Page 11 of The Players We Hate (Rixton U #2)

Wren

I stood in the hallway long after the door shut behind him.

Talon’s broad shoulders disappeared into the tunnel, his jersey clinging to him, his jaw set with that quiet intensity he carried everywhere. Even after he vanished from view, the weight of him stayed with me, heavy in my chest.

I should’ve walked back to the box, taken my place next to my father, and pretended nothing was different. Instead, I stayed where I was, rooted in place.

My back was pressed to the cold cinderblock wall, and I let my head tip against it, eyes fluttering shut.

I could still feel him—the heat of his hands on my hips, the grit of his voice against my throat, and the press of his mouth that had unraveled every carefully built wall I’d spent years keeping in place.

The memory hadn’t dulled. That stairwell kiss still lived on my skin, and tonight, when I stopped him in the hall, the weight of his green eyes on me sparked everything I’d tried to bury .

And God help me, I wanted to burn with it.

I inhaled sharply, trying to gather my composure, but it was too late. The ache had already settled in, not just for him but for the chance to make this right. It wasn’t only want, it was the need to bridge the distance between us. And that terrified me more than anything.

I reached for my phone before I could talk myself out of it. My fingers worked on muscle memory, unlocking it, scrolling through my contacts until I landed on a name I hadn’t touched since spring.

Tatum Pierce.

The screen blurred in my hands, the name staring back at me.

My stomach twisted, thumb hovering. I’d thought about her more than I’d ever admitted—the whispers, the rumors, the way she disappeared almost overnight as if the world had erased her.

I told myself it wasn’t my place, that it wasn’t personal.

But it was. And the longer I kept my mouth shut, the more it ate at me.

I opened the message thread and typed quickly, my thumb trembling with guilt.

Me: Hey, it’s Wren. I don’t know if this is still your number, but I’ve been thinking about you. I’m sorry it took me so long to reach out. You didn’t deserve what happened. I hope you’re well.

I hovered over the screen before finally pressing Send, shame tightening in my throat. She had every reason not to answer. If she ignored me, I wouldn’t blame her.

Still, the second the message went through, I clung to the tiniest bit of hope. Even a sliver would’ve been enough .

The seconds dragged. Then the gray bubble appeared.

This number is no longer in service.

Just like that, the door slammed shut.

Silence pressed in, the hallway suddenly too small. I stared at the screen, waiting for it to change, for her reply to appear. It never did. She was gone. Not just from school or the spotlight but from everywhere. Vanished, as though she’d never existed.

My hand lowered slowly, phone still clutched in my palm as my heart ached.

I swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in my eyes. Reaching out wouldn’t fix anything. The truth was already carved deep, and the damage kept spreading.

Pushing away from the wall, I slid my phone back into my pocket. The faint sound of the arena carried from somewhere nearby. Low murmurs, the thud of footsteps, the electric hum of a crowd beginning to swell.

I had to get back before my father noticed I was gone. He expected me to smile, sit pretty, and pretend my presence in that box didn’t make my skin crawl. Pretend I hadn’t been alone with the boy who could dismantle everything if the truth ever came out.

For a moment, I let it all hit me—the failure, the guilt, the heat of Talon’s hands still on my skin. Underneath it was the hollow place where something real used to be. I’d tried to shove it down, but it wouldn’t stay buried.

My heels barely made a sound against the polished floor as I headed back toward the box.

The roar of the crowd faded to a dull backdrop, replaced by the buzz of the overhead lights and the faint echo of doors closing somewhere down the hall. I slowed when I saw my father standing there.

He was half shadowed by a structural column that stuck out from the wall, speaking with a man I didn’t recognize. They stood tucked into a recessed hallway, out of sight from donors and the rest of the guests in the suite.

I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I shouldn’t have stayed. Something about my father’s stance, though—his rigid spine, hands curled into tight fists at his sides—kept me rooted in place.

“Keep your eyes on Pierce,” he said, voice clipped and cold. My stomach lurched. “I don’t care how much attention he’s getting for that scholarship fund or what kind of press he’s managed to spin. If he opens his mouth, I want to know about it before the press does.”

The man beside him was older, with silver hair cropped close to his scalp, wearing a dark suit that seemed to swallow him in the low light. He nodded once. A laminate badge dangled from his pocket, but I couldn’t make out who he was.

“Do you think he knows about the incident last year?” the man asked.

My father let out a sharp breath through his nose. “He knows enough. His sister was in the middle of it. We handled it before it became public and made sure Wells stayed clean. He’s a star recruit, the face of the program. We couldn’t let one misstep ruin everything.”

Misstep .

Like Tatum was a loose end to be tied up and forgotten.

I gripped the cold metal railing beside me, blood rushing in my ears .

“She’s the one who transferred,” my father continued, tone hardening. “We salvaged the situation. I won’t let anything, or anyone, jeopardize that again. Especially not with the election weeks out and the board still undecided on the facility expansion.”

The man asked, quieter this time, “And your girl?”

I stiffened.

My father paused, then let out a slow breath. “She doesn’t know a thing. As far as she’s concerned, applying for that internship makes her feel useful. Keep her close and let her think she matters. She’s a distraction and nothing more.”

Not once did he say my name or call me his daughter. To them, I was just the girl .

The hollow space in my chest twisted until his next words made my breath freeze.

“If Pierce interferes again,” he said slowly, “it would be awfully disappointing… if something were to happen to him.”

Something in his tone dropped, making him sound cold and menacing. The man beside him simply nodded. “Understood.”

My father’s gaze slid past him, scanning the arena. I followed the shift, catching sight of Talon as he skated out onto the ice.

And that was when it hit me. This wasn’t about rivalry or political cleanup. This was personal. Talon wasn’t safe because, whether he realized it or not, he knew too much. My father had decided that made him a risk.

“Watch him,” my father said again, his voice final. “If he steps out of line, if he opens his mouth, I want it shut down. Before it becomes a problem. ”

The other man gave a curt nod and walked off, disappearing around the corner. My father stood there a moment longer before turning and freezing when he saw me.

His gait slowed. A flash of surprise crossed his face before it smoothed over into something practiced and unreadable.

He hadn’t known I was there. Hadn’t even thought to look.

Not unless he needed something from me.

I watched as his eyes swept over me. He didn’t ask how long I’d been standing there, but he didn’t need to. I saw it in the way his jaw ticked, in the slow inhale he tried to disguise. He was already mentally backtracking, spinning damage control.

I didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. I just stood there, the edges of my smile sharpened by every lie I’d been fed.

I’d spent years teaching myself how to disappear, until being invisible became the armor I never took off.

His expression warmed, and when he spoke, his tone was as rehearsed as a campaign commercial.

“There you are, sweetheart,” he said, like we’d simply lost track of one another in the crowd. “Thought I’d lost you.”

You didn’t even know I was gone.

I bit the words back, forcing a nod instead. “Just needed a breather,” I replied smoothly, motioning vaguely toward the opposite hallway. “Too many people.”

“Understandable,” he said, resting a hand on my lower back in that practiced, guiding way politicians did. “Let’s get back. They’ll be announcing the starting lineups any minute now.”

I let him steer me back to the box, every step echoing in my ears .

What else didn’t I know? What else had they buried under campaign promises and carefully selected headlines?

The conversation I’d overheard played on repeat in my head. His voice was clipped as he talked about Talon, as if he were a problem to be managed. Not a person. Not someone who was hurt by the damage his son created. Just another loose end to tie off before the November election.

“If he opens his mouth, I want to know about it before the press does.”

A chill crawled down my spine.

He hadn’t said Tatum’s name outright, but he didn’t need to. Not after how Talon reacted when I mentioned her. The meaning was clear.

Keep it quiet.

Protect the image.

Bury the damage.

Inside the box, the air was stifling. Voices overlapped, glasses clinked, the crowd buzzing even before the game began. The tension sat heavy, all smiles on the surface while everyone angled for the cameras and clawed for power underneath.

I slipped into my seat beside my mother, who was already swept up in conversation with one of the donors’ wives. It took a moment before she glanced my way, distracted, then turned back to the ice. She hadn’t even noticed I’d been gone.

Below us, the rink gleamed under the lights. Players in black-and-silver jerseys cut across the ice, warm-up shots echoing against the boards. The crowd roared as the announcer called the starting lineup.

Then he skated out. Number 20 .

Talon carried the kind of confidence that drew every eye, but the tension in his body told the truth. And even in all of that, he still searched for me.

His gaze skimmed the box, and when it hit mine, something jolted through me—sharp, impossible to ignore. For a second, everything else slipped away—the overheard conversation, the unanswered message, the secrets closing in.

I leaned forward, pulse tight in my throat, eyes locked on him.

Maybe I couldn’t fix what my family had broken. But I was done pretending I didn’t see it.