Page 3 of The Players We Hate (Rixton U #2)

Talon

Our game ended on a high note. A blowout win in our preseason scrimmage was exactly how I wanted to set the tone for the year. Every shift clicked. Every shot found the back of the net. We played with grit and fire, like a team desperate to prove something.

In the locker room, our postgame energy buzzed off the walls. Gloves smacked backs. Helmets knocked together in celebration. Coach cracked a rare smile.

It was the kind of performance that got talked about and had scouts looking your way.

I soaked up the feeling and the charge in the air. I let myself believe we might actually go all the way this season. The Frozen Four didn’t feel like a dream anymore. It could finally be within reach.

But the second I stepped out of the locker room, the high quickly deflated out of me when I saw Wells Perry leaning against the wall dressed in a fuckin’ polo and an overpriced jacket, wearing the same smug look on his punchable face. I guess not much had changed .

I didn’t speak to him. Didn’t even bother looking in his direction. But the second he opened his mouth, the tension shot through me like a check to the ribs.

“You heard from her?” he asked, voice low.

I kept walking. He followed, oblivious to the storm building behind my eyes.

“I’ve been trying to reach her,” he said. “She blocked me.”

Damn fuckin’ right she did.

“Maybe take the fuckin’ hint, then, yeah?”

I walked away without another word, but it stuck with me all night. The way he looked like he was somehow the one who’d been wronged.

I knew exactly what happened.

He leaked those photos. The private ones of him and my sister, Tatum. The ones she never even knew he took. He made her the center of a scandal so ugly she couldn’t show her face in town without someone whispering under their breath about her.

There was no proof it was him. No face in the pictures. No direct tie to Wells. Just enough implication to wreck her life. The shame was enough to make her run.

She left Rixton quickly after it happened. She didn’t say a word, not even to some of her closest friends. She packed what we could fit in a small trailer and left town without a word.

Except to me.

I’d been there beside her through it all. I helped her pack and drove her to Braysen. Got her set up in a house, staying with two of our childhood friends, Beckham and Hayes. She changed her number, deleted her socials off her phone, and started fresh .

Seeing Wells today, acting like he deserved answers and was owed forgiveness, had my fists curling before I even realized it.

If I didn’t have a letter stitched to my chest and scouts tracking my every move, I would’ve put him on the ice myself a long time ago. But I’d worked too hard to get where I was. I wasn’t about to throw this season or my future for a hit that would only satisfy my pride.

Still, his voice echoed in my head as I pushed through the front door of the hockey house, where I lived with my three roommates.

It was packed. Music pounded from the speakers. People filled every room and spilled out onto the lawn. Solo cups in hand, bodies swaying, laughter floating through the air like victory was already ours.

I should be celebrating. Knocking back a few beers and laughing with the guys.

Instead, all I could hear was Wells’s voice, echoing in the back of my mind.

All that before I saw her.

Wren Perry. Wells’s sister.

Only a Perry would walk into my house and pretend she belonged here. She didn’t, not after what her brother did to Tatum.

She stood in the entryway, framed by the glow of string lights and a blur of movement around her.

She looked out of place, polished in a way that clashed with the room, yet trying hard to disappear into it.

She gripped the bottle of sparkling water, picking at her nail with the other hand, her gaze darting around the room in search of an exit.

Seeing her here, like this was some casual Friday night hangout, pissed me off more than it should .

She didn’t look anything like Wells, but something in the way she carried herself reminded me of the mold Wells tried to force on Tatum. The version he thought would play well in the media and could win over his family.

The version he could use.

The version she never wanted to be.

Wren didn’t notice I was watching. She had no idea I’d already clocked her. I’d seen her around campus, but I’d never had the chance to really study her. And when I did, I hated the way it stole the breath from my lungs.

She was beautiful and not in the loud, look-at-me way most girls at these parties went for. She was a quiet beauty that made everyone else seem like they were trying too hard.

I almost missed Alisa’s wave, her voice cutting through the music. “Talon! You took off before I could introduce you to my roommate!”

Roommate. Of course.

Wren stiffened, her gaze snapping to me before Alisa could even finish. We crossed paths at parties last year, but never more than in passing. Now she was planted firmly between us—and this time, I didn’t look away.

I stepped toward her, slow enough to notice the shift in her posture and the way her chin lifted a fraction like she was bracing for whatever was coming.

It wasn’t our first exchange tonight. We both knew that, but it felt different now.

For all the reasons I should hate Wren, I couldn’t deny the attraction I felt toward her. It was messing with my head more than I wanted to admit. The guys were still cheering somewhere behind me, but a few of them turned to watch. I stopped when I was a few feet away.

Alisa glanced between us, oblivious to the tension in the air. “This is Talon,” she said brightly.

Wren’s heart was thudding. I could see the pulse in her neck.

“We’ve met,” Wren said before I could. Her voice was even, but there was the faintest edge to it, a challenge tucked in the words.

The corner of my mouth lifted. “Briefly,” I replied, meeting her eyes. “Didn’t expect you to stick around long, though.”

“I guess I’m full of surprises,” she said, and though her voice was steady, there was a flicker beneath it. Maybe it was intrigue or challenge… or perhaps both.

The noise behind us was still there. Beneath the music’s relentless pulse and the low murmur of nearby voices, I could feel eyes on us. Everyone here knew the history between our families—the fallout, and the lines that weren’t supposed to be crossed.

I took another step closer, lowering my voice so only she could hear. “Good to know.”

Her gaze flicked to the bold letters stretched across my jersey, then back to my face. Neither of us moved.

“I didn’t know this was your house,” she said, her voice careful but not timid.

“You’ve never been here.” I set my cup down on the table beside me. “Didn’t think anyone from the Perry family would ever show up here.”

That got her attention .

Her spine straightened, shoulders squaring. “That’s my last name,” she said evenly. “It’s not a warning label.”

Her voice was soft, but there was heat beneath it. Enough to make me pause.

Alisa laughed lightly, trying to smooth the edges. “Wren’s more books than beer. She doesn’t usually come to these kinds of things.”

“Exactly,” I said, not looking away from Wren. “This doesn’t seem like your kind of crowd. You sure this is where you want to be?”

Her jaw tightened. “I came with Alisa. She said it was safe.”

“Safe for who?” I stepped in enough to feel the air shift between us, the tension pulling tight. “You know the kind of damage your name’s left behind?”

She didn’t flinch. She tilted her head and pressed her lips together, weighing every possible answer before finally landing on the truth.

“I’m not here to defend anyone and certainly not my last name,” she said finally. “I came to Rixton to start over. To stop being someone I never chose to be.”

It hit me harder than I wanted to admit.

She was not defending him. Not pretending she was above it all. She was standing her ground in enemy territory, and I didn’t know if I wanted to push her away or see what she did next.

I took a moment to study her. The low light sharpened the lines of her profile, highlighting the flush in her cheeks from the heat, and the unflinching clarity in her brown eyes.

She was braver than I gave her credit for .

“You look like you could use a break,” I said, my voice low enough that it didn’t need to compete with the music.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Yeah, well, you keep making assumptions like you know me at all.” Her gaze swept the room, then returned to mine. “Where’s the bathroom in this place?”

I let the corner of my mouth curve. “There’ll be a line for the main one. Mine’s closer.”

She studied me, caught between taking what I was offering as an escape or bracing for a challenge. Her gaze flicked toward the hallway, then back, a spark of curiosity slipping past her guarded expression.

“Unless you’re afraid,” I added, letting the words settle between us.

Her brow lifted slightly. “Lead the way.”

I guided her through the crowd, brushing my hand along the small of her back as we moved. With every step, the noise of the party faded, the chaos thinning into something quieter. The tension between us pulled taut.

When we reached my room, I slipped my key into the lock and pushed the door open, letting it creak on its hinges.

She stopped in the doorway, her eyes scanning everything—the old jerseys tacked to the walls, a whiteboard cluttered with film notes and set plays, my gear bag half zipped beneath the window seat.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the doorframe, unwilling to cross whatever invisible line separated the party from here.

“First time in a hockey house?” I asked, voice softer now. Not teasing. Just curious .

She glanced at me over her shoulder. “Something like that.”

She stepped inside slowly, as if the floor might give beneath her. Her footsteps were quiet against the rug, fingers trailing across the top of my desk as she passed. Careful but curious, she moved as though she didn’t quite trust what she’d walked into… yet she wasn’t ready to walk away either.

I closed the door behind us. The latch clicked into place, louder in the quiet than I expected. It sealed the moment and cut off the party altogether.

Now it was just us.

She didn’t say anything for a second. I waited until she turned toward me, her arms folding loosely over her chest. Her breathing was steady, but her eyes gave her away.

“Thanks,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“Don’t mention it.”

And I wouldn’t.

She didn’t flinch when she heard my name, but I saw the quick jump of her pulse when I said hers.