Chapter Twenty Five - Scarlett
I find Caleb at the stadium, a few hours before the game time.
I’m a woman on a mission, I haven’t replied to any of Asher’s texts or answered any of his calls.
I don’t care what he has to say now, I’m finding this shit out for myself.
Caleb’s sitting alone in the stands, towel draped over his shoulders, sipping on a Gatorade like he owns the sky.
Golden hour slants across the field, softening everything but him. He still looks sharp—restless.
He spots me and nods. “Walker.”
“Farah,” I reply coolly, sliding into the seat next to him. We haven’t seen much of each other since his parading at the Gala night.
He stretches his legs out, glances sideways. “What brings you here? Want to scout me? Finally realised I’m the real talent? Where have you been, pretty lady?”
I ignore the flirt. My body is stiff, my jaw tight.
I’ve ignored twenty missed calls from Asher, every one of them clawing at my chest. Shell’s been running point on anything PR-related since I got back.
I’ve barely looked at my phone. I just don’t know what to believe or who anymore.
If anyone’s going to give me straight answers it’s Caleb.
“I want answers,” I say flatly.
That gets his attention. He fold his legs back in and crosses his arms.
Leaning back, casual. “About?”
“You keep hinting that Asher’s hiding something. That I don’t know the truth, about whatever it is. Well I want the truth.”
Caleb’s smirk slips, just slightly. His fingers tap his Gatorade bottle lid. The way he is fidgeting is pissing me off, but I need to be level headed here. “I say a lot of things, maybe you should ask him.”
“You’re talking about the crash, aren’t you?” I press. I’m bluffing, I don’t know if Asher is the player who was driving but all clues point in that direction. “The one that put Darcy in the hospital.” He squirms, and I regret not being softer with my approach.
A beat of silence. I’ve opened a wound unintentionally but I need the answers, now.
His jaw ticks. The air changes—less golden hour, more storm rolling in right before a hurricane.
“The one that killed her,” he says quietly.
My heart stutters. “Wait—what?” That’s not what the report said, it said Darcy died days later from completely unrelated health issues.
I swallow. “Your girlfriend who passed,” I clarify, stumbling. “From an aneurysm.”
Caleb doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t nod. Doesn’t flinch.
Instead, his voice goes flat.
“Who do you think was driving that night, Scarlett?”
The words don’t just hit—they hollow me out. I suspected as much but hearing it, having the words trickle into my ears is harder to hear than I thought.
I blink, unsure I even heard him right. “You’re saying… Asher? Why would she be in the car with Asher if she was your girl?”
He nods once.
“She wanted to leave the party early, we had a fight she saw Kingston leaving and grabbed a lift with him. She died a week later in the kitchen from a brain aneurysm. I found her when I got home from training. The doctors said it was unrelated. Whispers of a pre-existing condition. But she was fine before the crash, before that fuckwit drove his Porsche into a tree, he’s always got some hotted up car he’s flying around in. ”
I try to breathe, but it’s like the air’s been ripped from my lungs. My skin burns cold. This wasn’t what I was expecting—okay it was but it wasn’t. I’m not sure what I was expecting but this—being right, was not it.
“And he was drunk?” I ask, barely above a whisper. The article insinuated it was a driver under the influence that caused the crash.
Caleb finally looks at me.
“Blew just under the limit,” he says. “But out of it. High, maybe. Nobody could prove it. He didn’t say much—just stopped showing up for a few months lost his chance to debut then came back.
Like nothing really happened. Wouldn’t talk about it.
Wouldn’t fight it. He locked it up like it never happened.
He was supposed to start on the bench that season but the crash set him back another season he had to do some mandatory rehab crap got away with a slap on the wrist, everyone thought he was injured …
” He cuts me a sharp glance. “The cops couldn’t prove anything no one was badly hurt in the accident just a few bruises, just looked like he took a corner too fast. But I know he was on something.
Anyone who knew anything had to sign an NDA after his lawyer cleaned up the shit show and that was that.
I lost my girl and Kingston got to live his same old life. ”
Everything around me stills. The stadium, the wind, the distant chirp of whistles from the field below. It all drops away. If what Caleb is saying is true then I really don’t know my Asher. This whole version I know is a fraud, fake name, checkered past—blood on his hands.
My thoughts scatter and crash, blood roaring in my ears.
Darcy. I’d never met her but I’d seen enough of them in the articles to know how beautiful she was and how happy Caleb looked.
No wonder Caleb had a strong distaste for Asher and I, this whole time I dangled whatever we were in front of him on a string, and Asher let me.
All the pieces of the puzzle start coming into place.
I see it now—the fragments I missed.
The panic in his eyes when I’d swerve too hard on a memory.
The way his fingers twitched when someone mentioned the past. His control in the car, his focus.
The therapy. The late-night runs. The avoidance.
The guilt. Never drinking.
Oh my god. The guilt wasn’t about me, and our no names no strings night—It was deeper.
He was carrying something I didn’t even know how to name. Something he would’ve happily never told me about.
And now I do.
“You think it was his fault then, how can you be so sure he wasn’t sober,” I say, my voice shaking. I’m trying to make excuses, I know that—I’m trying not to look like a stupid little fool.
Caleb shrugs one shoulder. “I think he blames himself, but that’s not good enough. Doesn’t matter what the doctors said. Doesn’t matter if it’s true. He thinks he killed her and so do I.”
I press my palms into my thighs, grounding myself. My chest is aching and the pit of my stomach has become a battlefield with pops, gurgles and all sounds telling me my anxiety is taking off “And you hate him for it.”
“I did,” Caleb admits. “Still do, some days. Not because she died. Because he didn’t really own it. Because he walked away from it, and everyone let him. Got a free ride and a cover up because of who he’s related to, and now the fuckers taking my starting spot too.”
And I—what had I done?
I fell in love with a man without asking what he’d done to deserve the armour he wore.
I didn’t push when I should’ve. I stayed in the light, even when I knew he was living in the dark.
I just refused to dig deeper than the surface because of the fuck up Jason was.
I was scared to get hurt by knowing too much and now I’ve been absolutely fucked over by knowing too little.
“I don’t know what to do with this,” I admit, voice raw.
Caleb studies me. “That’s the thing about truth, Walker. It doesn’t ask if you’re ready.”
I stand, my legs shaky.
“Thanks,” I say, though it tastes like ash in my mouth.
“You love him, don’t you?” he asks casually, like he’s asking if I like the weather this evening.
I lie “no I don’t, and don’t think I ever can now.”
Because love shouldn’t feel this heavy, should it?
But it does. It always has for me.
And now at least with Asher I know why.
* * *
I find him exactly where I knew he’d be, Asher—at the tunnel, pacing like a caged animal. What I’ve done before the biggest game of his career is probably cruel, ignoring him and now what I’m about to do—confronting him, but what I know now I couldn’t give two fucks.
He’s got his mouthguard in one hand, jaw locked, gaze distant. Focused. Calm.
Until he sees me.
Then it all fractures.
“Scarlett—”
“You didn’t think I’d find out?”
His face stills.
“I don’t know what Caleb told you—”
“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”
“It wasn’t like that—”
“He said you were driving. That your family covered it up. That the car smashed into a tree and you walked away, and Darcy didn’t. That you buried it like it was an inconvenience.”
His lips part. Not in shock. In silence. He says nothing. Nothing?!
That’s worse than any excuse. Fight for me.
“Did you think I wouldn’t care just because I didn’t know her?” My voice is rising. “You think I’d love you less if you had blood on your hands?”
His shoulders tense. “I didn’t want you to see me like that, as someone broken and capable of that.”
“Then who the hell have I been seeing this whole time, Asher?”
He takes a step toward me, and this time I don’t flinch. “I wanted to tell you. But if I did—if I opened that door—I knew you’d look at me different, and you knowing jeopardises your whole business Scar.”
His eyes lower to me, his grip on my shoulders loosening as he starts to notice people are watching “you are looking at me different before you’ve even heard what I have to say.” He whispers eyeing the fans above us that are just out of ear shot.
“So instead you lied to me, willingly. This whole time?”
He drops his grip on me and his hands curl into fists at his sides. “He had no right to tell you.”
“He had every right,” I snap. “Because you didn’t. Because you still can’t.”
I turn to go, my voice raw. “You want to pretend none of it happened? Fine. But don’t you dare pretend I was something you were protecting. You were protecting yourself. And that’s all you ever do. Typical man in a jersey and boots. Get fucked Asher.”
I turn on my heels and walk away with my head held high. I’ve got a job to do, and now I’ve got no distractions. Right?
“Scarlett, wai—“