I purposely didn’t acknowledge the first part of his statement, but my muscles coiled with dread when Scarlett finally returned and cut our awkward conversation short.
The rest of our training passed without incident, but when Scarlett tried to bring up the Angry Boar afterward, I stopped her with a meaningful look behind her brother’s back.
“I was thinking we could…” She trailed off at my wide eyes.
“We could what?” Vincent asked.
“Uh, we could bring things up a notch during our next session. I think you’ve got the hang of the basics now,” Scarlett said.
“Sounds good,” I interrupted before Vincent could ask any more questions. “Vincent and I are going to hit up the Angry Boar for a pint. Get some of that bonding time Coach wanted us to have before the season starts.” I punched him in the shoulder like we were long-time mates.
He stared at me like I’d lost my mind.
I didn’t blame him. I was acting wildly out of character, but I was so jumpy from our earlier talk that I acted without thinking.
If Scarlett joined us, she’d attempt to tell him about us like we’d originally planned, but I couldn’t let her do that until I figured out Vincent’s current headspace. Would the sentiment he expressed earlier make him more or less angry when he learned about our relationship?
Unfortunately, I wouldn’t have time to explain all this to Scarlett before we got to the pub, since she’d have to ride there with her brother instead of me. It would be easier for me to talk to Vincent alone first.
“Oh! Okay. Um, have fun?” Scarlett’s questioning tone revealed her confusion about why I was deviating from our original plan, but she trusted me enough not to press the issue as Vincent slung his duffel over his shoulder and said goodbye to her.
“I’ll explain later,” I muttered when I passed her.
“Looking forward to it,” she muttered back. She glanced at her brother’s retreating back. “Good luck.”
If I thought a one-on-one conversation at the pub would solve my dilemma, I was dead wrong.
I figured I could ease into the possibility that I was dating his sister after a pint or two and gauge his reaction, but Vincent continued our conversation like we never stopped the instant we sat down, drinks in hand.
“I meant what I said earlier.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You and I haven’t always gotten along, and I was nervous about leaving you alone with her. You’re arrogant, you sleep around—”
“Huh. Sounds like you could be describing yourself.”
Vincent glared at me. “And I wouldn’t want Scarlett dating someone like me, either,” he snapped. “She’s been through enough. She has a…bad history with footballers, and she doesn’t need to deal with your bullshit after all that.”
I couldn’t resist following up. “By bad history, you mean Pessoa?”
He hesitated, then confirmed with a short nod. “I’m not going to go into the details because that’s not my place, but their breakup was hard on her. I never want to see her in that dark of a place again. She’s my only sister, and I’m protective of her.”
My mouth thinned. Fucking Pessoa. I should’ve hit him harder when I had the chance.
“Anyway, that’s why I’m sitting here,” Vincent said gruffly. “I don’t give a shit about thank-you drinks—no offense—but it does mean a lot to me that you protected Scarlett and that you didn’t try to take advantage of my absence over the summer. So I guess…” He rubbed the back of his neck, his expression turning sheepish. “Maybe we should let bygones be bygones. Like Coach said, I don’t want our issues to fuck up our next season. And as much as I dislike you, I hate Holchester even more.”
“What a ringing endorsement. That truly makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.”
“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit. You’re not my biggest fan either.”
“I most definitely am not, but I also hate Holchester more, so”—I raised my glass—“the truce continues.”
Vincent snorted but clinked his glass against mine.
We sipped our beer and lapsed into awkward silence once more.
We had plenty to say when we were rivals, but friendliness was a tougher bridge to cross than enmity.
“What’s your problem with me anyway?” I asked, genuinely curious.
I would never forget what happened at the World Cup. Getting ejected from the biggest football tournament on the planet because of a faked injury wasn’t something any player would ever get over, and England’s subsequent loss only added to the sting. But it’d been two years since that fateful call, and I was willing to leave what happened in the past for Scarlett’s sake.
Besides, I planned to kick Vincent’s ass in the next World Cup.
However, that didn’t explain why he was so against me. We competed for sponsorships and status, but so did a lot of players.
Was it because the internet constantly pitted us against each other in those “who’s the better player” polls? Was it because I earned more than him? Or was it something else?
“My problem with you? Besides the fact that you’re a cocky son of a bitch with a superiority complex?” Vincent asked. “You have it too easy.”
I almost spat out my drink. “Excuse me?”
Have it too easy? I trained and played just as hard as he did, and I worked my ass off to get to where I was. Admittedly, I was lucky enough to grow up in a relatively stable, two-parent household, but having my father scream in my ear all the time hadn’t been a walk in the park.
Besides, it wasn’t like Vincent grew up in a tough household. His parents were divorced, but from what I could tell, they’d been supportive of his dreams. His father had been an engineer and his mother was a nurse, and they had enough money to pay for Scarlett’s ballet lessons and his football training.
“I’m not talking about your work ethic.” It was like Vincent could read my thoughts. “I’m talking about you. Asher Donovan.” He gestured at me. “If any other player had pulled half the shit you’ve pulled, with the cars and racing, they would be radioactive. No one would touch them. You, on the other hand, got a record-breaking transfer deal and a renewed sponsorship from Aoki Watches. You’re reckless, you’re flashy as hell on the pitch because you can’t stand not being the center of attention, and it doesn’t matter because your brand is too big to fail.”
I sat there, too stunned by the barrage to respond. I thought his issues with me stemmed from disparities in pay or fame, but clearly, they ran deeper than that.
