Page 23 of The Players We Hate (Rixton U #2)

Wren

The spreadsheet stared back at me, nothing but cells and silence, my blinking cursor stuck in column G like it was waiting for me to screw up.

I let out a slow breath and flexed my fingers before reaching for the highlighter. One last note in the margin of the report in front of me. Red for inconsistencies. Blue for review. Yellow for possible violations.

I’d color-coded the whole thing, like a proper compliance intern.

Not that anyone really knew I was one.

Technically, my internship hadn’t even been announced. No press release, no welcome email, not even a memo to the athletes. Just a quiet nod from the board and a warning from the assistant AD to “keep a low profile until we figure out how to present this.”

So I kept my head down. Tucked myself into a corner of the student center and did the work. I was good at it, too, but being good at something didn’t mean it didn’t wear on me .

I snapped the binder shut and slid it into my bag along with the typed notes I’d been keeping—player inconsistencies, sideline behavior, clips flagged from game tape. The usual. All neat. All unsigned. All are waiting for the right hands.

I pulled on my coat, tightened my scarf, and stepped outside.

The evening air bit at my cheeks as I crossed campus toward the arena.

The sky was already dark, the east lot half empty.

Most of the team had cleared out by now.

My plan was simple: swipe my badge, drop off the file, and leave. Make it quick and clean.

At least, that was what I thought until I stepped into the hall leading to the Wolves’ training wing and heard the sharp click of a video controller echoing off the walls.

Light spilled out of the media room, game footage flickering across the screen and casting uneven shadows against the glass. Inside, I sat with my arms crossed, eyes locked on the ice as if the outcome still mattered.

I froze.

At first, all I noticed was the set of his shoulders under a black Rixton hoodie and the hard line of his jaw. He had that same look—always on edge, either ready to swing or ready to shut everyone out.

I thought about leaving before he noticed me. Truly, I really did.

I hadn’t taken more than a step when his voice cut through the room, calm and low.

“Didn’t peg you for a night owl.”

My throat tightened. “I could say the same. ”

The video stilled with a soft click, and the silence that followed felt too loud. Then he turned his head, just enough to glance at me over his shoulder.

“You just passing through?” he asked.

I hitched the strap of my bag tighter across my shoulder. “Dropping off some documents.”

His eyes flicked to the folder in my hand. He leaned back in his chair, gaze narrowing.

“Documents, huh.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You’ve been doing a lot of that lately.”

I started toward the door, but his voice caught me again, lower this time.

“I saw your notes after practice yesterday. You pick up on things most people miss. You’re good at it.”

I froze. So he had seen them. Or at least knew enough.

I turned slowly to face him. “That was confidential.”

He gave a humorless smile. “Not when it’s left on a desk in the staff room.”

“It wasn’t meant for you.”

“Then maybe don’t leave player reports lying around where anyone can read between the lines.” His tone shifted, quieter but sharper. “You’re watching Gavin. Kade, too.”

I didn’t answer.

He tilted his head, studying me. “What are you hoping to find?”

It felt like a test—him dangling a thread to see if I’d pull.

I straightened, forcing my expression flat. “That’s none of your business.”

He stood, slow and deliberate, the kind of movement that made you aware of how close the space between you really was .

“Well, it kind of becomes my business when you treat my teammates like they’re case files.”

I kept my voice steady. “This isn’t personal, Talon. It’s work.”

“Right.” His voice cut sharper now. “And this work just happened to fall into your lap right after your brother got bounced from the football team?”

That one hit.

I blinked but kept my chin level. “I earned this.”

His nostrils flared. He didn’t like how calm I was, and I could see it in the tight set of his jaw and the way he held himself too still. But I’d learned how to keep my composure. My mother had made sure of it.

“This isn’t about you,” I said, stepping forward. “It’s not about Kade. Or Gavin. Or my brother.”

He shifted into the doorway, blocking it.

“No? Then what is it about?”

I held his stare. “It’s about integrity. About doing something that matters. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t get in my way.”

His lips parted like he had a comeback, but nothing came out. His jaw tightened, chest rising a little too quickly, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to push harder or back down.

Finally, he stepped aside.

I walked past him with my head high, heels clicking against the tile. I didn’t look back.

I found an empty office and slid the manila folder into the dropbox slot by the compliance door .

Every form was signed. Every observation logged. I noted Gavin’s name just enough to raise a flag, but kept the details vague, careful to make sure mine stayed out of it.

My fingers lingered on the edge of the slot for a moment before I let the file fall through.

The anonymous tip was ready. I wasn’t proud of it, but I hadn’t come here to protect anyone’s feelings. I was here to protect the players and the game, even if it meant setting fire to a few bridges along the way.

The walk back felt longer than it should’ve. My steps echoed off the concrete, sharp enough to make me feel called out. I kept my eyes forward, refusing to look toward the video room again. My heart pounded steady in my chest.

I should’ve taken the side exit, the one I always used. But something stopped me.

Because I could still feel him. Talon and his stare that never gave anything away. The tension in his jaw, sharp enough that it almost had a sound. He had an infuriating habit of pressing into places he didn’t belong, as if I owed him answers I wasn’t about to give.

I stopped at the stairwell before the lobby, pressed my palm to the wall, and forced a breath in. I was just about to move when I heard footsteps behind me. My fingers curled at my side. Of course, he followed.

I didn’t turn, and I didn’t need to.

“Wren.”

Just my name, low and close, enough to keep me rooted in place.

I drew in one more breath before facing him. He stood a few feet away, shoulders tight under his hoodie, hands flexing as if he couldn’t decide whether to cross his arms or put a fist through the wall.

His eyes locked on me, steady and unblinking, trying to catch something I didn’t mean to show. The weight of it crawled under my skin, leaving me exposed.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Walking,” I said, motioning down the hallway, as if it weren’t already obvious.

“Don’t—” He stopped himself, pulled in a breath, then stepped closer. “Don’t play coy with me.”

“You following me now, or are we calling this a coincidence?”

“I’m asking what your endgame is,” he snapped. “Because this—” He gestured, like he couldn’t even pin down what he meant. “This isn’t nothing. So why are you really here?”

The laugh that slipped out wasn’t amused. It was sharp and bitter.

“You really think this is about you?”

His jaw ticked.

I moved in closer, unhurried. “You think I’m here because of you? That I woke up and thought, What can I do to rattle Talon Pierce today? ”

“I think you don’t do anything unless it benefits you,” he said, his voice hard. “And right now, you’re wrapped up in something that’s putting pressure on people I care about. So yeah, I want to know why you’re here.”

I held his stare. “You mean Gavin? Kade?” My voice came out sharper than I meant. “What bothers you more, Talon? Knowing eyes are on your team, or knowing you don’t control the story anymore?”

That landed .

He stepped closer, and I automatically backed up until my shoulders hit the wall. He didn’t touch me, but the air between us was tense enough to pin me in place.

His voice dropped, quiet but fierce. “You don’t get to waltz in here and act like this is just a job. Not when you’re watching us like a hawk. Not when guys are looking over their shoulders, wondering if they’re next.”

“This isn’t personal, Pierce,” I said evenly. “It’s a job. And I happen to be good at it.”

“You’re good at pretending,” he snapped. “Pretending to care. Pretending you’ve moved on. Pretending you didn’t walk away without looking back.”

So that was it. The sore spot he couldn’t let go. The one he kept circling like a bruise he wanted me to press for him.

I refused to give him that satisfaction, even if the words cut deeper than I’d ever admit.

My pulse thundered as I held his stare, lips parting before I forced the words out.

“I meant it when I told you I hated you.”

His nostrils flared, his chest lifting like he was holding himself back.

“I’m here to do a job,” I pushed on, my voice hard enough to sting. “And you’re going to respect it. We’ll keep it professional because we don’t have a choice. But outside of this? I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to talk to you.”

Something flickered in his face. Barely, but I caught it. The twitch in his jaw, the shift in his eyes, like I’d landed a hit he hadn’t braced for.

“So go back to pretending I don’t exist,” I said, my voice dropping. “Because in my world, Talon, you never did. ”

I shoved past him, my shoulder catching his arm, the heat of him sparking against my skin. My pulse hammered in my ears as I walked away. I didn’t look back, but I knew he was still watching me.

And I hated that some reckless, traitorous part of me wanted him to follow.

The glass door shut behind me, and the cold hit hard, biting at my cheeks. It reminded me I was still standing, even if the world felt tilted under my feet.

My boots struck hard against the pavement as I cut across campus, every step rougher than the last. My pulse was still buzzing, my body wired like it hadn’t caught on that I wasn’t toe-to-toe with him anymore.

God, I hated him.

The way his eyes pinned me, sizing me up like I was some puzzle he’d already solved. How easily he read me, how he didn’t blink when I threw my walls back up—as if he’d been waiting for it, already knowing they weren’t as strong as I wanted them to be.

He made me feel exposed and invisible at the same time, and that was the worst of it. That it still got to me, even now, after everything.

I veered off the main walk, cutting down the path by the performing arts building. The lights here were weak, shadows stretching long across the concrete. Students avoided it at night. I welcomed it. Anything to cool the fire still burning under my skin.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I didn’t want to look because I already knew. Still, I pulled it out, thumb dragging over the screen .

Mother: Checking in. How’s the internship going? Just want to be sure everything’s on track—the optics matter with the event coming up. Call when you get a chance.

Mother: Also, confirming you’re set on coordinating the catering.

A laugh slipped out, sharp and bitter. Of course.

She wasn’t worried about me. She was worried about optics.

About how it would look if the governor’s daughter wasn’t just a student at Rixton U but working inside athletics.

Too close to the scandal involving my brother they were still scrambling to bury.

She didn’t care why I’d taken the internship. She didn’t want to hear Wells’s name or the fallout from what he’d done. What she wanted was distance, clean lines she could point to if anyone asked. Plausible deniability.

I locked my phone and shoved it into my coat pocket without replying. The zipper scraped against my knuckle as I did, grounding me for a moment.

I pulled my scarf tighter and picked up my pace. The cold had settled deep, but standing still wasn’t an option. My head was too full, and moving was the only way to keep from falling apart right there on the sidewalk.

I thought I was ready for this. I’d studied, done the work, sat through meetings trying to blend in. But being inside wasn’t what I expected—it was messier.

The players didn’t trust me. The coaches kept their distance. And Talon… he was harder to read than all of them. He watched me like I was trouble, and maybe I was. But I didn’t have a choice. I was already in .

I rounded the quad, dorm buildings coming into view. A couple of students passed by, laughing as one kicked at a leftover clump of snow from the storm earlier this week. Their breath puffed white into the night, easy and careless in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.

For a second, I envied them.

Then I looked back down at the sidewalk and focused on what mattered.

There was a game on Friday night. Home ice. The Wolves were facing a cross-town rival, and the arena would be packed with scouts, boosters, and board members. Every set of eyes would be locked on the ice.

Gavin wasn’t cleared to play. That was what the report said. But he’d be there on the bench. Present, but not part of it. And that meant something.

Talon had noticed it too. Studying, watching, the same way I was. I didn’t trust him, but that didn’t change the truth. We were both walking the same path. We just had different reasons for being on it.

I let out a slow breath, the air fogging in front of me. My fingers shifted inside my gloves, jaw locked tight. The tip I’d filed tonight might be enough to get people to ask questions, but questions wouldn’t fix anything if the records were already scrubbed and the reports rewritten.

The longer I watched Gavin, noticing how his energy dipped and spiked and how he traded quiet words with that booster in the black coat with sharp eyes, the more I wondered. It felt bigger than an injury.

And I was running out of time to prove it .

My boots crunched over salt as I stepped onto the walkway of my building. The light above the door flickered once, then came on, throwing pale blue across the bricks.

I grabbed the handle, my fingers unsteady. Not from the cold, but from everything weighing on me. I wasn’t stopping tonight. I needed answers.

And if Talon thought I’d back down because he didn’t like me digging into his team’s secrets?

He was about to find out just how unshakable the governor’s daughter could be.