The Striker (Gods of the Game, #1)

by Ana Huang

“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.

“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 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 Vincent 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.

Asher leaned against the barre, looking fresh and rested despite not sleeping during our long-haul flight. His eyes pierced mine. “So this is technically our last day together in this studio.” My chest twinged. “I guess it is.” We could come down anytime we wanted, but it wouldn’t be the same. I wouldn’t be training him anymore, and the vibes would just be different. “Since it’s our last day…” He pushed off the wall and closed the distance between us with two lazy, pantherine steps. “Let’s make it count.”

he gripped the back of my neck and pulled me into a kiss. It wasn’t a gentle, yearning kiss; it was hard and aggressive, almost desperate, and the deliciousness of it made my toes curl. A moan slipped from my mouth into his. I was the good kind of dizzy, floating on lust and euphoria and everything in between.

He was typically gentler when we had sex, but this? This was raw and hard and everything I didn’t know I needed. We were swept up in the needs of the moment, our troubles drowned beneath an ocean of desire and expelled with each cry and groan. Still, despite the brutal rhythm of our coupling, he intermittently slowed down to check on me. I appreciated the sentiment, but I was fine in this position—more than fine. And I didn’t want him to hold back. I wanted him to fuck me harder.

I’d never had sex like this before. Rough and unrelenting and passionate, where he fucked me like he couldn’t get enough of me, and I knew for a fact that I couldn’t get enough of him. It was the kind of sex that could ruin a girl for life.

I was a sweaty, dripping mess, but I didn’t care. In fact, it only spurred me on. It was so unlike me, so opposite the careful control that I exhibited in every other area of my life, that it was a turn-on. I didn’t have to be Scarlett. Instead, I could be this wanton creature who dealt in pleasure and carnality, who could slip out of herself and enter a world of fantasy.

The piano score hit a crescendo, and my third orgasm of the afternoon detonated from deep inside me. I screamed, waves of pleasure mushrooming from my core to engulf my entire body. My back bowed, and fresh tears pooled in the corners of my eyes as I lost all sense of space and time. I was a thousand pieces of sensation, broken apart and put together again.

I rested my head on his shoulder, closed my eyes, and breathed him in. Some people were comforted by the smell of their childhood or their mother’s cooking, but I was comforted by the scent of him. Rich, earthy, masculine. It was the scent of home.

We held each other for a few more minutes until our breathing returned to normal and we finally, reluctantly disentangled. We turned off the music, cleaned ourselves up, and sanitized the studio, but we were still holding tight to the day while it lasted. Because come tomorrow, everything would change.

The next day, a heavy sense of déjà vu slammed into me when I walked into Scarlett’s studio at RAB for the first time in two months. It looked exactly the same as it did my first day here, and memories resurfaced like vivid snapshots from the past. The bag. The realization that she was the mystery girl from the pub. The shock when I found out she was also Vincent’s sister. The events felt like they happened both yesterday and a century ago. I’d walked in resentful of my forced training and reentered head over heels for my trainer. It was funny how one summer could change so much.

I’d been doing so well over the summer. However, without Asher there, I was making more mistakes. Losing focus. Questioning myself. The noticeable change in the quality of my rehearsals added another layer of anxiety. What if he was the secret ingredient? Could I perform in front of a crowd without him next to me, encouraging me? My stomach cramped. No. As much as I lov—liked Asher, I refused to make my success dependent on another person. I didn’t care if I was practicing as an understudy and that I’d probably never get the chance to perform onstage. I was going to nail this bloody dance on my own.

Sometimes, merely existing took too much energy, so I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. At that moment, it was all I could do.

Coach’s back faced us, obscuring most of her body. After a minute or so, he shifted, revealing long blond hair, hazel eyes, and a heart-shaped face. My jaw dropped. Beside me, Vincent went rigid, his breath expelling in a similar rush of shock. Because it turned out we had seen Coach’s daughter before. Not only that, we’d drank and partied with her. We turned to each other, our expressions identical masks of disbelief while Coach continued to talk to Brooklyn.

I wanted to feel the vibrations of the car and hear the triumphant roar of the engine as I sped past the finish line first. Only the memory of Scarlett’s tears stopped me. I can’t wake up every day wondering if that’s the day your luck runs out, and I’ll get a call saying you’re gone. I can’t lose you. I swallowed the ball of rage in my throat. My pride wasn’t worth breaking my promise to her.

Good luck with the match today Can’t wait to see you kick ass on the pitch <3 ASHER Can’t wait to see you, period ASHER We’ll celebrate later tonight. Just the two of us ;) A bubble of anticipation floated past my aches. Asher and I didn’t see each other in person as often as we did over the summer, but we exchanged daily texts and calls. It was almost as good as face-to-face interactions. Almost. Despite the exhaustion weighing on my limbs, I was excited to spend some time alone with him tonight. He always recharged me.

The drive from my house to the hospital should’ve taken forty minutes. I made it there in twenty flat. I might’ve followed the traffic rules or I might’ve broken them. I had no bloody clue. The entire drive was a blur, propelled by panic and the echo of Brooklyn’s words. She’s in the hospital.

Scarlett’s smile was a shadow of its usual self. The vise in my chest constricted further. I’d seen her tired, I’d seen her in pain after a flare-up, but I’d never seen her look this fragile and exhausted. She was always so vibrant and full of life, and the evidence of her mortality instilled a bone-deep terror in me.

I hated this. I hated the asshole whose car rammed into hers, I hated that medical technology wasn’t advanced enough to take away her pain, and most of all, I hated how helpless I was. Despite all my money and all my fame, I couldn’t do a thing.

Her collapse wasn’t the result of one bad day; it had to be an accumulation of them. I wasn’t sure what hurt more—the fact that she hid it from me or the fact that I hadn’t been there to notice.

“When Brooklyn called and told me you were in the hospital…there are no words to describe how I felt. It was like the world had collapsed and buried me beneath its rubble. And even though she told me you were alive and that you weren’t in serious danger, I couldn’t think, couldn’t even fucking breathe until I saw it with my own two eyes.” I shook my head, my throat taut with emotion. “If I left now and went to the match, it wouldn’t matter. I’d spend the entire time thinking about you. I’d be a liability more than anything else.”

Prior to Scarlett, I would’ve crawled through a sea of broken glass before I missed a match. Football was the most important thing in my life. It always had been, and I thought it always would be. But I’d finally found something—someone—that I cared about more. It didn’t matter that I’d spent weeks anticipating today’s match against Holchester or that my pride was on the line. It didn’t matter that Coach was probably furious with me and that the fans would be too. Scarlett was more important than all of that, and I couldn’t, wouldn’t leave her side as long as she was here.

Someone had captured a video of me arriving at the hospital and sprinting toward the entrance. Going through the side was more private than going through the front, but I guess it still wasn’t private enough. Whoever took the video had uploaded it to social media seven minutes ago, and it already had over fifty thousand views and hundreds of comments. Once the paps picked up on this, it wouldn’t take them long to figure out who I was here to see. After that, it’d take an even shorter leap for them to connect the dots of our relationship. I’d missed a huge match against Holchester for her. There was only one reason why I’d do that.

I batted away the voice that told me our secret, the secret Scarlett and I had worked so hard to keep for so long, would soon be out of the bag in the most public way possible.

Scarlett wasn’t alone. Standing beside her bed, his back to me, was Vincent. I’d recognize that buzz cut and number four kit anywhere. He must’ve come straight from the match. He turned, his face darkening when he saw me. Fuck. I hadn’t seen any news about me and Scarlett yet, but considering I’d missed my most anticipated match of the season so far to be by her side, I guess he’d pieced the puzzle together faster than the paps. I held up my hands as he stormed toward me. “Vincent, I⁠—” I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence before he hauled his fist back and slammed it into my face.

I wanted to tell Asher how touched I was that he’d skipped the match for me and that everything would be okay. Our secret was out, which meant the worst had passed. I wanted to apologize to Vincent for keeping our relationship from him and reassure him that he didn’t have to worry about me. That this wasn’t a Rafael 2.0 situation and that I was happier with Asher than I’d ever been. I wanted to remind them not to let today ruin their fragile truce because they were so much better as friends than as enemies. I wanted to say a lot of things, but they would have to wait. My grasp on consciousness slipped. Steel anchors dragged my eyelids closed, and darkness descended, shutting out the rest of the world.

“We are going to stay here and keep an eye on Scarlett.” Brooklyn gestured to herself and Carina. “You two talk it out somewhere else. I don’t want your negative vibes poisoning this area.” “Yeah?” Vincent’s eyes narrowed. He obviously didn’t appreciate getting bossed around. “How are you going to make us leave?” Her smile dripped with sugar. “Stay and find out.” They stood toe to toe, their expressions stamped with defiance. The air sparked with challenge, but after a tense, drawn-out stare down, Vincent jerked his gaze away from her and stormed down the hall. He didn’t say a word as he left. “That’s what I thought.”

“You might think the world revolves around you, but Scarlett is her own person. She confides in you because she respects you—God knows why—and she cares about you, not because she has to. And I think you’re doing her a great bloody disservice to insinuate I’m only interested in her because she’s your sister and not because she’s incredible on her own. She’s smart, beautiful, talented, funny…believe me when I say her relation to you is her biggest con.” I paused. “That and her cooking.” Vincent stared at me, at a loss for words.

“I know I’m not your first choice when it comes to boyfriends for Scarlett⁠—” “You’re not my second, third, or fourth choice either.” I ignored his petulant grumble and continued. “But I care about her more than anyone else in the world, and I don’t want you to blame her for any of this.

Honestly, I was relieved our relationship was out in the open. The circumstances of the reveal weren’t great, and Vincent’s first response had been less than ideal. However, we’d needed that fight. We had too much bad blood for it to be smoothed over with words.

we took the moment to simply sit and acknowledge the closing of one long, rocky chapter in our shared history. Coach, Holchester, the paps, the public’s inevitable discovery of my relationship with Scarlett and the ensuing fallout…that was the future. The future would always be there, but today, we’d finally laid the past to rest.

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.

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.

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.

“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.

I’d spent the better part of a year taking the high road. I’d endured the taunts and the hate messages silently, without retaliation, but I was sick of taking the high road. Bocci and my old team said they valued loyalty, but they were really bullies. They dragged their resentment out because having a target made them feel good. Unless I put them in their place, they’d continue their campaign of harassment until I snapped or they got bored. I hadn’t made it this far in my career by being passive and waiting for things to happen to me. This was my life and my reputation. It was time I retook control of them.

“You want to race? Fine. Let’s race right now.”

I knew he would eventually say yes😣

Scarlett’s face floated at the edges of my consciousness, but for the first time since we started dating, I pushed it aside. I hated breaking my promise to her, but I wasn’t racing tonight for an unnecessary thrill. I needed to do this. It was the only way for me to close the door on this chapter of my past. I’m sorry, darling. My grip tightened on the wheel. All I had to do was win this one last race. After that, I was truly done. Simon had offered to count us down, and the revs of our engines drowned out everything except the next few seconds. Three. Two. One. The flag came down, and we were off.

I still felt a little guilty that he’d skipped the match for me, but my giddiness outweighed the guilt. When was the last time someone cared about me enough to put me first?

“Scarlett? What’s wrong?” Carina asked. Her voice sounded like it was coming from far away. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. All I could do was stare at the words on my phone screen while lead ingots piled up in my lungs, strangling the flow of oxygen. I kept waiting for the letters to rearrange themselves into a new sentence, one I could accept, but the headline remained the same. BREAKING: Asher Donovan rushed to hospital after car crash in north London.

If I died, I had the relief of oblivion. I wouldn’t experience pain or sadness; I would simply be gone. But if someone I loved died, I’d have to live without them forever. The pain of that would eclipse anything else I’d ever felt—especially if that someone was Asher. Because I didn’t just love him; I was in love with him. I was so in love with him that the thought of him dying made me want to die. The realization struck me with the force of a bullet, and the sentiment was so foreign, so all-consuming, that I had no idea how to handle it.

I recognized the emotion seeping into Asher’s expression. It wasn’t innocuous. It was guilt. Why would he feel… The breath stalled in my lungs. He hadn’t hit someone else’s car. I sensed it in my gut. But if he hadn’t done that, then there was only one reason for the guilt shining in his eyes. Icy talons raked down my spine. Don’t say it, I silently begged. Please don’t say it. “I was racing,” he said quietly. “Against someone from my old team. He was behind, but halfway through the race, when we were rounding a bend, he purposely rammed into me. My car went over the guardrail and crashed through a fence.” My nausea returned with a vengeance. I was racing.

My earlier relief exploded into fragments of images—Asher behind the wheel, two sports cars hurtling through the dark streets with reckless abandon, the impact of one slamming into the other the way a car had slammed into my taxi half a decade ago. Only this time, it wasn’t an accident; it was planned. Malicious.

Technically, I heard what he was saying. Part of me even understood his reasoning. But the actual words took a backseat to the phantom screech of tires and promises from the past. I won’t race anymore. I promise. Memories of my accident mixed with Asher’s crash and our first night in Japan. They twisted and turned, drilling into my brain with ruthless determination.

I knew he had a history of racing. I knew he’d crashed cars before. I even knew he’d raced right before we got together because he told me he had. That was what’d led to our conversation and his promise in Japan in the first place. But the knowledge and the terror that came with it had always seemed abstract, like a parent worrying about someone kidnapping their child or a surfer worrying about a shark attack. The threat was present, but it wasn’t there because I’d never witnessed the consequences. Now I had.

Asher was lucky enough to have escaped serious injury, but it could’ve easily gone the other way. I could be in a morgue right now instead of the hospital, and the realization that he’d put himself in this situation when he was fully aware of the danger made me go cold all over.

“You promised you wouldn’t race again.” The words came out thick and swollen, like I’d tried to pack a lifetime’s worth of emotion into nine syllables. The beeps from the monitor thundered in the ensuing silence. Asher’s hands fisted the sheets, his face leached of color. “I know.” The soft acknowledgment shattered something deep inside me. I should be grateful he was alive—and I was. No matter how many promises he broke, there would never be a version of me that didn’t care whether he lived or died. But I couldn’t look at him without imagining what could’ve happened, and I couldn’t imagine what could’ve happened without feeling sick. This was about more than the race or even a broken promise. It was about who Asher was at his core. He was a good person, and I loved who he was, but he also possessed a streak of impulsive recklessness that verged on self-destru...

I should be grateful he was alive—and I was. No matter how many promises he broke, there would never be a version of me that didn’t care whether he lived or died. But I couldn’t look at him without imagining what could’ve happened, and I couldn’t imagine what could’ve happened without feeling sick. This was about more than the race or even a broken promise. It was about who Asher was at his core. He was a good person, and I loved who he was, but he also possessed a streak of impulsive recklessness that verged on self-destructive. If he destroyed himself, ...