Page 30 of The Players We Hate (Rixton U #2)

Wren

I hadn’t planned on coming here tonight.

After my access was revoked, I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, fighting the urge to reach out to Talon. Every part of me said I needed to talk to him, but doubt kept me frozen. Would he even hear me out? Or would he shut me down before I got a word in?

Then yesterday happened. Running into him outside practice. Hearing the panic in his voice when his aunt called about his mom. Climbing into his truck without thinking twice. I’d wanted to talk then, to spill everything, but it hadn’t been the time—not when his mom’s health came first.

But I couldn’t keep putting this off. Not anymore. Which was how I ended up here, standing in front of the hockey house with my heart pounding and documents tucked into the lining of my coat.

The house always felt like enemy territory, even after everything between us. Even after the way he’d touched me, proving he didn’t hate me as much as he wanted me to believe.

Music pounded behind the door, shouts and laughter carrying through the walls. Rowdy, probably. I waited for the noise to dip before knocking twice, my knuckles hesitant against the wood.

The door opened, and Rowdy stood there shirtless, a smirk already forming—until he saw me.

His grin dropped. “Perry?”

I tugged my coat tighter. “Is Talon here?”

Rowdy gave me a long look, as if he was trying to figure out if I was here to cause trouble. “He’s in his room. You can head up there.”

I nodded once and stepped past him, my stomach knotted.

“Thanks,” I murmured, slipping inside.

The house was warm and smelled faintly of takeout.

The living room was a mess—blankets tossed over the couch, pizza boxes on the table, cups shoved to the side.

Owen and one of his teammates were arguing over a video game while another guy slept with his hood pulled low.

A girl I didn’t know looked at me, but I kept my head down and headed for the stairs.

It wasn’t the same as before, when the house was packed and loud, when I felt drowned out by people who all knew each other. Tonight was quieter. No crowd to fade into, no noise to cover the nerves running through me.

Talon’s door was cracked, faint light spilling into the hall. My heart thudded as I lifted my hand and knocked.

“Yeah?” His voice finally came, low and rough, carrying the kind of edge that made my pulse jump .

I pushed the door open. He was on the edge of his bed, elbows braced to his knees, phone loose in one hand while the other dragged over the back of his neck like he’d been stuck there for hours. When his eyes lifted and locked on me, his whole body went still.

The quiet stretched until it was unbearable. Finally, his voice cut through it.

“Wren.” The word was flat, but his gaze didn’t waver. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

I swallowed, my throat dry. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

For a second, he didn’t move. He just watched me, studying every inch as if he was trying to decide what it meant for me to show up here after last night.

I slipped inside and shut the door. The air was warmer in here, heavier. The room smelled faintly of detergent and something familiar, maybe his cologne or the fabric softener from the hoodie I wore home.

He leaned back with his arms crossed, eyes locked on me. It wasn’t distance. It was him holding on tight, guarding himself, waiting to see what I’d do.

Before I lost my nerve, I asked the only thing that had been circling in my chest since yesterday.

“How’s your mom?”

The tension in his jaw shifted, his arms lowering just slightly. “She’s okay,” he said, quieter now. “We got her in to see a doctor today. They’re making adjustments to her medication, like you suggested.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “But that’s not why you’re here.”

My stomach twisted. I tightened my grip on the folder I’d pulled from my coat. Inside were the printed screenshots I’d hidden, the ones I hadn’t dared leave in the open .

“I traced one of Gavin’s payouts,” I said, my voice low. “And what I found ties everything together.”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t speak. Just waited.

I stepped closer, offering the stack. “Start here.”

He didn’t take it right away. His eyes stayed on me, weighing whether he even wanted to see what I had for him. Eventually, he slowly reached out. His fingers brushed mine longer than they needed to, and my breath hitched.

His gaze dropped to the papers. The crease between his brows deepened as he scanned the pages, the silence sharpening with every line he read.

“These sponsor names…” His voice was quiet, almost to himself. “None of them are real?”

“Not with anything solid behind them. They’re all shell companies—no websites, no socials.”

“And this enrichment fund?”

“It’s tied to a nonprofit—Brighter Futures. Looks clean on paper, but if you follow the money…” My chest tightened. “It goes back to my father.”

His head snapped up, eyes hard.

“I cross-checked the donations,” I pressed, my voice thin. “The amounts line up with Gavin’s account. And then I found this.” I tapped the page with the approval document, W.P. signed at the bottom.

Talon stared at the initials like he could burn them off the page by will alone.

“Right after that,” I whispered, “my access was revoked. Locked out in seconds. Someone had to know, because I was using a ghost account. ”

He set the papers on his nightstand carefully, like they might combust, then straightened. One step. Then another. Until the air between us was tight and charged.

“You’re really doing this,” he said finally, voice low. “You’re going against your own family.”

My stomach twisted, but I held his gaze. “If that’s what it takes, yes. I am.”

The pause that followed was heavy, like something inside him was fracturing.

“I wanted you to be guilty,” he admitted, his voice rough, almost ashamed. “I needed you to be. It would’ve made walking away easier.”

The words cut sharply through me.

“But you’re not, are you?” His eyes burned into mine, his voice dropping lower. “You’ve been carrying this on your own.”

“I didn’t think I had a choice.”

His jaw worked like he was biting back everything at once. Then his voice came, steady but breaking at the edges. “You do now.”

Before I could answer, his hand closed over mine, and when I didn’t pull away, he pulled me into his chest. My breath caught, the warmth of him cutting through my coat as his arms held on tight, as if he wasn’t ready to let go.

His voice rumbled low against my hair, rough with regret.

“I was wrong about you. About all of it. The things I said, the way I looked at you, the shit I accused you of… I hate myself for it. I should’ve trusted you.

I should’ve seen you for who you are instead of who I wanted you to be to make things easier on me. ”

The words hit deeper than I expected, leaving an ache in my chest.

“I made you the villain,” he whispered, his grip tightening, “because it was easier than admitting I was scared of what I felt. And I can’t take that back, but I’m sorry. God, Wren, I’m so damn sorry.”

The apology barely had time to register before his mouth was on mine. The kiss wasn’t soft—it was desperate, every press of his lips forcing the truth out. I grabbed his shirt, kissing him back just as hard, letting the weight of everything break open between us.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breath uneven. “Come with me,” he whispered. “We’re not doing this alone anymore.”

By the time we went downstairs, the noise of the earlier crowd was gone. The pizza boxes were cleared, blankets tossed aside, and the only ones left were Owen, Rowdy, and Kade, all sprawled across the living room like they’d been waiting.

Kade straightened when he saw me, his eyes narrowing. “What’s she doing here?”

“Hold on,” Talon said, lifting his phone. Reed’s face lit up the screen, the glow catching on Talon’s hand as he angled it toward us. “She’s got something we all need to hear.”

The room shifted. Owen leaned forward, arms braced on his knees. Rowdy raised a brow but stayed quiet for once. Kade folded his arms, his jaw ticking like he was ready to bite back.

“This better not be another distraction,” Kade muttered. “We’re already one wrong move from blowing it all up. ”

“It’s not,” Talon said flatly. His gaze flicked to me and held. “She wouldn’t be here if it were.”

The weight of his words landed hard, quieting even Rowdy’s usual quips. I slid the folder containing the screenshots from my hands and set it on the table. My fingers shook, but my voice didn’t.

“This is from the NIL system. Before I got locked out.”

I spread the first page showing Gavin’s deposit log. “This payout was flagged under a fake sponsor. I traced it back to a student enrichment fund running through a nonprofit called the Brighter Futures Initiative.”

Kade leaned closer, squinting. “Brighter Futures…”

“It’s a shell,” I said. “Looks good on paper, but it’s just moving money. Brighter Futures feeds into Pioneer Alliance, and that money shows up again as fake NIL deals.”

Talon nodded. “Didn’t you overhear Coach in his office, talking about a Brighter Futures donation?”

Kade dragged a hand over his neck. “Yeah. He mentioned Brighter Futures funding the next phase of their plan. I knew something didn’t add up, and this explains it.”

Reed’s voice cut in from the phone, clipped. “Wren, did you say Brighter Futures?”

“Yes.”

Keys clattered fast on his end. “That’s the same trail I found when I dug into the betting lines they pinned on Kade. Money starts with Pioneer Alliance, runs through Brighter Futures, and comes out the other side as NIL payouts. It’s a laundering cycle—payouts, bonuses, hush money.”

Owen let out a low whistle. “So it’s bigger than just a couple of sketchy payments. ”

“Way bigger,” Reed said. “Players aren’t just getting money—they’re being tied to someone’s agenda.”

“Whose?” Rowdy asked, his tone losing its usual ease. “Who’s pulling the strings?”