Heat seared my face. “Coach?-“
“I’m not done.” His mouth pursed. “You think I didn’t know about your racing habit or your rivalry with DuBois before I paid two hundred fifty million bloody pounds to bring you to Markovic Stadium? Everyone knew, and that’s why the rest of the committee resisted so hard. They thought I was mad for even considering you.” He shook his head. “I had to fight for you, Donovan. It doesn’t matter how many hat tricks you’ve pulled off or how many Ballons d’Or you’ve won. A reckless player is a dangerous player, and the committee was adamant that we couldn’t afford to be distracted by your scandals when we’re trying to win the league.”
I swallowed. We’d never discussed the logistics behind my transfer. I had no idea he’d encountered so much resistance on my behalf. “But you didn’t agree with them, sir?”
“Not at the time. Do you want to know why?” Coach’s eyes drilled into me. “Because the fire that fuels your recklessness is the same fire that differentiates the greats from the legends. Like I said, there are a lot of great strikers. But they don’t have the same hunger you have. They want to win; you want to break records. They’re satisfied with maximizing their potential; you’re not because you don’t think there is a cap to your potential. If you could channel all that fire onto the pitch without letting your pride and petty squabbles get in the way, you’d be unstoppable. I convinced the committee that was possible. I told them that, with a little guidance, you’d understand what was at stake and pull it together.” True disappointment colored his words. “You’ve let me down.”
I strangled the edge of my seat with white knuckles.
You’ve let me down.
I’d heard that sentiment plenty of times in my life, including from my father, but the calm, matter-of-fact manner in which Coach delivered it stung harder than any heated words or shouts.
If my breakup with Scarlett was the worst conversation of my life, this was a strong contender for second place.
The growing weight of guilt pressed in from all sides, making me want to melt into the floor and disappear forever.
“I know you have a complicated relationship with your old team, and Bocci has a reputation for being an instigator,” Coach said. “However, I’d hoped that you would’ve learned to control your impulses better. The authorities don’t have the evidence they need to implicate anyone in a crime, but you and I both know what really happened the night of the crash.”
The specter of my mistake reared its ugly head again, like a beast who kept regenerating no matter how many times I tried to kill it.
“You got lucky, but everyone’s luck runs out some time. The question is, will you have pulled your head out of your ass before it does.” Coach didn’t sound upset, merely exhausted. “The committee said you’re too rash. That you take your youth and talent for granted and that you don’t respect the consequences of your actions as much as you should. So far, you’re proving them right. Being a great footballer is about more than skills and drive. It’s about focus. It’s about teamwork. It’s about the discipline and self-control to stop and think before you act. Emotion is a powerful motivator, but it can also be your greatest enemy.”
My next swallow felt like I was forcing nails down my throat. “I am disciplined. I will be disciplined. I’m done fighting with Holchester off the pitch, and you won’t see me behind the wheel of a car during a race ever again, sir.”
I’d promised Scarlett the same thing, but like Scarlett, Coach didn’t look convinced.
“Are you?” He regarded me with naked skepticism. “Discipline is a mental exercise, Donovan. Physically, you excel at the game, but mindset is as important as any of the conditioning drills that Greely is running out there. And right now, your mind is a mess. No, it’s true.” He cut me off when I opened my mouth in protest. “You may not see it, but I know my players, and I’ve watched you especially closely since you joined my club. Now, I’m no psychologist, but even I can see that something is driving those stupid, impulsive decisions of yours. It’s not Holchester and it’s not DuBois. Until you figure out what it is and deal with it, you’ll never find the discipline you need to achieve your goals-or to work with the team.”
Cold unease crawled under my skin. Coach’s words were both vague and ominous-the worst combination.
“The doctors and our rehab team say you’ll be fully healed and cleared to play in two weeks, but you’ll be off the pitch longer than that.” Coach sighed. “I’m benching you until further notice.””What?” I nearly shot out of my chair. “Coach, you can’t-” I stopped when I noticed his tired frown.
He didn’t want this any more than I did. Benching me indefinitely was a huge gamble. Between the price of my transfer and the fact that I was their lead attacker, my absence would cause chaos. Any time Blackcastle lost a match, they would blame him for not putting me in.
Coach was going to get shredded by the public and the club’s executive committee-they hadn’t paid millions of pounds for me to sit on the sidelines-but he felt strongly enough about the situation to risk that outcome.
I sank back into my chair and tamped down my knee-jerk indignation. He had every right to bench me. He’d given me plenty of warnings regarding my behavior, and I’d ignored him.
He would be a terrible coach if he didn’t discipline me.
“Prove to me you can think before acting first and that you have a handle on your impulsiveness. Once you do that, I’ll allow you back on the pitch.” He nodded at the door. “Now get back to training. Just because you’re benched doesn’t mean you can slack off.”
“Yes, sir,” I said quietly.
I walked out, my ears ringing with condemnation.
It’s about the pattern. It’s about compulsively choosing to do something that leads to self-harm.
Something is driving those stupid, impulsive decisions of yours.
I can’t stand by and watch you self-destruct.
Do you remember the favor you owe me? Please go.
My head pounded from the tumult of voices swarming my brain. They overlapped and blended together, their collective volume rising to a point where I could no longer hear my steps against the concrete floor or the anxious hammer of my pulse.
Scarlett, football, my control over my own bloody life…everyone and everything I loved was slipping through my fingers.
If I didn’t get my shit together soon, I’d lose everything I’d worked so hard for.
Permanently.
ASHER
That weekend, Blackcastle played Tottenham and did just fine without me. They squeaked out a miraculous goal in the last minute, but a win was a win, and as happy as I was for them-for us-I couldn’t stop something unpleasant from slithering through my veins.
It was like my absence didn’t mean anything.
Like I didn’t matter.
The dark cloud that’d followed me since the crash grew heavier, and I begged off celebrating with the team afterward. It wasn’t like I’d contributed to their victory.
Maybe if Teddy were alive or I had another best friend, I’d have an outlet to vent the sickly emotions coiling inside me. Since I didn’t, I was forced to drown in them alone.
“I can’t believe you’re pulling a Noah on us,” Adil said when I told him I was going home. Noah rarely came out with us after a match.
However, even the ever-persistent Adil didn’t push me to join their revelry. The team had been walking on eggshells around me since the crash and my breakup with Scarlett. I hadn’t confirmed it myself, but they must’ve noticed how I clammed up when she came up in conversation and grilled Vincent about it instead.
It was mortifying-I hated being the object of pity-but at least they had my back. No one gave me shit about what happened with Bocci. Many of them had been present for the race, and they’d wanted to make him eat his words as much as I had.
“Anyway, enjoy your night off. I’ll see you on Monday.” Adil slapped a hand on my shoulder. Neither of us mentioned that I didn’t have nights on anymore since Coach benched me. “Take it easy, Donovan.”
I forced a smile and nodded as the team piled into their cars for a night at the Angry Boar. Noah had gone home, and Vincent was noticeably absent. Maybe he was already at the pub. We hadn’t talked much the past few weeks, and I suspected he was avoiding me given my broken relationship with Scarlett.
It was for the best. I couldn’t look at him without thinking about her, and I couldn’t think about her without feeling like someone had jammed a sword through my gut.
I drove straight home from the stadium and cut a direct path to the kitchen. Thankfully, my security team had succeeded in scaring off the paps that used to lurk around my house, so I didn’t have to worry about them on top of everything else.
Yes, I was wallowing.
No, I didn’t give a shit.
I grabbed a glass bottle of Coke from the fridge and popped the cap off. Normally, I didn’t indulge in much alcohol or soda during the season, but since I was benched for the foreseeable future, I allowed myself a cheat drink-or two, or three.
I leaned against the counter and took a swig, my eyes sweeping dispassionately across the giant kitchen until the copper gleam of cookware caught my eye and a flood of memories assaulted me.
I thought you were an intruder.
Why would you think that?
I came downstairs for a snack and saw the light from the kitchen. I didn’t realize…
That I might’ve gotten the same idea?
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.