Page 19 of The Players We Hate (Rixton U #2)

Wren ~ Four Months Later

The low hum of the student center filled the space. Shoes scuffed against the tile, the espresso machine let out sharp bursts of steam, and now and then, laughter rose above the steady chatter. I sat tucked into the back corner, earbuds in but no music playing, just an excuse to tune it all out.

My laptop sat open in front of me, the cursor blinking against a half-finished sentence I hadn’t touched in an hour.

Through the window, campus life carried on like normal. Students crossed the quad in steady waves, moving with that sense of purpose I used to know. Like they all had somewhere they were meant to be.

Now, most days felt like I was treading water.

I reached for my iced coffee, the cup damp with condensation, and took a slow sip.

The bitterness settled me more than the caffeine ever could.

I was supposed to be working on a communications case study about brand crisis response and public trust, but my focus was shot.

My tabs had turned into a graveyard of distractions with news headlines, internship postings, and even a half-written message to my mom about dinner that I still hadn’t sent.

Then a new email slid into my inbox.

Subject: Rixton University Compliance Internship – Offer Letter

My heart stuttered. I blinked, then clicked.

Dear Wren Perry,

We are pleased to offer you a student intern position within the Rixton University Athletics Compliance Office…

I sat back slowly, the words washing over me. I read the email twice, then a third time.

My stomach was a mess. I’d wanted this chance, but a part of me had stopped believing I’d ever really get to start over here.

Taking on this compliance role meant walking straight into the mess the university was still cleaning up from my brother's actions. I couldn’t shake the thought that my family might be tied to even more than I knew.

Even with all that, a small flicker of hope still lit in my chest.

I shut my laptop, slid it into my tote bag, and gathered the rest of my things.

I had just enough time to swing by the dorm and change before meeting my mother.

She was driving into Rixton to eat before her fundraiser planning committee meeting, and apparently, I was helping with the event whether I liked it or not.

The late afternoon light slanted across campus. March air couldn’t make up its mind—warm one second, cold the next. The trees were just starting to bud, a faint green showing through. Off in the distance, a soccer ball thudded and someone shouted. For a moment, it felt normal.

When I stepped into the dorm, our room was quiet, and the familiar scent of Alisa’s vanilla body spray lingered faintly in the air.

I dropped my bag beside my desk, kicked off my flats, and peeled off my cardigan.

My shoulders ached from being hunched over all day, but I didn’t let myself sit down. If I did, I’d lose momentum.

I was halfway to my closet when the door burst open behind me.

Alisa breezed in like a storm, full of energy, a mischievous look written all over her face.

“Oh, good,” she said, tossing her phone on the bed. “You’re here. We’re going out tonight.”

I blinked at her, already shaking my head. “It’s a Wednesday.”

“And?” She arched a brow. “That’s never stopped anyone at this school.”

I turned back to the closet, flipping through hangers for something halfway put-together. “I have plans.”

She flopped onto her bed dramatically. “Please don’t say homework. You’ve been sitting in here every night since the semester started.”

“I have dinner with my mom.” I held up a black sweater dress, then decided against it and grabbed a blazer instead.

Alisa sat up, surprised. “Wait, seriously?”

“Seriously.”

She watched me quietly for a beat. “So you do leave this place sometimes.”

I gave her a tight smile. “Shocking, I know. ”

She tilted her head, studying me. “Look, I’m not trying to come down on you. But ever since... well, whatever happened with you and Talon,” she said carefully, “you’ve been ghosting everyone. You barely even talk to me anymore.”

I swallowed hard and hung the blazer on the back of my chair. “It’s not about him.”

“Isn’t it?” Her tone softened, but she didn’t back down.

“You’ve let him take up space in your head for too long.

I’ve watched you bury the hurt under straight A’s, charity projects, and pencil skirts that look like they’ve never seen a wrinkle.

There’s more to life, Wren. There’s more to you than that too. ”

Her words hit harder than I expected.

I looked down at my hands. “I am doing something for myself. Actually.”

Alisa leaned back on her elbows. “Yeah?”

“I just got an email this afternoon. I was offered an internship working with the university’s compliance office.”

Her eyes went wide. “Wait. The compliance office? Like… with the athletes?”

I nodded. “Starting next week.”

She let out a low whistle. “Damn. Sounds important. Fancy title and all that. You’re basically running the show now, huh?”

I snorted. “Not even close.”

She paused for a moment, then added, “Still doesn’t mean you can’t come out tonight. It’s just a bonfire. Music, people, maybe some questionable decisions.”

I laughed under my breath, the tension in my chest easing just a little.

“Another time,” I promised .

Alisa groaned. “You’re the worst.”

“I know.”

Maybe this was my shot. Not just at proving myself but at finally stepping out from behind the shadow of the Perry name. And maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t ready to disappear after all.

I’d stood in front of the mirror longer than I should’ve, debating every option in my closet until I finally settled on a deep green dress that felt sharp but not stiff.

Something that didn’t look like I’d been dressed by my mother, but didn’t scream I was trying too hard either.

I slipped on simple heels, clasped a thin bracelet at my wrist, and told myself it was enough.

By the time my ride showed up, I was already waiting by the curb, clutching my small bag a little too tightly.

The headlights cut across the street, pulling me out of my head.

The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of Embers, its sleek frame catching the glow of the restaurant’s entrance lights.

I hesitated, pulling in one last deep breath.

I didn’t want to walk in with Talon’s name still echoing in my head the way it had been the entire drive.

Her words wouldn’t let go. You’re letting him dictate everything. The truth of it sat heavily, leaving a bitter taste I couldn’t shake.

I reached for the door handle. Time to pretend I was fine.

A valet stepped forward, opening the door before I could. “Evening,” he said politely.

I murmured a quick thank-you before stepping onto the cobbled sidewalk, pulling my coat tighter as the breeze funneled through the narrow stretch of downtown.

Embers sat on the corner, its windows glowing warm against the dark.

The low lighting and sleek glass weren’t about comfort.

They were about the image. People didn’t come here for a meal. They came to be seen.

Of course, my mom had chosen it. Appearances were her currency, and she liked to spend big.

Inside, the place felt different right away.

Warm light, polished tables, the quiet mix of voices carrying just under the low hum of jazz.

Glasses clinked, and silverware tapped against plates.

Two hostesses stood behind a marble stand, their black dresses sharp, their smiles practiced.

I gave my name, and one of them nodded, already turning to lead me through the room.

“She’s not here yet,” I said, more out of habit than irritation.

“Of course. We’ll show you to your table so you can get comfortable.”

I was led to a small booth near the back, semi-private, lit by a single votive candle flickering inside a smoky glass holder. The cushions were buttery soft, and the silverware was perfectly aligned on crisp white linen.

I slid into the seat and dropped my clutch beside me.

The knot in my neck started to ease, the chaos of the student center and the long car ride already slipping into the background.

This was classic Mother. Show up late. Leave you sitting there under the lights she’d set up, waiting just long enough to second-guess yourself.

Then walk in with that practiced charm like she owned the room.

I told myself I didn’t need her approval, though deep down, I still reached for it.

I unlocked my phone mostly to avoid eye contact. Notifications blinked at the top of the screen. One from the internship coordinator I still hadn’t answered, and another from my father, just a generic check-in.

Father: Hope dinner goes well tonight. Don’t forget to bring the event packet your mom asked for.

I forced down the ache that came with his messages.

Lately, he’d been acting differently. Lighter, less uptight, like the stress of the election had finally lifted.

Almost like he thought he could charm me into forgetting everything else.

But I couldn’t shake the image of him that night at the game, whispering in the dark to someone I didn’t know, as if the Wolves’ win meant more than points on a scoreboard.

I glanced up absently and froze.

A man had just walked in. Mid-forties, maybe older.

Dark gray suit, sharp shoulders, a no-nonsense presence that demanded attention even in a room full of people trying so hard to be noticed.

He scanned the restaurant, then made a beeline for a table a few rows away.

It was partially blocked by a decorative wall of glass shelving filled with expensive wine and flickering candles.

Something was off about him. Not the kind that set off alarms, just the kind that felt too familiar.

He sat down with his back straight, fingers clasped loosely in front of him on the table, as if he was waiting for someone.