Meanwhile, I focused on Bocci and Lyle, who led the Holchester hate campaign against me.
“You can argue all you want now, but we’ll see who the real winner is during our match,” I said. “Reigning champions doesn’t mean you’ll stay champions.”
“Yeah?” Bocci’s dark eyes gleamed with malice. “How about we put some money on it? A race after our match. You and me. We won’t be bound by rules like we are on the pitch, and the winner of the match gets a five-second head start.”
The others’ arguments petered out.
Meanwhile, the wind died, throwing the alley into eerie silence. Summer heat and the suffocating reek of rubbish crawled into my lungs.
A race. I hadn’t raced since I beat Clive over the summer.
Bocci and I used to compete for fun when I lived in Holchester, but that was then. This was now.
Any competition we had going forward, whether it was on the pitch or in the streets, wouldn’t be for fun. We would go for the jugular.
“Why so quiet, Donovan?” Bocci taunted. “I thought you loved racing. Too scared you’ll lose to take me up on the offer?”
Adrenaline pounded in my ears. I wanted to wipe the smug smirk off his face as much as I wanted to win the league, but I’d promised Scarlett I was done.
I won’t race anymore. I promise.
My teammates’ curious stares drilled into my cheek. I hadn’t told them I’d retired from street racing, so I didn’t blame them for being confused.
“Look at him,” Lyle said. “He is scared. He’ll lose the match, and he’ll lose the race. There’s no shame admitting it, Donovan. You gotta know when to call it quits.”
The other Holchester players snickered.
Pride reared its ugly head, demanding action. A punch, a kick, an accepted challenge that’d shut them up and leave them eating dust in two weeks.
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.
“I’m not going to jeopardize my career to satisfy your insecurities,” I said coldly. “We don’t need a race to determine who’s better. We’ll find out on the pitch soon.” My smile could’ve frozen lava. “And Bocci? You’ve won one race against me ever, and that was because I let you win. I felt bad for you. That won’t happen again. So I wouldn’t be so quick to challenge others in something you’re clearly not adept at.”
I left him sputtering in the alley with the rest of the Holchester team.
My teammates followed me, their voices overlapping as they consoled me and talked amongst themselves.
Despite leaving with the last word, my heart continued to race from the confrontation. Blood roared in my ears as I tried to push the image of Bocci’s gloating smirk out of my head.
I did the right thing by not rising to his bait.
Now, I just had to make bloody sure I beat him in two weeks’ time.
CHAPTER 41SCARLETT
On the bright side, my subsequent cast rehearsals for Lorena went a lot better than my first attempt. I could practically see Tamara unclenching her butt cheeks after every practice, and I didn’t hear any more mutters from the rest of the staff.
On the not-so-bright side, I ached all the time. They weren’t intense, debilitating aches like the day I learned about Yvette, but they weren’t easily dismissed either.
No matter how many baths I took, massages I got, or Pilates sessions I indulged in, the pain was always there. It was so incessant and all-consuming that, on the morning of the Holchester match, four days after a particularly grueling rehearsal, I reached for my emergency packet.
If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to get through today’s match, and I had to be there for Asher. It was Blackcastle versus Holchester. I couldn’t miss it. However, the thought of sitting in Markovic Stadium for two plus hours without help made my body revolt, so I took a pain pill and prayed it would be enough.
I was already pushing myself too hard with the extra practices on top of cast rehearsals. I knew that. But the staff showcase wasn’t just a staff showcase. It was my redemption to myself, and the pressure to nail the performance was worse than when I’d danced at the Royal Opera with the actual royal family in attendance.
I just needed to hold out for another two and a half months. After that, I could rest.
“Scarlett, do you want another drink?” Brooklyn’s voice brought me out of my thoughts. “We have time for another round or two before I have to be at the stadium. Gotta support Dad and all that.”
I spun around, my heart ricocheting in my chest. “What?”
“Another drink,” she repeated as she entered the kitchen. “I can do a virgin mojito or a virgin daiquiri. Up to you.”
“Mojito. Please.” I forced a smile.
I’d kept my escalating fatigue and discomfort a secret from my friends and Asher. I didn’t want them to worry when they were already under so much stress—Asher with the new season, Brooklyn with her internship, and Carina with her endless second job search.
If only keeping secrets wasn’t as exhausting as practice.
