Page 28 of The Players We Hate (Rixton U #2)

Talon

I knew something was wrong the second I picked up the call.

My aunt never sounded like this before. Her voice was strained, low, like she was trying to hold back just enough so I wouldn’t panic. It didn’t work.

“She’s okay,” Susan said quickly, though her voice carried more worry than reassurance.

“It was her sugar again. She was mid-sentence and just… stopped. Her eyes went glassy, like she didn’t know where she was.

By the time I got her to sit down, she was sweating through her shirt and drifting off.

I gave her juice, and she’s awake now, but Talon, it keeps dropping.

I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t think she’s being honest about how often it’s happening. You’d better come home.”

I swiped condensation from my face, water still running down my back as I gripped the phone tighter. The towel slid off my shoulders and hit the floor with a wet slap .

“Did you call anyone?” My voice came out harsher than I meant, but the thought of her sitting there out of it, sweating, slipping under had my pulse spiking.

“She made me promise not to,” Susan said softly. “Told me it was nothing. But it isn’t nothing, Talon. Her sugar keeps dropping, and I don’t know why. She needs someone to make her listen, and right now, that someone has to be you.”

I closed my eyes, jaw tight. Yeah, I knew. My mom has always been too stubborn to ask for help. Too proud to admit she needed it, even when it scared the people around her.

I yanked a hoodie over my head, shoved my legs into joggers, and crammed my damp gear into my bag with no care for the dripping fabric. My hands shook as I ended the call and told Coach I had to go. He started to ask why, but I was already moving, and I didn’t stick around for questions.

By the time I crossed campus, the sun had slipped behind the trees, and the air had a bite to it. My breath came hard, every inhale burning my throat as I pushed faster. The weight in my chest only grew heavier with each step.

I was fishing for my keys in the lot, fingers clumsy with urgency, when I heard her voice.

“Talon?”

I turned to find Wren. She stood under the overhang by the player’s lot, one arm wrapped tight across her chest, the other clutching a brown paper bag. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, wisps framing her face in soft waves. She looked like she’d been pacing. Maybe waiting.

“You heading home? ”

I let out a breath. “Yeah. I just got a call… it’s my mom. I need to get back.”

Her eyes softened, the worry I’d already seen written clearer now. She nodded once. “Then I’ll come with you. You shouldn’t do this alone.”

I hesitated, but she didn’t. She stood her ground, not backing down, and I knew she meant it. She wanted to help. Maybe she’d been waiting for this, and perhaps I wanted a reason to trust her.

The ride was quiet. Not heavy, just crowded with too much we weren’t saying. Every so often, I caught her sneaking a glance at me, quick and careful, checking if I was about to break.

Halfway home, my phone lit up on the console. My aunt Susan again. I hit speaker with my thumb so I didn’t have to take my eyes off the road.

“How is she?” My voice was tighter than I wanted it to be.

“She’s okay now,” Susan said, her voice filling the car. “I made her eat something, but her sugar keeps dipping. It’s like I get her stable, and then an hour later, she’s back down again. I don’t understand it, Talon. She’s scaring me.”

Wren’s hand shifted in her lap, clutching the brown paper bag a little closer. She didn’t say anything, but I felt her watching me and listening to every word.

“I’m on my way,” I said. “Ten minutes.”

“Good,” Susan breathed out, relief crackling through the line. “Maybe she’ll listen to you. Because she sure as hell won’t listen to me.”

The call clicked off, leaving the car in silence again, heavier this time. My grip on the wheel tightened. Out of the corner of my eye, Wren kept her gaze on the road ahead, as if she looked at me now, I might come undone.

When we pulled into the driveway, Susan was waiting at the door, the porch light flickering overhead. I cut the engine, and Wren’s brows lifted slightly, her eyes flicking from the house to me, reading me in a way that made it clear she understood this wasn’t just worry.

“She’s resting,” Susan said. “Still won’t go to the ER. Told me if I dragged her, she’d never forgive me.”

That sounded about right.

The smell of cinnamon clung to the air, but it didn’t settle me. My mom was curled beneath a quilt on the recliner, pale and sweaty, her breathing shallow.

Susan hovered close, wringing her hands. “I gave her juice and some crackers, but it doesn’t last. An hour later, she’s low again. I don’t know what else to do.”

Before I could answer, Wren slipped into the kitchen. A moment later, she was back with a jar of peanut butter and a spoon, moving with quiet purpose. She crouched beside my mom and spoke gently, but firm enough to cut through the panic.

“She’s been crashing like this a lot lately,” Susan said quietly. “Two, sometimes three times a day. I can’t get her numbers to hold, and she won’t go see anyone. She keeps brushing it off, but it’s not nothing.”

“Juice brings her up fast, but it burns off just as quick,” Wren said, scooping peanut butter onto a cracker and setting it on the table.

“She needs protein with it to hold her steady. Cheese, nuts, yogurt—anything that’ll slow the drop.

And she should be tracking her numbers so her doctor can adjust her insulin.

These dips aren’t safe if she’s by herself. ”

Susan blinked, caught somewhere between relief and guilt. “I didn’t think of that. I’ve just been grabbing whatever’s quick.”

Wren shook her head. “That’s not wrong. It works in the moment. But to keep it from crashing again, she needs more than sugar. Could be her dosage is off too. You’re right about her seeing a doctor. Until then, she shouldn’t be alone.”

I stayed quiet, watching as Wren tucked the quilt higher around my mom’s shoulders. Her hands didn’t falter, her presence cutting into the panic that had been clawing at my chest since the call.

“I thought it was just stress,” I muttered, the words weak even to my own ears.

“We all look for the simple answer first,” she said, glancing up at me. “Don’t beat yourself up. You already have a lot on your plate.”

For the first time, I really looked at her. Her eyes were tired, but focused.

“She reminds me of my mom,” she admitted. “The mom I knew as a kid. She tried so hard to stay strong, but she never let anyone see when she wasn’t. By the time it caught up to her, I’d already learned how to keep the secret too.”

The lump in my throat made it impossible to answer.

Wren shifted her gaze back to my mom. “Has she said anything else strange lately? Balance issues, confusion?”

Susan nodded from the chair. “She gets shaky. Slurred her words twice. Swears it’s nothing. Says it’s just stress. ”

Wren’s brow furrowed as she pressed the back of her hand lightly to my mom’s forehead, then brushed damp strands of hair from her temple. “It could be her medication, or her body isn’t regulating the way it should. But she needs to be checked. This isn’t something she can push through.”

I leaned against the wall, the weight of it pressing into my chest like stone.

After we got her settled and made sure she ate the peanut butter and crackers, I found myself in the kitchen, staring at my hands while Wren poured tea into mismatched mugs.

The cabinets behind her were worn and chipped.

I’d grown up with them that way. The heaviness sitting in my chest—I’d grown up with that too.

She set a mug in front of me, her fingers brushing mine. “She’ll be okay for now,” Wren said gently. “She just needs to keep her levels steady.”

I nodded, staring into the steam. “She wasn’t diagnosed until later. I was old enough to remember her pushing through it like nothing was wrong. She wouldn’t even tell me when she felt off. By the time she finally saw a doctor, it was worse than it should’ve been.”

Wren’s gaze lifted to mine, calm and unwavering.

“You talk like you’ve done this before,” I said, narrowing my eyes slightly. “How do you know so much?”

Her shoulders shifted, the faintest hesitation before she answered. “My father. He’s diabetic, too.”

The name landed hard in the quiet kitchen. My jaw tightened. The reminder of who he was and what he’d do if he knew we were together sat heavy between us .

Wren’s eyes flickered, like she’d felt it too. She looked down at her tea, then back at me. “That’s why I knew what to do. And I’m glad you didn’t tell me to leave. I’m glad I came with you tonight.”

I didn’t trust myself to speak. I only nodded, grateful in a way I didn’t know how to admit.

A little while later, after grabbing a hoodie from my old room, I walked back in and caught her by the wall.

Arms crossed, head tilted, staring at the photos.

One of me in gear two sizes too big, grinning with a gap where a tooth used to be.

A bunch of trophies lined up like they were worth more than cheap plastic.

“You were serious about it even back then,” she said softly, almost to herself. Her fingers brushed the edge of one frame, a picture of me holding up a state banner, cheeks flushed and hair sticking up under my helmet. “It’s kind of… sweet. Seeing you like this. Teenage Talon.”

I leaned against the doorframe, watching her take it all in. “Sweet, huh? That’s one word for it.”

She glanced over her shoulder, a small smile pulling at her mouth. “Don’t get a big head. I just meant you look… happy. Like you knew exactly who you were supposed to be.”

Heat crawled up the back of my neck, but I didn’t look away. Not from her.