“You know why I did it.” I was tired of rehashing the same thing over and over again. Every time I visited, my father inevitably brought up my “traitorous transfer” to Holchester’s biggest rival, which was why I rarely came home anymore. I was only here this weekend because of Teddy’s birthday.
“Money, Frank Armstrong, and a bloody loss on your record. How’s that treating you?” My father made a disgusted noise.
Money and working with Frank Armstrong. They were the reasons I gave him, but they weren’t the only reasons. I would never tell him what the third was, though.
When I didn’t respond, he shoved his chair back and stormed off, his tea forgotten.
“Don’t take what he says to heart.” My mother patted my shoulder. “You know how fanatical he is about that team. It’ll take time, but he’ll get over it.”
He’d had half a year to get over it. Then again, he’d refused to talk to me for a month after he found out about the transfer, so the fact we were on speaking terms at all was an improvement.
“I’m heading out to see Teddy.” I stood and placed my half-empty mug in the sink. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
Her face softened. “Okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself, okay? All this—the matches, the press, the pressure—it’s temporary. It doesn’t define you.”
I kept my smile even as my gut clenched.
She meant what she said in a comforting way, but the temporary nature of my career was the reason why I pushed myself so hard. I only had a set number of years to achieve everything I wanted, and that was assuming I didn’t suffer an injury that would cut the number down further.
Besides, she was wrong. Football did define me. It was the only thing I’d ever excelled at. What would I be without it?
Nothing.
However, I didn’t voice any of those thoughts as I kissed her on the cheek and left.
My mother dealt with enough problems in her job as a teacher. I didn’t want to add mine to the heap.
My parents lived in a quiet part of Holchester so there was rarely traffic, and it took me less than ten minutes to reach Teddy.
The grounds smelled like damp earth and moss. Sunlight peeked through spindly branches, and bursts of flowers added color to the otherwise staid landscape. Workers kept the place well-tended, but there was only so much cheer one could expect in a cemetery.
I trod the familiar path to Teddy’s resting site. Guilt wormed through my chest when I saw how bare it looked.
His mother had died years ago, and his father had remarried and moved across the country. I was the only person who visited regularly anymore; even so, my visits had dwindled since I moved to London.
I placed a birthday card on my best friend’s grave and sat there until sunset beckoned.
Besides my mother, Teddy was the only person who remembered me as Asher before I became Asher Donovan.
Sometimes, I needed that reminder too.
SCARLETT
“If you’re dragging me to your secret lair so you can butcher me, I’m going to be deeply upset,” I said. “I have plans to see a West End show tonight.”
“It’s alarming that that was the first thought that popped into your head, but no, I am not dragging you to my secret lair. All my lairs are public.”
“Cute.” I glanced at our driver and tried not to calculate the million different ways we could die if he sped up, slowed down, or took the wrong turn. It’s fine. You’ll be fine. “Seriously, where are we going? Where’s the new studio?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Asher sat next to me in the backseat, his posture relaxed and indifferent compared to my white knuckles and rigid back.
He’d asked me to meet him down the road from RAB today so we could avoid the paparazzi, who still camped out near the school grounds every day hoping for a money pic of Asher.
When I’d shown up, too curious about his “paparazzi solution” to stay away, I’d been greeted by an armored Range Rover, a black-suited man the size of the Hulk, and Asher.
“I’m not driving today. Earl is,” he’d said, nodding at the Hulk 2.0. “We’re going to our new studio.”
I should’ve insisted he tell me where the studio was before I (reluctantly) climbed into the car, but again, curiosity got the better of me.
Well, that and Asher’s reassurance that Earl was the safest, most skilled driver in the London metro area. Apparently, he’d been a chauffeur for Downing Street for twenty years, followed by a stint with an extremely wealthy, extremely reclusive billionaire.
I still hated getting into cars with strangers, but I believed Asher, and he was right. Earl had been great so far.
“Which West End show are you seeing tonight?” Asher asked.
I named a new musical that had been garnering rave reviews.
“Friday night date. Should be a fun time,” he said.
I threw a sharp glance in his direction. He was the picture of carelessness, his profile outlined in sunlit gold against the window, but an edge ran beneath his otherwise casual drawl.
Our relationship the past three weeks had been perfectly cordial. He showed up to the studio, we trained, he left. Still charming but absent the flirtatiousness of our early encounters.
It was easy. Simple. Professional. Exactly what I’d asked for.
“Yes.” For some reason, I declined to mention that Carina was my hot Friday night date. “It should be very fun.”
