Page 10 of The Players We Hate (Rixton U #2)

Talon

By Monday night, it was like we’d fallen back into the same pattern.

Not to me, but maybe to her.

Wren hadn’t looked at me once since she bolted that night. Not in the halls, not on campus, not in the cafeteria when I nearly brushed past her at lunch. And sure as hell not now, with us standing a few feet apart in the same box suite, donors and board members around us like nothing ever shifted.

She barely even glanced my way. Her posture was perfect, shoulders back and chin high, every inch of her composed. No trace of the girl who unraveled under my hands in the dark, like she couldn’t get enough of me.

The Rixton Wolves arena vibrated with noise.

Chants thundered from the student section, jerseys blurred in a sea of black and purple, and the cold stung my lungs every time the door opened to the ice.

First regular season game. First real test. We were undefeated in the preseason, and expectations were high.

I should’ve been in the zone .

Instead, I was stuck under the soft glow of the university’s luxury suite, stuffed into a collared shirt and told to shake hands with the people who kept the program alive with their checks.

“Coach says this one’s the backbone of the team,” a donor said, clapping me on the back.

I forced a handshake and muttered something polite, already looking past him. My eyes landed on the corner of the room—on Wren. She stood beside her dad, Governor Perry, wrapped up in a circle of board members and big donors.

She wore a gray wool coat, hair pinned back, earrings glittering under the lights. She looked every bit the polished politician’s daughter. Not the girl who’d come apart under my hands a few nights ago.

Her gaze skipped over me like I wasn’t even there. But I caught the way her fingers tugged at her sleeve, the nervous habit most people wouldn’t notice. I did.

“Governor Perry,” the university president said, stepping forward with a glass of champagne. “You being here tonight? It means a lot. Especially with the new athletic facility plans moving forward.”

“Rixton’s athletics program deserves top-tier facilities,” her dad replied smoothly. “Between the hockey and football programs, this school’s already a powerhouse. It’s time we treated it that way.”

Another man chimed in. “We’ve already seen a spike in applications and media attention. With state funding and alumni donations, we could turn Rixton into the top destination in the Southeast. ”

The governor beamed. “It’s about community and opportunity. The kinds of things voters care about.”

Bullshit.

He wasn’t here because he gave a damn about the team. He was here for the photo ops. For the talking points. For the chance to spin our success into political currency, like, “Look at the young men I support, the programs I believe in.”

The election was next month. He needed votes, and we were the headline.

Wren stood beside him, playing the part—hands clasped, not a hair out of place. But I remembered her differently. Wild. Breathless. Mine.

When her eyes finally hit mine across the suite, just for a second, I knew she remembered too. That night was still there between us, no matter how much we tried to bury it.

Rowdy elbowed me. “You good, man? You’ve been clenching your jaw since we walked in.”

“Fine,” I muttered, grabbing a water from the drink cart and chugging half of it. I needed something to focus on that wasn’t the fact that Wren’s dad was shaking hands with our coach and smiling as if they’d been best friends for years.

“Coach always this chummy with board members?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

Rowdy followed my gaze and raised a brow. “Not unless they’re donating big. You think the governor pitched in?”

“I think he’s trying to own everything he touches,” I said. “Including the team.”

I turned away in time to hear someone behind me say my name .

“Talon Pierce,” Governor Perry said with a politician’s smile, hand toward me. “Your coach tells me you’re the one to watch this season.”

I shook his hand because I had to. I hesitated at first, barely curling around his before I forced myself to tighten the grip. His hold was firm, controlled. The kind of handshake that said I’m in charge here without saying a word.

“Just doing what I love, sir.”

“Well, keep doing it. Rixton’s lucky to have talent like yours.” He leaned in a fraction too close. “Keep your head down. Eyes on the game.”

It sounded friendly enough, but I caught the edge under it. A warning.

Beside him, Wren’s lips parted as if she might speak, but nothing came out. I held her gaze a beat too long, and this time, she didn’t look away.

Then her father turned to the crowd, and she slipped back into his shadow.

The plastic water bottle crumpled in my hand. The game couldn’t start fast enough.

Wren slid her hand into her father’s, a staged gesture for the cameras. Her smile was practiced, chin tilted just right, while he laughed with the university president and a couple of board members. They shook hands like they were sealing a deal, not waiting for the puck to drop.

I watched her from the corner of my eye, jaw tight.

She didn’t look at me again.

Not after everything that happened between us.

Not after the way I had her pinned to the wall only days ago, her lips parting on a moan that still echoed in my chest every time I closed my eyes .

She’d slipped back into that role again, the governor’s daughter. The practiced smile on her face was the same one her father wore whenever he stood at a podium, promising answers to problems he had caused.

I didn’t realize how tight my grip was on the railing until Rowdy jabbed me in the ribs.

“You planning to burn a hole through her, or actually focus on winning tonight?”

I shook him off, rolling my shoulders and muttering something he probably couldn’t hear.

The signal came to head downstairs, so I fell in behind Kade and Rowdy. We’d barely made it to the end of the hallway when a voice rang out behind us.

“Talon, wait!”

I froze. The others kept walking, but I stayed still, every muscle tensing.

I didn’t have to turn to know it was her.

Her heels clicked lightly against the tile floor, and when I looked back, she was weaving past a confused-looking faculty rep, murmuring something about following up with a player. Her lips were painted a soft mauve, her eyes flicking toward mine like she was bracing for impact.

For a second, I hated that I wanted to pull her into the nearest room and ask her why the hell she was here and why we were still pretending the other night never happened.

“I didn’t get the chance to say this the other night,” she said, stopping in front of me. Her voice was low, the nerves vibrating beneath the surface. “But I didn’t know who you were. That night. I didn’t know you were Tatum’s brother.”

The air thickened between us .

I studied her. She looked different again. Her shoulders were tight, her hands clasped, but her voice didn’t waver. She meant it. Still, it wasn’t enough to quiet the storm in my chest.

“And if you had known?” I asked, my voice low and rough. “Would it have changed anything?”

Wren’s eyes flicked to the side, her fingers twisting the edge of her sleeve. “I don’t think so,” she said quietly. “But I should’ve known. Your last name should’ve clicked, but I wasn’t thinking about anything except… you.”

The way she said it made something twist in my gut. There wasn’t a trace of control or manipulation in her voice. Only a raw kind of honesty that hit harder than I expected.

“Maybe it was for the best you didn’t know,” I said, watching her closely. “If we’d acknowledged it that night… maybe none of this would’ve happened. I happen to like that you don’t care about who I am on the ice.”

Her eyes snapped back to mine, a flicker of something soft in their depths. “I don’t,” she said, firmer this time. “That night… it wasn’t about who you are to everyone else. It was about how I felt. With you.”

The words punched through something in me. Because I felt it too.

“I don’t care about the jersey, or your stats, or how loud people cheer when you step on the ice. I care about how you looked at me that night. For once, I didn’t feel invisible.”

I couldn’t breathe for a second. Couldn’t move.

Because she understood. She saw past the captain, past Tatum’s brother, past the name her father could twist into leverage. She saw me .

“I heard there was a falling out between you and Wells,” she said, testing the waters. “I didn’t know the whole story, but… I’ve heard things.”

I stayed still, forcing myself not to react, even as every muscle in my body pulled tight.

“He embarrassed your sister, didn’t he?” she asked softly. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but it must’ve been bad.”

Her voice wavered at the end, and for a second, I hated that I couldn’t lump her in with him. I couldn’t bring myself to despise her the way I did her brother because something in me believed she meant it. I wanted to believe she cared.

“Is she okay?” she asked, quieter now.

I looked away, jaw flexing.

Tatum hadn’t wanted anyone to know the full truth. Especially not someone who shared blood with the guy who’d hurt her.

“She’s not here,” I said after a long pause. “That’s all you need to know.”

Wren’s breath caught, and something shifted behind her eyes. I’d slammed a door she didn’t even know she’d been reaching for.

“I didn’t mean to overstep,” she said. “I just… I wanted to know. After the other night, I thought maybe—”

“You thought wrong,” I cut in.

Her lips parted, but she stayed quiet, and for a second, I almost regretted snapping. Almost. She stood there like every answer I didn’t know how to ask for, every quiet moment I’d been chasing all week .

But I couldn’t let her see that. Not with her father upstairs, shaking hands with my coach, already carving out the future of this team.

I stepped back, pulse hammering in my throat. I needed space and some air.

“I have a game to play,” I said, trying to ignore the way her expression fell.

“Right,” she whispered. “Of course.”

She started to turn, her arms curling in around herself, trying to fold herself away until my voice stopped her.

“We’ll talk after,” I said, tone softer this time.

Her gaze lifted, unsure. “Promise?”

My only answer was a short nod before heading toward the locker room, but her voice followed me.

“Good luck tonight.”

It wasn’t the kind of thing you say to be nice. It carried weight. When I looked back, she was still watching me—not judging, not pitying, just torn. And that look stuck with me all the way down the tunnel.

The locker room buzzed with noise, guys shouting and wrapping tape around sticks. Rowdy pounded on a locker as if we were already down a goal, but I barely heard it.

Not over the blood rushing in my ears. Not over the sound of her voice still ringing in my head.

I sat down on the bench, laced my skates with practiced muscle memory, and shoved my helmet on, trying to cage the thoughts running wild in my head. She shouldn’t have followed me. She shouldn’t have asked about Tatum.

I shouldn’t have wanted her more because of it, but I did.

And now I had to bury those feelings .

The door to the tunnel opened, and the roar of the crowd hit me. The regular season opener always carried weight, but tonight? It felt heavier.

Cameras flashed as we stepped onto the ice, lights bouncing off the boards like fireworks. I led the charge, jaw tight, heart pounding, every muscle coiled.

Lined up on the blue line, I glanced toward the suite. And there she was—above the glass, standing next to her father and the donors. She looked nothing like the girl who clawed at me in a hallway days ago. Her eyes cut through the noise, locking on mine.

And everything else fell away.

I hated how much I liked her being there, how it settled something in my chest even while adrenaline buzzed through me. She didn’t belong in that box with people who only showed up when the cameras did. I knew better. I’d seen the side of her they hadn’t.

I forced my eyes back where they belonged. This was my game, my ice, my team. But no matter how hard I skated, I felt the weight of Wren’s eyes.

For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t just about winning. It was about showing her why I deserved it.