Page 20 of The Players We Hate (Rixton U #2)
A second passed before it registered, but I knew that face. I’d seen him before.
I remembered the hockey game, right after the buzzer, outside the tunnel. He’d been there with my father, their heads bent together. The kind of conversation meant to stay off the record.
My stomach tightened.
The server returned, her smile warm and practiced. “Can I get you started with a drink, hon?”
“Just sparkling water,” I said, my voice coming out softer than I expected. “With lime, please.”
“Coming right up.”
I nodded, eyes drifting back toward the man just as she turned away.
He flicked through his phone like someone used to waiting, but never for long.
I looked away, pretending to study the menu in front of me. My heart was ticking a little faster now, like it always did when something didn’t quite make sense.
Movement near the entrance caught my eye, and before I even registered who it was, my gut already knew.
A younger man stepped in. He was tall, broad, with that unmistakable athletic build. Hoodie pulled up, head lowered, jaw tight. I couldn’t see his face completely, but I knew what team he played for. The Rixton Wolves crest was faint on the side of his sweatpants.
He wasn’t dressed for a night out. He hadn’t come for dinner. He’d come to meet him.
He crossed the restaurant in slow motion and slid into the seat across from the suited man like they’d done it before. This didn’t feel like a last-minute, hush-hush meetup. It felt like a continuation of something already in play.
The older man leaned closer, murmuring something under his breath. The player didn’t respond, just slipped a hand into the pocket of his hoodie, shoulders tight .
I strained to make sense of the exchange without making it obvious I was watching.
The server returned with my drink and set it down quietly.
“Give you a few more minutes?” she asked.
“Yes, thank you. She should be here any minute,” I said, barely glancing up.
The player shifted in his seat, and the candlelight skimmed across his face, clear enough this time for me to recognize him.
I knew him.
He wasn’t a starter, not someone constantly in the spotlight like Talon or Kade, but I’d seen him at the Halloween party. At the Devil’s Backbone bonfire. He’d been on the roster. And now here he was, meeting with a man who, as far as I knew, had no business being anywhere near student athletes.
I dropped my gaze to my drink, pulse hammering. This wasn’t nothing. I was almost sure I’d just seen something I wasn’t supposed to.
The sound of my mother’s voice cut through my thoughts like a sharp blade.
“There you are, darling. You’d think they’d seat us closer to the front. This is practically exile.”
I looked up just in time to see her glide toward the table.
All poise and expensive perfume. Heels clicking a deliberate rhythm across the marble floor.
Her cream-colored coat draped over one arm, and her hair was perfectly styled in soft waves.
She always made entrances like she expected applause .
“Hi, Mother.” I stood and offered a quick kiss on the cheek. Her skin was cool and faintly scented with Chanel No. 5.
“Have they brought the drink menu yet?” she asked as she sat down, laying her napkin neatly across her lap, just like she used to at every dinner when I was a kid.
“I already ordered a sparkling water,” I said, settling back into my seat.
“Good. I could use a glass of wine,” she muttered, lifting the menu. “My head is pounding. The traffic from the capitol was impossible. Your father keeps talking about improving it, but honestly, I don’t see much progress.”
I bit the inside of my cheek and kept quiet, eyes on the menu I couldn’t read. Gavin Cruz. The name clicked into place now, sharp and certain. He sat a few tables behind my mother, shoulders hunched, hair damp from what had to be practice.
“Was your day productive?” she asked without looking up.
I nodded. “Good. Actually, I got offered an internship today.”
That made her pause. She looked up quickly, her voice dipped in sugar. “Really? Which one?”
“With the university,” I said, keeping my voice level. “Athletics department. A compliance intern position.”
A beat of silence stretched between us, just long enough for me to feel the weight of it.
“Oh.” She blinked once, placing her menu flat on the table. “I was under the impression you were going after the governor’s fellowship in strategic communications. That would’ve been far more impressive. ”
“I was,” I said evenly. “But this came up unexpectedly, and it’s different. The fellowship’s more politics and speeches. This role places me within the athletic department, where I actually handle cases and make decisions. It’s hands-on and not just observation.”
She picked up her glass and swirled the wine before taking a sip. “I suppose it’s fine for experience and would look good on a résumé. Still, I would’ve chosen something with a little more weight. Compliance feels so small. Like shuffling papers in the back office.”
Her voice was soft, but the implication landed with the precision of a stiletto. It always did.
“I’m not chasing titles, Mother. I want to learn something useful. Something that matters.”
She hummed, unconvinced. “Just don’t lose sight of the bigger picture, Wren. You have a name people already recognize. That can open doors most students will never get close to. It would be a shame to waste that on paperwork.”
I nodded and took a sip of water, pretending her words didn’t land the way they did. It wasn’t surprising. My mom had a way of showing disappointment without ever saying it outright—just enough to make me second-guess myself but never enough to call her out on.
As she launched into a discussion about the upcoming charity gala she was organizing, I let my attention drift. Her voice faded to background noise, like the soft jazz playing through the speakers above.
Across the room, Gavin hadn’t moved.
Still no food in front of him. No drink. Just the man in the suit across from him, speaking low and measured .
And then, almost like it had been choreographed, Gavin reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a plain white envelope.
He slid it across the table.
The man didn’t even blink. He tucked the envelope inside his suit jacket like he did every day.
My spine stiffened.
It happened fast, but it told me everything I needed to know. This wasn’t about dinner or guidance. It was business. And judging by Gavin’s expression, he didn’t want any part of it.
I tore my gaze away just as my mother’s voice cut through again.
“I’ll be sending you a list of local vendors I’d like you to coordinate with next week. The venue is booked, but the catering is a disaster. I’ll need you to step in.”
I blinked, forcing myself back to the conversation. “I can help,” I said. “But I’ll have to work around the internship hours once I start.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Of course. I just don’t want you to lose focus. These extracurriculars are lovely, but remember optics matter.”
Optics. The story of my life.
As she rattled off the names of socialites she wanted to charm into attending, I let myself look back one more time.
Gavin was gone. The booth sat empty, dishes cleared. I hadn’t even noticed him slip out.
But the man in the suit was still there, nursing his drink, looking perfectly at ease.
By the time the car pulled up to the dorms, the sky was dark, the lampposts cutting through it with a weak glow. I stepped out, tugged my coat tighter, and headed for the entrance. The air bit at my lungs, my breath showing white before fading away.
Inside, I headed straight for the stairs, moving quicker than I normally would in heels, each step pounding in my ears like a drum I couldn’t shut off.
When I reached my room, I dropped my coat onto the chair, kicked off my boots, and collapsed onto my bed, barely bothering to turn on the light.
I pulled out my phone and opened the Rixton Wolves hockey roster. My thumb hovered for a second before I typed his name.
Gavin Cruz
#19 – Right Wing
Junior
Status: Injured Reserve – Lower Body Injury (Out Indefinitely)
I stared at the screen. He’s out indefinitely.
Except I’d just watched him cross the restaurant without so much as a limp. There was no sign of a brace, no wince, nothing. My stomach sank.
If he wasn’t really hurt, then why pretend? And what business did he have passing envelopes to men who had no reason to be anywhere near a college athlete?
My grip tightened on my phone as the truth pressed down on me. This wasn’t just some nagging suspicion. Something bigger was going on. And like it or not, I was already tangled up in it.