history of differences, the only thing we’d always agreed on was protecting Scarlett.

He gave a short nod of acknowledgment. “You mind if I drop by the hotel later to see her? I’ll be careful.”

Sloane wouldn’t like it. She was so serious about our lockdown she came up with a convoluted strategy to make sure the paps didn’t follow me from training to the hotel. I had to go home first, wait an hour, then sneak out back to meet Earl—who would, of course, be driving a different decoy car every time.

I could stay at my house, but that would mean leaving Scarlett alone in the hotel since her flat wasn’t as secure as mine. There was no way in hell I’d do that, so Plan Decoy it was.

“Yeah,” I said. Sloane would rip me a new one later, but Vincent was Scarlett’s brother. I wasn’t going to keep him from her. “Just make sure not to drive your bloody Lambo.”

“I won’t—what the hell?” Vincent stopped halfway through the car park. The club’s security must’ve kicked the paps out because there was no press in sight, but the players who’d left before us were gathered in a half circle around one of the parking spaces. “What are you guys looking at?”

The group’s unintelligible mutters ceased. They glanced back at us, their expressions colored with varying shades of surprise, nerves, and pity.

A few shifted uncomfortably, but no one answered. Instead, they parted, creating a clear path between us and the hunter green convertible parked in the space.

That was my car.

A mounting sense of dread hooked into my stomach.

I walked past my teammates and stopped next to the driver’s side door, where I immediately saw what they’d been gawking at.

My dread solidified into cold, hard ice because there was one word—one name—scratched into the side of my favorite vintage Jaguar.

Judas.