The Striker (Gods of the Game Book 1)
The Striker: Chapter 28

The next two weeks passed in a whirlwind of dance rehearsals, training sessions, and stolen moments with Asher.

We wanted to keep our new relationship status under wraps for now, so we didn’t tell anyone except Carina and Brooklyn.

However, despite tension-soaked trainings and more than a few orgasms in both our houses, Asher and I hadn’t been on an official date yet.

Our morning trip to Kew Gardens, which I’d never visited despite being a native Londoner? Not a date.

Our late-night drinks at a secret bar followed by a tipsy walk along the Thames? Not a date.

Our weekend marathon of sex, food, and classic Hedy Lamarr movies? Not a date.

At this point, I was starting to suspect Asher didn’t know the meaning of the word.

My fingers flew over my phone’s keyboard as I entered the rehearsal hall at RAB. I’d added Carina and Brooklyn to the same group chat earlier that week. I was a bit nervous they wouldn’t get along, but I liked Brooklyn a lot, and she was new to the city.

Carina and I usually had the same gut instincts when it came to people, and I couldn’t think of a good reason why they wouldn’t mesh.

I’d introduced them when I created the chat, so I jumped right into it.

How do you guys feel about poker?

BROOKLYN

Like strip poker?

CARINA

I didn’t realize this was THAT type of group chat **eyes emoji**

Very funny

I thought we could have a girls’ night at my place. Poker and drinks. What do you think?

CARINA

I’m down. I haven’t played poker in so long though, so take it easy on me

BROOKLYN

I’d love to join as well. Just let me know when

BROOKLYN

Don’t worry. I promise not to take too much of your money

“Scarlett! Good, you’re here.”

Tamara’s voice dragged my focus away from the chat and toward the stage, where the rest of the staff was warming up. She was one of RAB’s senior instructors and the rehearsal director for the showcase.

“Yvette had a last-minute doctor’s appointment, so you’ll have to dance in her place,” she said.

My heartbeat skittered to a stop. “Dance in her place?”

“Yes.” She arched her brows. “Will that be a problem?”

“No.” A cold draft swept over me, peppering my arms and chest with goose bumps. “Of course not. That’s—that’s what I’m here for.”

“Great.” Tamara left to speak with the choreographer while my feet remained rooted to the ground.

My palms grew clammy as I stared at the stage. Understudies rarely danced with the whole cast during rehearsals, and I was unprepared for the sudden call to duty.

My job was to fill in during emergencies, but now that one came up, I couldn’t shake off an angry swarm of nerves.

I’d practiced off to the side during rehearsals, and I’d memorized every piece of the performance. But there was a difference between practicing on my own and practicing with the cast.

This rehearsal would be my first full-length, full-cast performance since the accident. I felt like there should be a clear sign marking the milestone, like flashing neon lights or at least a heads-up call from Yvette.

Since there wasn’t, I forced my feet to move across the floor, up the stairs, and onto the stage.

Warm-ups. I could do that. I’ve warmed up before.

My heart crowded my throat. My excitement over getting the understudy role all those weeks ago melted beneath the lights and the sideways glances from the rest of the staff.

They knew about my past. Were they waiting for me to mess up? Did they think my fall from principal dancer to understudy was pathetic?

Stop being paranoid. No one’s judging you.

I took a deep breath, focused on the sliver of floor around me, and started stretching.

One. Two. Three. The silent, measured counts steadied my breathing and calmed my heart rate. By the time I finished, the churn of anxiety had slowed to a crawl.

Tamara clapped her hands. “Okay, let’s start from the top!” she said when everyone was in place.

The music started, and I didn’t have time to overthink anymore.

It was move or die, so I moved.

The good thing about Lorena was that its choreography played to my strengths as a dancer. I hadn’t performed in five years, but I’d lived and breathed ballet for sixteen years before that. My body remembered what it felt like.

After a hesitant start, I gradually flowed into the movements. Pirouettes, arabesques, grand battements…it was like saying hello to old friends I hadn’t seen in a long time.

If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine I was at Westbury, dancing for an opening-night audience.

This isn’t so bad. You can do this. You⁠—

The sudden screech of the auditorium doors opening pierced through the music. It sounded like metal screaming.

Metal. Blood. Smoke.

My veins flooded with adrenaline. My head instinctively snapped toward the entrance, ruining my choreography, but instead of the newcomer, my vision swarmed with snippets from the past.

Punctured lungs, broken ribs, shattered pelvis…

With long-term, consistent physical therapy, she’ll regain normal use of her legs, but I’m afraid professional ballet is no longer a viable option…

I strongly encourage surgery. Without it, she might never dance again. Not even recreationally.

I stumbled. Sweat beaded my forehead, and the air thinned in my lungs. The stage lights were so hot, I couldn’t think properly.

What was the next part of the choreography? Was I supposed to go left or right? How long until this damn dance was over?

My temples pounded with tension.

“Scarlett? Scarlett!”

I lifted my head, my breaths shallow.

Shit. The rest of the cast had stopped rehearsing and were staring at me, their faces painted with varying shades of concern, annoyance, and judgment.

Humiliation crawled over my skin like fire ants over broken soil.

“Are you okay?” Tamara asked. She was the one who’d called my name, and her brow pinched with worry as she ran her eyes over me. “If you’re not feeling well⁠—”

“No. I’m fine.” I straightened and swallowed the bile in my throat. “I didn’t hydrate enough and got dizzy, but I can finish rehearsals. I promise.”

I was not going to quit practice. I refused to run away with my tail tucked between my legs after one misstep, and I’d never willingly quit anything I’d committed to in my life. I wasn’t going to start now.

Tamara appeared dubious, but she didn’t argue. We were already behind, and the other staff members looked restless.

The music started again. Thankfully, the choreography came back to me, but I never recovered from my first mistake. I either missed my cues or I was off by half a count, which threw the others off their counts. It was a disaster, and by the time rehearsals ended, I wanted to cry.

I slunk off the stage, my head down, but I caught snippets of my colleagues’ whispered conversations.

“What a waste of an afternoon.”

“I hope Yvette doesn’t get injured before the showcase, or the performance will be a nightmare.”

“Why did Lavinia make her an understudy? She didn’t even audition.”

Tears clogged my throat. I didn’t blame them for being skeptical. If I were them, I’d be irritated with me too.

I was so wrapped up in my mortification, I forgot about the person who’d entered mid-rehearsal until I heard his voice.

“Scarlett.”

My feet stilled.

One blink peeled the shadows away from the seats and carpet, revealing a familiar muscled frame and sculpted cheekbones. A pleat of concern creased his brow, but his eyes were soft when they landed on me.

Asher.

The auditorium had emptied out, so it was just the two of us, and the echo of my name lingered.

Scarlett.

That was all it took.

The tears climbed up my throat and tore loose with a small sob. Once the first broke free, the rest followed, filling the cavernous space with the humiliating sound of my failure.

I hated crying in public, but my threads of control had frayed with each minute of rehearsal. I’d reached the end of my restraint, and all it took was replaceing one safe shelter before I broke down.

Asher was by my side in an instant, his arms encircling me as I pressed my tear-dampened face into his chest. He didn’t say a word. He just held me, his embrace so strong and steady, I was sure it could withstand even the most devastating of storms.

“I screwed up,” I sobbed. “The rehearsal. I screwed it all up. I forgot the choreography, I threw everyone off, I…” A hiccup split my self-loathing in half. “I can’t do it. I’m not even the principal, and I’m already making a mess of things.”

Past me would’ve slapped present me over the words leaving my mouth. I’d believed anyone could do anything if they tried hard enough, but I was tired of having to try so hard.

Some days, it was a struggle just to get out of bed. I was constantly at war with my body, my emotions, and everything that should’ve been on my side but wasn’t.

I was exhausted. All I wanted was to stay here forever, surrounded by Asher’s warmth and the reassuring beats of his heart. Here, I didn’t have to try. I could just…be.

“You can do it.” Firmness underlaid his otherwise gentle tone. “This is the first time you’ve performed with a cast in years. Give yourself the grace to grow.”

“To grow and do what? They’ll never let me sub in for Yvette now,” I said, my voice small. I didn’t want to sub in for Yvette. If I fucked up during the performance the way I had in rehearsals, I’d never be able to show my face at RAB again. I’d never be able to look at myself in the mirror again. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Lavinia calls me into her office tomorrow and takes the understudy role away from me.”

My tears finally slowed to a trickle. I pulled away from Asher’s chest and swiped angrily at my cheeks. “I should’ve practiced more, but I’m…” I’m afraid.

I was too embarrassed to voice the insecurity out loud.

My doctor said I could dance as long as I didn’t overdo it, but I worried that I had to overdo it in order to master the choreography. I was rusty after years away from dancing. I did fine in the opening scene before I got distracted and everything went to hell, but could I sustain that through multiple practices and a full performance?

Surprisingly, my muscles weren’t screaming after the day’s exertions, but they were fickle. They were fine one day and agonizing the next.

Even if I could sustain that level of performance, I had to contend with the psychological pressure of being onstage again. What if my memories sucked me back into the abyss during the showcase? What if I froze again and became a laughingstock? How could my students take me seriously if I couldn’t master one performance?

Despite bouts of nostalgia for my old career, I loved my job at RAB. I’d clawed my way out of a hole of bitterness and resentment to build a new life here, and I didn’t want to jeopardize it.

“If you want to practice more, we can practice more. It’s not too late.” Asher’s thumb skimmed over my cheek and wiped away a stray tear. His eyes searched my face. “Do you want to practice more?”

Different responses rushed to the tip of my tongue.

Yes. No. I don’t know.

No was the easy answer.

Yes was the optimistic challenge.

I don’t know was the truth, so that was what I went with. “I’m probably overthinking, per usual,” I said with a weak smile. Now that the tears had tapered off and I had other company besides my treacherous thoughts, it was easier to pull myself back from the brink of despair. “The chances of me dancing in Yvette’s place again are slim. This was probably a one-time thing.”

“Maybe, but the practices wouldn’t be for anyone else. They would be for you.” Asher’s hand paused at the curve of my jaw. He cupped my face, his touch tender. I unconsciously leaned into him. Fatigue was settling into my bones, but the press of his skin against mine gave me enough strength to keep going. “If you’re worried about overexerting yourself, I have a solution.”

He always knew what I was thinking without me having to say it.

“We can incorporate your practices into my training,” he said in response to the quizzical arch of my brows. “You don’t have to dance the full two hours every time. We can break up the choreography into pieces. Ninety minutes for my training, thirty for yours, depending on how you’re feeling. We’ll be in the studio anyway. We might as well make full use of it.” A roguish grin appeared. “I’m not a dancer, but I can spot you if you need me to.”

A laugh cleared the rasp in my throat. “I don’t think spotting means what you think it means in ballet.”

Dancers used the spotting technique to maintain control and avoid dizziness during the execution of various turns. It involved replaceing a stationary focal point and had nothing to do with partner assistance the way it did in the gym.

“Ah, well.” Asher shrugged. “Regardless, I’ll be there if you need me.”

I battled a wave of emotion. “Thank you. That’s…” Do not cry again. Once was enough. “I’ll think about it.”

It was a good idea. It straddled the line between practice and overexertion, and I could rehearse without the pressure of my peers. It was a more palatable option than giving up.

Shame stole through me at my earlier weakness. If Asher hadn’t been here, I might’ve admitted defeat after one bad rehearsal.

Was that the type of person I’d become? Had I grown so soft that I couldn’t handle a bad day, or was I so hard on myself that I thought a bad day was the end of the world?

I didn’t like either possibility.

“Actually, I don’t need to think about it,” I said. My resolve firmed. “You’re right. We’ll add my practice to our training sessions.”

“Good.” Asher’s smile was as slow and languid as the warmth seeping under my skin. “That’s my girl.”

That’s my girl.

Three words shouldn’t have the power to undo me, but they did.

Butterflies erupted low in my stomach. They were so distracting I almost overlooked the novelty of seeing Asher at RAB again. As far as I knew, he hadn’t stepped foot in the building since we changed our training location.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as we made our slow ascent up the stairs toward the exit. “We didn’t have a meeting, did we?”

“No, but I had my midsummer check-in with Lavinia. It was one of Coach’s requirements.” Asher placed a hand on the small of my back and steered me around a box of props that someone had carelessly left in the aisle. “Don’t worry. I didn’t talk too much shit about you.”

“Wow, thanks. I appreciate the glowing recommendation.”

“Anytime.” His mouth quirked. “But I also wanted to come by and see you. I wanted to give you formal notice.”

I eyed him with wariness. “About what?”

“About this weekend.” He pushed the door open. Thankfully, the hinges let out a squeak this time instead of a full-on metallic screech.

I racked my brain for upcoming special occasions and came up empty. “What’s happening this weekend?”

Asher glanced at me again, his eyes dancing with mischief. “We’re going on our first official date.”