The Striker (Gods of the Game Book 1)

The night of the winter student showcase dawned bright and cold.

My coat warded off the worst of the chill, but a gust of wind snuck past the layers of wool to claw at my bones anyway.

I shivered, half grateful and half apprehensive that we would be inside soon.

I hadn’t told Emma I was coming. I wanted it to be a surprise, but I was second-guessing my appearance with every step.

Asher’s gloved hand squeezed mine. “You ready?” he asked, his voice quiet.

I took a deep breath and nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

We were already here. It was too late to turn back.

Nevertheless, the air evacuated from my lungs when we turned the corner and Westbury’s famous neoclassical facade burst into view.

It loomed ahead, its grand columns and ornate gilding illuminated by the soft glow of neighboring lampposts. The marble steps teemed with people dressed in suits and gowns, and several professional photographers snapped pictures of the arriving attendees like it was a red-carpet event.

For RAB, it was a red-carpet event. Most attendees were friends and family of the students, but there were also alumni and dance company representatives present. The school made a limited number of tickets available to the public, and those were snatched up by true ballet aficionados.

It was going to be a spectacular night—if I could get past the rattle of nerves in my chest.

“Breathe,” Asher said as we approached the steps. “We can leave any time you want.”

This time, I was the one who squeezed his hand in silent thanks.

“We’re not leaving.” My resolve pushed past the nerves and hardened into determination. “We came here for Emma, and we’re staying for her.”

After several lengthy discussions, I became Emma’s official mentor last month. I’d never mentored anyone before, but I loved my new role. Teaching students dance techniques was one thing; guiding them in their career was another.

The latter was so much more fulfilling than I expected, and I wanted to see her perform live. She’d worked so hard for the role. I didn’t want to be so weak and selfish that I wouldn’t even try to set aside my own hang-ups to support her on the biggest night of her career so far.

So here I was, mouth dry and heart racing as Asher showed our tickets to the staff.

Several people did a double take when they saw him, but they were polite enough to keep a respectful distance, and we entered the theatre with no issues.

Thankfully, we didn’t have to deal with the paps hounding us anymore either. After weeks of endless coverage and clickbait articles, they finally got bored and moved on to the messy movie star divorce Brooklyn predicted earlier in the fall.

They still popped up now and then because Asher was Asher, but compared to the circus of our early days, we were enjoying relative peace.

“I’ve never been here before.” Asher sounded impressed as he took in our opulent surroundings. “It’s beautiful.”

My throat clogged at the familiar sweep of marble stairs and soaring windows.

“It is,” I said softly. “It hasn’t changed at all.”

He glanced at me, his gaze assessing. He didn’t condescend me by asking if I was okay, but I could feel his concern as we walked up the stairs toward the main auditorium.

Surprisingly, I really was okay.

I thought walking through the halls of Westbury again would be overwhelming, but other than my initial shock of nerves and nostalgia, I felt nothing except anticipation for Emma’s performance.

For years, I’d built the theatre up to be this monstrous symbol of my old life, but it was just a building. The small man to the great Wizard of Oz of my imagination. The only power it held was what I gave it, and I’d reconciled with my past enough to not give it any power at all.

In another lifetime, I’d be backstage right now, preparing for another performance as the star of the show.

Tonight, I was merely one of hundreds of attendees who’d shown up to support the next generation of dancers.

And I was more than okay with that.

“Asher! Is that you?”

Our heads turned at the same time. A beautiful redhead approached us in the hall with a tall, handsome Asian man in tow. Her face split into a wide smile.

“It is you! I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?” She hugged Asher and turned to me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And you, the girl who snagged the infamous Asher Donovan. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

I smiled back and returned the sentiment. We only just met, but she exuded an infectious energy that was impossible to resist.

Asher laughed. “Scarlett, this is Jules, an old friend of mine.”

“And this is Josh, my boyfriend,” Jules added, gesturing at the man beside her.

“It’s great to meet you.” Josh gave me a warm smile that revealed a devastating set of dimples. However, his smile visibly cooled when he glanced at Asher. “Donovan.”

Asher looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Josh. Always a pleasure.”

“We were on our way to our seats when I spotted you. I told him it was you, but he insisted it wasn’t. See?” Jules elbowed Josh in the side. “I was right.”

“You were.” He didn’t sound particularly thrilled.

Josh slid an arm around Jules’s waist and glared at Asher while we chatted during our wait for curtains up.

It turned out the American couple was on holiday from D.C. Asher met them at Queen Bridget’s wedding a couple of years ago (I still couldn’t believe he’d been a guest at the royal wedding of the century), and they’d kept in touch since.

Well, he and Jules kept in touch. I could tell by Josh’s scowl that he was not an Asher fan.

Jules was a lawyer, and a London member of her firm had a daughter who was performing in the showcase. He’d bought tickets for every employee who wanted to attend, including those who were visiting from out of town.

“I’ve never been to a ballet, so I figured, why not?” Jules shrugged. “Anyway, it looks like the show’s about to start, so I don’t want to keep you any longer. I just wanted to say hi.” She lowered her voice. “And Asher, I heard about your situation from our litigation team. I know I don’t practice that area of law, but if you need help, let me know anyway.” She raised her voice to normal volume again. “Enjoy the show! It was great running into you.”

We said our goodbyes, and I waited until they were out of earshot before I arched an eyebrow at a sheepish-looking Asher. “What situation was she talking about?”

He placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me toward our seats in the front row. “I was going to tell you later, but I finally found out who vandalized my car,” he admitted. “It wasn’t Bocci or anyone from Holchester. It was Clive.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “What? Clive as in the rugby player? The one I went on a date with?”

Asher nodded. “Ivy called to tell me last week. Apparently, they rekindled their relationship after our double date. She heard about the car incident from Poppy, who heard about it from one the players, and she stumbled on a bunch of pictures Clive took of my car after he keyed it. The idiot was dumb enough to leave incriminating evidence lying around. He wanted a trophy, I guess.” He shook his head. “She asked him about it, and he confessed. His ego still couldn’t get over the fact that I beat him during last summer’s race, though admittedly, I hadn’t been too gracious a winner at the time.”

My head spun as we resumed walking again.

“That’s wild.” Clive had seemed so nice when I met him at Neon, though he’d raised several red flags during our date. I hadn’t talked to him since then, so finding out he was the culprit behind the vandalization was a shock. “Did you confront him?”

“Almost.” A muscle ticked in Asher’s jaw. “I thought about it, but it wasn’t worth the trouble. The car is fixed, I survived the crash, and Ivy broke up with him over what he did. I did consult with my lawyers, which was how Jules found out about it, but I don’t want a legal battle. Karma will take care of him.” A wicked smile stole across his lips. “I did see that he lost his last three rugby matches. Took quite a hit during the last one, too, and is out for the foreseeable future with a broken leg. So karma works fast.”

“Asher Donovan taking the high road?” I teased. “You really have grown.”

We didn’t get a chance to talk more before Emma’s parents showed up. Our seats were next to theirs, and they showered us with effusive greetings when they saw us.

“Glad to have you at Blackcastle, by the way,” Emma’s father said, shaking Asher’s hand. “I’ve been a fan of yours even when you were at Holchester. I think this year is our year.”

Asher smiled. “I think so too.”

We quieted as the lights dimmed and the show started.

Emma’s eyes lit up when she saw me, but that was all the reaction she allowed herself before she sank fully into the role of Sugar Plum Fairy.

As I predicted, she nailed her performance. When she glided across the stage, the picture of serene grace, I didn’t feel a single ounce of envy—only pride and the liberating peace that came with laying the ghosts of my past to rest at last.

In the week leading up to the staff showcase, I hoped that, like Westbury, it would prove less daunting than I imagined.

So far, I was conflicted.

The performance took place exactly one week after the student one. The backstage area was a zoo as everyone scrambled to finish prepping, and judging by the noise that seeped through the thick velvet curtains, it was a full house tonight.

“How are you feeling?” Tamara asked. She sounded calm, but the pinch in her brow betrayed her nerves.

“Not too bad.” I smoothed a hand over my costume and tried to steady the wild patter of my heartbeat. “I can’t believe it’s here.”

“It does sneak up on you, doesn’t it?” She smiled. “You’ve been great during rehearsal, so don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

Neither of us mentioned my disastrous first rehearsal. That was in the past, and we’d come a long way since then.

“Thank you,” I said. “For everything.”

She’d been hard on me during the first rehearsal, but since then, she’d gone above and beyond to accommodate my needs. If it weren’t for her, the past few months would’ve been torturous.

“Don’t get sentimental on me,” Tamara said crisply, but there was a small twinkle in her eyes. “If you really want to thank me, go out there and show them how it’s done.”

“I’ll try. I mean, I will,” I amended.

“Good.”

Another dancer called her away soon after, and I waited until she left before I braved a peek around the curtain. My heart trembled at the size of the crowd packing the auditorium, but it gradually steadied as more and more familiar faces came into view.

I spotted Asher front and center with Vincent, Carina, Brooklyn, and my parents, who sat on either end of the row so they could avoid talking to each other. My father had fully recovered from his injury over the summer, and he’d brought his (ex) home nurse as his date. That had to rankle my mother, who’d shown up solo. I’d bet my last quid she’d take up with some studly young gardener to spite my father within the next month.

Emma and her parents sat in the row behind them, atwitter with excitement. There were even a few Blackcastle players sprinkled throughout the audience, including Noah, Adil, Samson, and Gallagher.

I inhaled a deep breath and allowed myself a moment to take it all in—the lights, the people, the ripple of anticipation coursing through the air.

This wasn’t my dazzling star turn as a promising young ingénue. My performance wouldn’t be reviewed in The Guardian or have an encore at Westbury the following night. I would never be that dancer again, and—for the first time since my accident—I was at peace with it.

That chapter of my life had closed, but this time, I could close it on my own terms.

“Alright, everyone!” Tamara clapped to get our attention. “Five minutes till showtime.”

This is it.

Nerves fluttered through me.

Four minutes.

The air took on a surreal, hazy quality. After months of rehearsals, anxieties, and self-doubt, it was hard to believe the moment had arrived.

Three minutes.

I pictured the people waiting on the other side of the curtain. There were strangers, yes, but there were also people there for me. People who loved me, supported me, and would never judge me no matter how well or how poorly I performed. They were my rocks, and thinking about them quelled some of my nerves.

Two minutes.

A strange calm descended as everyone settled into their places. Of course I wanted to dazzle onstage, but at the end of the night, it wasn’t about the perfect performance. It was about the fact that I was here at all.

For years, I’d avoided participating in the showcase because I was scared I wouldn’t live up to who I used to be. I’d finally faced those fears and learned to appreciate my body in all its forms.

I had to scratch and claw my way toward this moment, but I made it. I was here, and that was an accomplishment in and of itself.

One minute.

That being said, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t pour my heart out on that stage. This performance was my swan song, and I was going to try my damn hardest to do it the justice it deserved.

The remainder of my nerves dissolved into a soft smile.

Showtime.

The curtains rose.

The music started.

And I danced.