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

Wren

I lingered outside the lecture hall, my backpack straps snug on my shoulders as the mid-October sunlight baked the brick walkways of Rixton University. The air hummed with cicadas, carrying the faint scent of pine and freshly cut grass.

This wasn’t Kolmont. No breezy walks under sprawling oaks or the distant sound of the ocean. This was Tennessee. Familiar. Heavy. Too close to everything I left behind, and everything I was still expected to carry.

I adjusted my shoulders and squared my stance, slipping into the version of myself I’d perfected since I was twelve: polished, unshakable, and perfectly in control. The one who spoke only when she was sure of her words. The one who dressed for the camera, even when there wasn't one.

The day I transferred to Rixton, the headlines followed. Governor’s Daughter Leaves Kolmont University and Returns to Tennessee: Optics or Oversight?

They could spin it however they wanted. This wasn’t about image .

It was about survival.

Most nights, I disappeared into the library, and tonight was no different.

The faint smell of floor polish mixed with the dusty scent of paper was oddly comforting.

I stretched out at a back table beneath the soft hum of fluorescent lighting.

My laptop glowed with color-coded tabs, highlighters scattered around me like candy.

Time blurred as I lost myself in case studies and court rulings.

Every word was another layer of armor I wrapped tight around myself.

By the time I packed up, it was nearly seven.

My bag hung heavy with books, the weight grounding me as I made my way across campus.

The sun dipped low, spilling gold over the brick walkways.

From the commons, a guitar drifted on the breeze, mingling with the sound of girls laughing in the grass. I kept moving, not slowing my pace.

Friday nights weren’t my favorite. They never were.

By the time I reached my building, I’d already planned the rest of my evening. Loaded grilled cheese with tomato soup from a spot down the street, sweet tea, and a solo movie night with To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before or maybe Me Before You. Something I knew the ending of. Something safe.

I swiped my ID at the entrance, stepping into the familiar chill of the stairwell. My phone buzzed before I reached the second floor.

Mother: How were classes? Did you introduce yourself to your poli-sci professor like we discussed?

Mother: And remember, even from here, you’re being watched. Faculty talk. Students gossip. You’re not invisible just because you’ve crossed county lines .

I sighed and typed a quick reply.

Me: Classes were fine. Sat near the front. Participated in the discussion.

Mother: Good. Let’s keep it that way. Your father’s campaign team is still tracking campus media. No surprises, Wren.

Mother: Heading to Nashville tomorrow for a photo op with the education board. I’ll send you talking points, in case anyone at school asks. Don’t forget our agreement about campus security.

I didn’t need the reminder.

When I enrolled at Rixton, we negotiated the terms as if it were a contract. I could attend without full-time protection, but only if I agreed to my parents’ demands. Daily check-ins. Approved travel within city limits. Notification to campus security if I plan to leave campus after dark.

It wasn’t 24/7 surveillance, but it felt like it.

This was the reality of my life—controlled freedom. Every inch I’d been given had been pre-approved, cleared, and measured. I didn’t make my own choices. I followed protocol. My days were laid out in itineraries, and every decision was calculated.

Dating? Out of the question. I’d never had a real boyfriend. Never had time or permission. There was one guy I volunteered with. His father was in politics, like mine. We fooled around a few times, but it stopped right before it went all the way .

My parents wouldn’t say it out loud, but I knew they expected me to protect the family name like a full-time job.

My brother, on the other hand, got to make mistakes. He could date Tatum without a second thought, even when everyone knew it was headed for disaster. He broke her heart in public and still walked away untouchable. The gossip blogs loved him for it.

When it was him, it was a part of the charm.

When it was me, it was a front-page scandal.

I reached my room and dropped my bag at the foot of my bed. The space was small and functional, already split into two very distinct halves.

My side was neat and organized with shelves lined full of textbooks and law journals, a corkboard calendar crammed with due dates. My favorite candle sat unlit, lavender bedding tucked with military precision.

Alisa’s side looked like Pinterest staged an explosion. Clothes spilled over her desk chair. Neon throw pillows were piled high. A whiteboard was cluttered with photos of family and friends from back home, intermixed with doodles. A half-drunk energy drink teetered on the edge of her windowsill.

She wasn’t back yet, which didn’t surprise me. Her life was a whirlwind of student orgs, frat mixers, and whatever themed event she was committed to next.

I was tying my hair up into a loose bun, scrolling DoorDash for my usual order, when the door burst open.

“Wren! Tell me you’re not planning to spend another Friday night watching Scandal on Netflix and eating caprese salad in bed.”

“And if I am? ”

She sighed dramatically. “Absolutely not. I’m putting my foot down.

This is an emergency intervention. There’s a party tonight at the hockey house.

They won their first preseason game, and apparently, someone’s cousin knows a guy who DJs for actual clubs.

I’m going.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Correction: We’re going!”

I looked up from my phone, one eyebrow raised. “That’s a very suspicious invitation pipeline.”

She beamed. “But effective. You’re coming with me. Even if it’s only for an hour. You don’t have to drink. You don’t even have to talk to anyone. We’ll stand in the corner, sip soda, and silently rate outfits. It’ll be glorious.”

I hesitated, her words swirling with something I hadn’t let myself consider since we first became dormmates.

The possibility of yes.

But then I thought about my mother. Our agreement and her silent rules. The press and their endless appetite for another story to twist.

No photos. No stories. No surprises.

Except Alisa was looking at me like I was a fun sponge she was determined to wring out, and a part of me wanted to see what a Friday night looked like outside these four walls.

“Fine,” I said, my voice quiet but sure. “But if I come, you can’t ask me to come to the fall formal.”

With a huff, she spun toward her closet. “Fine, deal. Now pick something that doesn’t look like you’re testifying before Congress.”

I powered down my laptop and closed the planner on my desk.

Maybe, just this once, it was okay to be seen .

While she changed into a cropped graphic tee, wide-leg cargo pants, and chunky sneakers, I reached for an off-white blouse and dark jeans. Polished enough without drawing attention. I twisted my hair into a loose knot and swiped on lip balm.

Halfway through tying my sneakers, my phone vibrated again.

Mother: Another reminder… Rixton’s alumni gala is next month. The press may ask about your transition from Kolmont. Keep your head down. Don’t let anyone bait you into drama. You’re there to grow, not implode.

I didn’t answer because if I did, I’d say something I shouldn’t.

The house was already packed when we arrived.

String lights dangled across the porch, casting a dim, flickering glow over the crowd that spilled into the yard.

Music thundered from inside, the bass vibrating through the cracked sidewalk and into the soles of my shoes.

It smelled like beer, sweat, and something sweet.

Maybe spilled energy drinks or cheap cologne.

People crowded the front steps, balancing red plastic cups and shouting over each other in every direction. A girl in a Rixton Wolves crop top was sitting on someone’s shoulders, waving a foam finger in one hand and a half-eaten slice of pizza in the other.

This was not the kind of party I’d ever been to.

Alisa practically vibrated with excitement beside me. “God, I love college parties. Everyone’s still acting like they can keep up, and every drink feels like it’s leading to the kind of bad decision you’ll brag about later.”

I glanced up at the sagging banner over the front door. Wolves Win. Let’s Sin.

Yeah, this was definitely not like any of the formal dinner parties I’d attended.

Inside, it was worse. Or better, depending on your definition of fun.

The air was thick with heat and perfume and bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder.

A pong table dominated the living room, surrounded by a raucous group chanting someone’s name.

The walls shook with laughter, the room suffocating from too many people and not enough circulation.

“Okay, we’re doing one lap,” Alisa said, grabbing my hand as though I might run if she let go. “Then I’ll find us a quiet corner to people watch. Scout’s honor.”

I nodded. My fingers curled around the bottle she shoved into my hand before we walked in—sparkling water with lime. No alcohol. That was part of the deal. I already felt like I’d stepped into another life. I didn’t need to blur the edges more.

We weaved through the kitchen, past a makeshift bar of melted ice and mystery punch, and into a hallway crowded with students laughing, kissing, and shouting over the music.

It was chaos.

I should hate it. Yet something about it felt electric.

I paused near the base of the stairs, trying to take it all in and wondering if I looked as out of place as I felt.

And then, I spotted him .

Leaning against the banister, half in the shadows, was a guy in a hockey jersey, the sleeves pushed to his elbows. His arms were crossed, shoulders broad, gaze steady and unreadable as he surveyed the room. He wasn’t drinking or laughing.

Just watching.

He didn’t blend in—definitely not like anyone else here. There was a tension in him, something coiled and contained, as if he was holding back. He could command the room with a word, but chose to stay on the sidelines.

My stomach slipped, and my breath caught before I realized I was staring. As if he could feel it, his eyes lifted and met mine.

I froze.

He tilted his head slightly, studying me with quiet curiosity. Not checking me out, but more like he was trying to place me. My gaze quickly darted away, but it was too late. My pulse was already racing.

“Okay, that’s Talon Pierce,” Alisa said beside me, clearly unaware of the fact that I was dying inside.

I blinked. “Who?”

She leaned in. “Number 20. Center. Hockey captain. Kind of a big deal around here. Don’t let the brooding thing fool you. He knows he’s practically a celebrity.”

Of course he was.

I glanced at him again, more subtly this time. He hadn’t moved, but he was still watching. I turned to Alisa. “He looks… intense.”

“Oh, he is,” she said. “The kind of intensity that could burn through steel and make people move out of his way in a hallway. But he’s supposedly great with kids and smarter than he looks. You know—dark, broody, ridiculously attractive. A walking sports-romance trope.”

I nodded absently, but I wasn’t really listening anymore.

All I could think about was the way his gaze lingered on mine, like he was seeing me and not the girl I was supposed to be.

For a split second, I didn’t mind being seen if it was by him.

Alisa got distracted by someone waving her over. Another sorority girl in glitter boots and a cowboy hat. She left me momentarily alone at the base of the stairs. I exhaled slowly, smoothing a hand down my blouse, telling myself to relax.

That was when I heard a voice.

“Not your scene?”

I looked up, and he was closer now. Talon. He was still leaning but angled toward me enough to let me know I was the one he was speaking to.

“I’m guessing that’s obvious,” I said, trying to keep my tone even.

He didn’t smile, exactly, but something about his expression softened. “You’re not carrying a jungle juice cup. That’s a dead giveaway.”

I held up my sparkling water. “I like to remember my nights.”

He chuckled once, low and quiet. “Can’t argue with that.”

His gaze drifted down for half a second. Quick yet not invasive. Then it returned to my face as if he was still trying to figure me out. I could tell he recognized me, but couldn’t place when or where.

“You a freshman?” he asked .

I shook my head. “Transfer.”

“From?”

“Kolmont.”

His brows lifted slightly. I guess that caught his attention, but he didn’t press further. He just simply nodded.

“What about you?” I asked, if only to redirect the heat rising in my chest.

He gave a slight shrug. “Been here a while.”

Something about the way he said it, dry and self-aware, made my lips twitch before I could stop them. He was calm in the middle of the party’s chaos. His gaze was fixed on me in a way that made me feel exposed.

“You always hang out in doorways and judge people’s drink choices?” I asked.

This time, he did smile, but it was only a small curve of his lips. “Only when they arrive looking like they wandered out of a different world.”

My stomach flipped.

I wanted to ask where he thought I came from, but then Alisa returned, breathless and buzzing with gossip from the other room.

“Sorry! You okay?” she asked me, eyes darting between Talon and me.

I nodded even though I wasn’t sure that was true.

Talon was already stepping away, back toward the stairs. “Enjoy the party,” he said, disappearing into the crowd before I could think of a response.

I stood there, heart still ticking too fast, the sounds of the house swelling around me again.

Whoever he was, I wasn’t ready for him.

And I didn’t think he was expecting me either.