Page 65 of Faking the Goal

The win is gone.

The adrenaline is gone.

Every good thing I felt tonight has been sucked out of me and replaced with the same old bitterness, the same old disappointment, the same old rage that only Shinzo Azuma knows how to drag out of me.

He has always had that effect on me.

Like he can take whatever light is left in a room and snuff it out with a single look.

And somehow, no matter how old I get, no matter how far away from Japan I run, he still knows exactly where to stick the knife.

CHAPTER 10

KENTARO

After the encounter with my father outside the arena, I drive straight home to check on Mom. My hands are still tight on the steering wheel by the time I kill the engine, and for a second I just sit there in the dark, jaw locked, staring at the entrance of the building and trying to breathe past the taste of that conversation with him.

I haven't told her about the threat.

Not about what he said. Not about the ultimatum. Not about the fact that he's willing to yank away her treatment support and Miho's tuition if I don't go back to Japan and let him plug me into Azuma Holdings like I'm just another missing piece in one of his expansion plans.

She already has enough on her plate.

The last thing she needs while she's still recovering is to worry about me carrying my father's latest insanity around like a stone in my chest.

I grab my keys and head inside.

The apartment upstairs is still lit when I step inside, and that alone is enough to put me on edge.

It's already past ten. By now the place should've been dark except for the lamp by Mom's bed, because she should've been asleep hours ago.

Instead, the kitchen lights are still on. So are the ones in the living room.

But the apartment is too quiet.

"Mama?" I call out, already moving farther inside.

No answer.

The living room is empty. The kitchen is empty. Her bedroom door is left slightly ajar, but when I push it open, the room is dark and untouched, the bed still neatly made.

A prickle of unease crawls up the back of my neck.

"Therese?"

Nothing.

I check the living room again, then the kitchen, half expecting Therese to step out with some perfectly reasonable explanation for why my mother is nowhere to be found at ten o'clock at night.

She doesn't.

Neither of them are here.

I check the bathroom. Empty.

The balcony. Empty.

The guest room Miho uses when she's home from Paris. Empty.