Page 26 of The Players We Hate (Rixton U #2)

Talon

The media room was dark except for the pale blue glow of the screen. I sat hunched forward in the same chair I’d been stuck in for the past hour, elbow on my knee, eyes locked on the clip I couldn’t stop replaying.

Gavin.

The way he came out of the tunnel in the last game wouldn’t leave me alone. Everyone else had let it slide, but I couldn’t, not after everything that had piled up this season—the fake injuries, the half-second stalls during plays, the missing medical files, the puck through Kade’s window.

And Kade hadn’t let it go either. Willow’s photos had given him something to chase, and once he started digging, there was no pulling him out. She stayed close, supporting him in ways neither of them wanted to admit out loud.

I clicked again and froze the frame. Gavin came out with a limp, dragging his left foot like it hurt, until it didn’t. For a split second, his stride evened out, the shift in his weight smooth and effortless, too easy for someone who was supposed to be injured .

Then he looked over his shoulder. Not casual. Not toward the bench. It was the kind of look you gave when you knew someone was watching.

Maybe not a coach. Perhaps it was someone else.

“Shit.” I shoved away from the chair, the legs scraping the floor. Heat crawled under my skin, my head buzzing too loud to think. I needed air. Needed to move.

The side door groaned when I shoved it open, the night pressing in on me. Cold air cut through my hoodie, straight down my spine. It clung, heavy enough to drag every thought with it.

My boots thudded across the gravel as I crossed campus. Spring break had emptied the place. Most kids were off somewhere warm or home with family. Me? I was chasing shadows with grainy footage and a gut that wouldn’t shut up.

When I rounded the old humanities building, I spotted Wren.

She hadn’t noticed me yet. Pacing under a flickering lamppost, arms tight across her chest, black coat pulled in like armor. Her hair blew across her face, but she didn’t push it aside. Jaw locked, her whole body was tight like she was hanging on by a thread.

She stopped long enough to check her phone, shoved it into her pocket, then started pacing again.

I slowed, narrowing my eyes like I could read the answer in her movements. What the hell was she doing out here alone?

I stepped closer, my boot crunching against the gravel. Her head jerked up at the sound .

“You look like you’re about to talk yourself into something stupid,” I said.

She spun toward me, hand flying to her chest. “Jesus, Talon. You scared the hell out of me.”

“I didn’t expect to find you out here,” I said, scanning the empty stretch of campus. “Most people cleared out days ago. Heading somewhere tropical or home for the break. Yet here you are.”

She folded her arms, her expression tight. “I didn’t want to go home.”

The way her voice dipped on the word made it sound bitter, like it left a bad taste in her mouth.

“So you stayed,” I said, watching her closely. “Alone.”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m not the only one still on campus.”

“Maybe not,” I muttered, stepping closer. “But you keep circling, and it’s pulling you deeper.”

She drew in a shaky breath, lifting her chin, daring me to push. “Because I don’t have another choice.”

The words hit hard, stopping me for half a second. Then I closed the gap—not touching, but close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin. Close enough the air between us felt heavy with everything we weren’t saying.

Her breath caught. Mine did too.

“You keep pretending this doesn’t get to you,” I murmured, eyes on hers. “You feel it every time we’re this close.”

Her chin lifted, defiant, but her pulse gave her away.

“Then show me,” I said, rough. “Prove me wrong.”

Her gaze dropped to my mouth before snapping up again. She stepped away, barely, but didn’t break whatever was between us .

“I’m not doing this with you,” she said, her voice wavering. “You don’t get to stand here, act like you care, then tear me apart in the same breath.”

“I care more than I should,” I admitted, the words scraping out. “And it pisses me off.”

She swallowed hard. “Then maybe we should back off before one of us gets burned.”

I didn’t move. Too late for that. The fire was already lit.

“No?” I stepped in, voice low. “Then why do you always look ready to tell me something you’re afraid I’ll hear?”

She flinched. Small, but I caught it. I’d worn the same look too many times.

“You’re scared,” I murmured.

Her eyes narrowed. “Of you? Your accusations? Not a chance.”

“Not that.” I leaned in, close enough to feel her breath hitch. “This.”

I brushed a knuckle along her jaw, skin warm under my touch, her pulse hammering. Her eyes widened, caught between fight and giving in.

“This thing,” I whispered, dragging my thumb across her bottom lip. “It scares the hell out of you.”

“You’re full of shit,” she breathed.

“Maybe.” My hand slid lower, resting at her throat just enough to feel the frantic beat there. “But you’re still here.”

She didn’t move. Her hands twitched, caught between shoving me off or pulling me closer, not choosing either.

That flicker was all it took. My control snapped.

I grabbed her waist and yanked her against me.

Her mouth crashed into mine before I could say a word, hard and desperate, kissing me like it was the only way to shut me up. My shoulders slammed into the cold stone wall, but everything else burned. Her nails tore through my hair, pulling me under even as she fought it.

She bit my lip, sharp enough to sting, and a growl ripped out of me. I pressed harder, grinding my hips into hers.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she panted against my mouth.

“The hell it doesn’t.”

Her broken laugh cut between us. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

And she did.

Her mouth returned to mine, all heat and teeth and fury. Nothing gentle. Nothing safe. Just hunger and anger colliding. I caught her thigh and hauled it up, fitting her against me, my body already there before my head could catch up.

Her coat slid off her shoulders. I needed skin, sliding my palms under her sweater, over her waist, up her back. She shivered but didn’t pull away.

“You’re not the others,” I rasped against her throat, kissing lower until I hit her collarbone. “We both know it.”

A sound slipped from her, raw enough to gut me. Her nails dug into my back as she whispered, “I hate you.”

I crushed my mouth to hers, grinding my hips into her. “No, you don’t. Not even a little.”

For a second, I thought she’d admit it. Her body gave in, lips clinging, truth hanging between us.

Then it snapped.

Her muscles locked. Her hands slipped off me. She pushed at my chest until I set her down. The cold air rushed in the second I stepped away. Her eyes still burned, but underneath was empty .

“I meant what I said,” she whispered.

My chest heaved, rough as if I’d just come off a shift on the ice. “So did I.”

Her fingers fisted in my jacket, holding on for a breath before letting go.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, breaking the silence. I didn’t grab it right away—not with her standing there, shoving her hair off her face with shaking hands, trying to erase what just happened.

When I finally pulled it free, the glow of the screen lit my face.

Reed: You were right. Gavin’s NIL file is off. Funds aren’t tied to real sponsors. I’ll keep digging.

My stomach dropped as the words seared through me. I closed out of the message and shoved it into my pocket before she even thought to turn her head.

When I looked at her, my voice felt like gravel. “You knew. You knew the NIL funds were off.”

Her jaw tightened, her eyes flicking from mine to my pocket and back again. “I suspected. But I didn’t know how far it went.”

I stepped closer, the question cutting sharper than I meant. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

Her voice cracked, just for a second, like the truth scraped on its way out. “Would you have believed me?”

The words hit hard. My mouth opened, ready with some defense, but nothing came out.

She pushed, softer this time but no less brutal. “You still think I put a puck through your friend’s truck window. You think if I came to you with this, you’d suddenly believe a word I said?”

Silence was all I had.

She seemed to hear the answer in it. Her shoulders dropped, the fight slipping out of her, and she gave a small, resigned nod like she’d expected nothing different. Then she brushed my shoulder as she passed.

I didn’t turn. Didn’t follow. My chest was tight as I watched her disappear into the dark. I could’ve called her name. Could’ve grabbed her arm. Could’ve stopped her. But I didn’t.

The night took her, and I was left with the weight of her words and the gut punch of knowing she’d been holding more pieces of this mess than I thought.

And I still didn’t know if I was chasing the truth with her or against her.