“That’s going to be a problem,” I said.
I didn’t want to worry about candid pictures of me ending up in some sleazy tabloid every time I came to work. Asher was their target, but as his trainer, I had a high likelihood of getting caught in the crossfire.
“I agree, but I’ve been thinking about it since our first run-in with them, and I might have a solution,” Asher said. “Can you send me a list of everything we need for training? Equipment, supplies, room dimensions. Everything.”
“Why?”
“Trust me.”
I must’ve looked skeptical because a small smile quirked at the corner of his lips.
“It’ll be a surprise. The paps will continue to be an issue because they know where I’ll be every other day. We have to throw them off our scent. Trust me,” he repeated. “I know what I’m doing.”
I didn’t have the energy to argue.
I also didn’t make a habit of trusting anyone outside my family and Carina, but in that moment, it was hard to remember why I should keep Asher at arm’s length.
He wasn’t my brother’s nemesis or my trainee-he was the person who’d carried me up three flights of stairs, stayed with me until I regained consciousness, and didn’t make me feel like an object of pity when I told him about my accident.
And that’s exactly why he’s dangerous.
ASHER
I developed a new mantra over the next two weeks:
Keep it professional and stop thinking about her.
It was a bit long for a mantra, but it was smart, clear, and actionable. I was quite proud of it.
Unfortunately, it also proved that mantras were bullshit because fourteen days later, Scarlett still haunted my thoughts like a smart-mouthed, entirely-too-beautiful ghost.
When I woke up, I anticipated our next session together.
When I got behind the wheel, I remembered the night I drove her home in the rain.
When I entered her studio, I relived my sheer panic at seeing her collapse and my utter relief when she woke up.
Despite what I’d told her, I’d dropped by RAB that day to discuss the paparazzi issue with Lavinia. That was it. And yet, my feet had steered me to her studio instead of the director’s office, and my determination to keep her at arm’s length had snapped the second I saw her in pain.
I was convinced we were the subjects of some universal conspiracy at this point. I just couldn’t prove it.
“Are you listening to me?” My father’s irritation pierced through my unwanted thoughts.
I leaned back in my chair and refocused on his frown. We sat opposite each other at my childhood dining table, which still bore traces of the permanent marker stick figures I’d doodled of famous footballers when I was a kid. Despite my best efforts to move my parents to a newer, bigger place, they’d insisted on staying at their old split-level in southwest Holchester.
Luckily, they’d consented to a new security system after several run-ins with the press, but I was still uneasy about how accessible they were to anyone with an internet connection and the barest modicum of sleuthing skills.
“I’m listening,” I said, even though I’d tuned him out twenty minutes ago.
We always talked about the same things: what I did wrong in my last match and how I could improve for the next one. My father watched more replays of my matches than Coach, which was saying something.
“You lacked focus the entire season,” he said. “Where was the cohesion? Where was the fire?”
“Oh, come off it, Ron,” my mother said from her spot by the counter. She picked up two mugs of tea and set them on the table, casting a glare at my father along the way. “I think he played wonderfully. You were the league’s highest scorer this season, weren’t you, darling?”
My father cut me off before I could respond. “Highest scorer yet no trophy.” The weathered planes of his face drew deeper into a scowl. “Should’ve stuck to Holchester like I told you. You know I can barely show my face at the pub these days? We’ve always been a red-and-white household. Then you had to go and…and do this.”
He gestured at the newspaper splayed open on the table. A photo of me, clearly devastated after the Holchester match, took up half the first page of the sports section.
Not only had I lost, but I was wearing Blackcastle’s signature purple and white.
If my father was the head of the Holchester United Church, I was its greatest heretic.
“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.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.