Judging by her tone, she knew about my screw-up earlier this summer.
I wanted to sink through the floor and die, but I forced a bright smile. “Yes. I won’t let you down.”
I left her office in a daze. Carina was on a toilet break when I got out, but instead of waiting for her, I returned to my studio and called the only person who could calm the nausea roiling my stomach.
“Hi, darling.” Asher’s voice flowed over the line. “Miss me already?”
My smile wobbled. “Actually, yes. How’s your first day back?”
Today was the official start of Blackcastle’s preseason training. It was our first Monday apart in months, and I felt his absence like a gaping hole in my chest.
“It was good, but Vincent and I have a meeting with Coach in ten. We’ll see how that goes.”
“Hey, you two are finally getting along. He should be happy.”
“He should.” I heard male laughter and chatter in the background. He must be in the changing room. “But I’m guessing you didn’t call me in the middle of work to discuss football.”
“No,” I admitted. I told him about my conversation with Lavinia but not about my flare-up after practice. I didn’t want Asher to freak out or get distracted. I could handle this on my own.
“Wow.” He whistled when I finished. “What a way to start the week.”
“I know.” I stared at my pale, disheveled reflection in the studio’s mirrors. I was still riding the carousel of dizziness, but Asher’s voice kept me grounded enough to get through the conversation without shaking.
“How do you feel about being the lead?” A note of caution crept through his words.
“What don’t I feel? Nervous, terrified, nauseous, a little excited. I honestly haven’t processed it yet.” I leaned my head back against the wall. “Ask me again in seventy-two hours.”
He laughed. “You got it.”
“Anyway, I just wanted to call and tell you. If I waited until tonight, I might’ve combusted, but I don’t want to keep you any longer.” I dreaded hanging up, but I couldn’t use him as a security blanket forever. “Good luck with your meeting.”
“Thanks.” I heard the smile in his voice. “And Scarlett? For what it’s worth, I think you’ll kill it as Lorena.”
My lips tipped up, but they slowly flattened again after I ended our call.
Asher, Vincent, Yvette, Emma, the showcase, the pain, the threat of the paparazzi…all the loose threads in my life, big and small, swirled inside me. They tangled together and formed a rope in my chest, pulling tighter and tighter until it nearly cut off my supply of oxygen.
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.
CHAPTER 40ASHER
I ended my call with Scarlett and tossed my phone in my gym bag right as Adil bounded over to me and Noah, whose locker was next to mine.
“There they are! My fellow Blackcastle baddies!” He clapped one hand on each of our shoulders. “Missed me?”
“Like a toddler misses a rash,” Noah muttered, but he didn’t shake off the midfielder’s greeting.
“So you did miss me.” Adil appeared unfazed by the goalie’s lackluster enthusiasm. “New season, boys. We’re back, and we’re going to crush those Holchester bastards! And everyone else,” he added as an afterthought.
“You got that right.” I bumped my fist against his in agreement, but my mind lingered on Scarlett. She sounded a little off during our call. Perhaps it was her nerves over the Yvette and showcase situation. She had complicated feelings about performing in public again, and the sudden promotion from understudy to lead couldn’t be easy.
I made a note to check in with her again once I was home.
I changed shirts while Adil regaled us with tales of his summer at home. The locker room crackled with the back-to-school energy of a new season, and laughter and teasing banter filled the air as the players caught up with each other for the first time in months.
“I can’t wait to see them on the pitch again.” Adil rubbed his hands. “Bocci better watch his fucking back.”
The mention of my old teammate filled my mouth with the taste of copper. It was the taste for competition. For redemption. For vengeance.
We almost swept the league last season, and this was our chance to vindicate ourselves. Since Vincent and I set aside our differences, there was nothing stopping us from taking the number one title come May.
Coach entered the locker room. “DuBois! Donovan!” he barked. He jerked his head toward his office. “Get in here.”
A chorus of taunting oohs swelled as Vincent and I stopped what we were doing and walked toward him, our expressions identically wary.
“In trouble already? That’s a record,” Samson joked. The Nigerian winger laughed when Vincent gave him a light shove on his way past.
“Next time you want to make a joke, make sure you can complete a forty-five-minute run without heaving like you’re in labor first,” he called over his shoulder.
The first day of preseason was always the toughest as players transitioned from a summer of food and holiday back to work.
Another chorus of oohs mingled with jeers as Samson shook his head. “Low blow, captain!” he yelled after us. “Low blow!”
I smirked, but my amusement quickly faded when we arrived at Coach’s office. He shut the door, and once again, déjà vu permeated my senses as Vincent and I settled into our seats.
