Page 25 of The Players We Hate (Rixton U #2)

Talon

I stayed rooted in place, watching her vanish into the dark, as if she hadn’t just knocked the ground out from under me.

She tried to act like she was unaffected by everything, but I wasn’t buying it.

If she really didn’t see me, she wouldn’t keep finding ways to crawl under my skin, wouldn’t keep pulling me in, no matter how hard I tried to push back.

And I wasn’t about to let her walk away again. Not without answers.

I shoved off the post and went after her, gravel crunching under my boots as the barn noise dulled behind me. She wasn’t hard to find—pacing by the cars, arms crossed tight, jaw set like she was ready to go another round.

Good. So was I.

She whipped around at the sound of my steps, shoulders snapping straight.

“Are you kidding me? You’re following me now? ”

“You bailed mid-conversation, dodged my question. Looked a lot like running.” I kept walking, closing the space one step at a time. “So yeah, I followed.”

“I needed air.”

“Don’t feed me that BS. You’ve been circling something, and I want the truth.”

Her eyes cut into me. “And you think I owe you answers?”

“I think you’re in over your head.” My voice dropped. “And I need to know what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into.”

She crossed her arms, chin tilting up. “So you corner me at a party to play interrogator? Real subtle.”

“I don’t care how it looks,” I shot back. “I’ve watched you slip around, asking questions, showing up where you shouldn’t. And every time, I’m left wondering what the hell you’re chasing.”

Her nostrils flared, but she didn’t move when I stepped in, pressing her against the cold side of Kade’s truck. The barn lights hit her face just enough to catch the sharp set of her mouth and the tremor in her breathing.

“You don’t affect me,” she said quickly, like she wanted to get ahead of me.

Her voice cracked, giving her away.

“Then why do you look like you’re one step from running?” I asked, breath brushing close.

“I’m not.”

My gaze dipped to her mouth, then dragged up slow enough that I caught the shiver she tried to hide.

“Liar.”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “You’re full of yourself. ”

“No,” I said evenly. “I just know what it looks like when someone’s pretending. And you’ve been pretending a lot lately.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off.

“What are you caught up in, Wren? What aren’t you telling me? What the hell’s going on?”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t.” My voice sharpened. “Don’t lie to me.”

She flinched, and it was all the confirmation I needed.

“You planted the puck in Kade’s truck.”

Her face froze.

“What—”

“Don’t bother denying it,” I said. “I recognized your handwriting on the note. I saw you slipping back in before the second period, ducking into the tunnel before the team hit the ice.”

Her jaw clenched, color draining from her face.

“You’re a terrible liar,” I murmured, leaning in until my chest brushed hers. “In fact, you fucking suck at it.”

Her breathing faltered, uneven, and I could feel it against me.

“So tell me,” I said, voice low and rough. “What are you mixed up in? Why leave a marked puck in his truck? What the hell are you trying to prove?”

Her throat worked as she swallowed, and when her eyes finally met mine, something was different there. Something that looked too much like guilt.

“Don’t you ever wonder why Gavin really left?” she asked, her voice low.

I didn’t answer, but I didn’t need to. She could see it on my face. I’d asked myself that same question .

“You think he just got benched and gave up?” she pressed. “That he walked away clean?”

The words hit hard, sharp, like a puck slamming against the boards.

I held her stare. “You know something.”

She hesitated, and for a second, I thought she might swallow it down.

But then she said, “I saw things. Things I couldn’t explain.

Gavin is meeting people after hours. People who didn’t belong anywhere near the locker room.

His sneaking out of film sessions. I told the assistant AD.

They brushed it off like it was nothing. ”

I folded my arms. “So you took matters into your own hands.”

She gave a short nod. “Not because I wanted to screw anyone over. In fact, it’s the opposite. I wanted you to know someone else was paying attention. I also didn’t want it on my conscience that Gavin’s reckless choices could actually injure someone.”

“And you thought leaving a warning in Kade’s truck was the way to do that?”

Her lips parted, like she was about to defend it, then closed again.

“I didn’t think you’d believe me,” she said finally, voice raw. “Not after everything.”

“You mean after your brother ruined my sister’s life?”

The silence that followed stretched thin.

But she didn’t look away.

“If I’d come to you and told you I thought something was wrong with Gavin, would you have listened?”

I didn’t answer because we both knew the truth .

Not when all I could see back then was her last name. Her polished smile. Her family’s wreckage trailing her.

And now?

Now, I was staring at someone who didn’t look anything like the girl I thought I knew. This wasn’t the governor’s daughter with the perfect smile. This was someone who had been watching, listening, trying to clean up a mess that wasn’t even hers.

For the first time since this started, I didn’t know who I was angrier with—her or myself.

The words ripped out before I could stop them. “So what? You’re the hero now? The girl secretly saving the team while playing both sides?”

Her eyes widened like I’d just slapped her. “I’m not playing both sides.”

“Bullshit,” I snapped. “You leave a mystery puck like it’s some noble warning right after someone smashes Kade’s truck window with a puck marked with Gavin’s number, and I’m supposed to believe that’s a coincidence?”

Her whole body jolted. “Wait… what?”

I stepped in closer, jaw tight. “Don’t play dumb.”

Her mouth opened, then shut again. Finally, she whispered, “Oh my God. You think that was me?”

I didn’t bother replying to that question either.

Her chest rose in a sharp breath, and she pressed a hand to her forehead like she couldn’t catch air. “You actually think I’d do that? Smash his window and put someone else in danger on top of everything else?”

“Don’t twist it.”

“No, Talon.” Her voice cracked. “You are. I left that puck because I didn’t want any of you getting involved out of fear of what could happen to you. Not because I wanted to hurt anyone.” She blinked, staggering back a step like I’d hit her square in the gut. “You think I did that?”

“Didn’t you?”

She looked wrecked. Shaken.

“No,” she whispered, her voice starting to fray with panic. “That wasn’t me. I swear it. I left the puck because I thought it might wake someone up. I thought it would give Kade a second to breathe. A warning that someone else was watching. I would never do anything to hurt him.”

I wanted to believe her. God help me, I almost did. But my gut was still a mess, tangled with questions and everything we hadn’t said.

“Then who did it?” I asked, my voice cold. “Who would do something like this?”

“I don’t know.” She pressed her fingers to her temple, her hand trembling against her skin. “I didn’t tell anyone. No one knows anything, not even Alisa. I left the warning and went inside. That’s all.”

My stare stayed locked on her.

“I’ve done everything by the book,” she said, her voice stronger now. “I’ve taken notes. I’ve submitted things anonymously. I reported through the right channels. I didn’t want attention or drama. I wanted to protect the team. That’s why I’ve kept my name out of it.”

I studied her long enough to see the cracks slip through her mask. Beneath the polish and the pride was someone who looked scared out of her mind, like she knew the game was already out of her hands.

“You didn’t tell anyone?” I asked, my voice lower now. “Because if this gets out… ”

Her chin lifted, eyes sparking with something fierce. “I would never jeopardize the team. Not even you.”

That last word landed like a sucker punch. She looked like she hated saying it, but hated the truth of it even more.

We stood locked in a standoff that stretched too long, the kind of silence that made the air feel tighter with every breath.

The music from the barn thudded faintly through the walls, laughter fading in and out, but it all felt far away.

Out here, it was only us, the air heavy enough to blur the line between wanting to fight and wanting to give in.

“If it wasn’t you,” I muttered, “then someone’s sending a louder message.”

She nodded, unsteady. A sick knot twisted in my stomach. Because she was right. And that scared the hell out of me.

“Then we’ve got a bigger problem,” I said.

Her eyes met mine again, and something in them had changed. The sharp edge was gone, leaving something raw that made it hard to breathe.

“What do we do?” she whispered.

I didn’t have the answer. Not yet. But I knew one thing—I wasn’t letting her face this alone anymore. Even if I didn’t know where we stood. Even if half of me wanted to keep her as far away as possible.

The barn lights caught on her brown hair, giving the strands a dull shine. Her breath fogged in the cold, hanging between us. She didn’t move, standing stiff like she’d rather break than be the one to back down.

And God help me, I wanted to find out how far she’d go before she gave in .

I stepped in slowly until her back was against Kade’s truck again. She tensed, but she didn’t flinch. Her chest rose quickly, heat radiating off her. Too close. Way too close. But I couldn’t pull away.

“You know what makes me crazy?” My voice came rough, scraped raw from holding it back too long. “The fact that I want you. Even when I don’t trust a damn word out of your mouth.”

Her lips parted, her breath catching. For a heartbeat, she just stared at me. Then she laughed, bitter and broken, the sound cutting through me.

“You’ve got some nerve,” she snapped. “After everything you’ve said. After using me to get back at my brother? You think I forget that just because you’re standing close enough for me to smell your aftershave?”

I flinched, but she wasn’t done.

“I’m not one of your puck bunnies,” she spat, eyes blazing. “I’ve heard all about you, how you fuck ’em and chuck ’em. You get what you want and move on. You don’t even look twice.”

She shoved my chest. Not hard enough to move me, but enough to burn.

“You can’t treat me like shit and then act like I’m the one messing with you.”

My jaw locked. Because the worst part? She was right.

But this stopped being about her brother a long time ago.

I leaned in, my lips brushing the line of her jaw. “You think I don’t know I’ve screwed up?” I murmured. I pressed a kiss to her ear, my voice rough. “You think I don’t know you’re different? ”

Her breath shuddered, her hands curling into the front of my hoodie like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to shove me again or tug me closer.

“You’re not like anyone else,” I whispered. “And you know it.”

Her head tilted back, just enough. Her lips met mine.

It wasn’t soft. It was desperate. Angry. A challenge.

I yanked her in, my hand tangled in the back of her neck, the other gripping her hip to keep her there. For a second, nothing else existed. Not her brother. Not the lies. Not the weight of all the shit between us.

Just us.

It burned straight through me—chest, head, all of it. Kissing her didn’t put it out. Just made it worse.

I broke it off, stumbling back, lungs working overtime.

Wren’s eyes blinked open slowly. “Talon—”

I shook my head, throat tight.

“What the hell are we doing?” I muttered.

She wet her lips. “I don’t know. You kissed me.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t want it.” My voice came out rough. “You didn’t exactly stop me.”

Her eyes flashed, the sting quick before her defenses slammed back in place.

“Don’t flatter yourself. You break easily enough on your own.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. She was right. I had no defense. All I had was this ache in my chest that wouldn’t quit, no matter how many times I told myself to let her go.

So I turned. Because if I didn’t, I’d keep her pressed against me until we both forgot why this was a bad idea .

Walking away had to hurt less than staying. At least, that was what I told myself.

My fists clenched as I shoved the side door of the barn open. The heavy air hit me like I deserved it.

I didn’t look over my shoulder.

If I had, I never would’ve left.