Page 39 of The Players We Hate (Rixton U #2)

Wren ~ September

The start of the hockey season had the campus buzzing. The Wolves just won their first preseason scrimmage, and the house was packed shoulder to shoulder. It was the kind of scene I used to avoid, but now I walk right into it.

It’d been a year since Talon and I met, and everything had slowed down since. No constant headlines. No walking on eggshells. Just space to breathe and figure out what we were outside the chaos.

When summer ended, Talon was the one hauling boxes out of his truck and up the stairs to the apartment Alisa and I rented.

He fixed the table that wouldn’t sit level, argued over the couch, and didn’t leave until the last frame was hung.

For the first time, I had a place that was mine.

Not my parents’. Not the school’s. Mine.

We’d grown in the quiet moments as much as the loud ones—coffee in my kitchen before practice and late nights on my beat-up couch watching whatever we could agree on. The kind of normal I never thought I’d have with him .

And I saw the change in him too. Sharper on the ice, locked in with the team, but calmer when he wasn’t. He didn’t carry that edge everywhere anymore.

By nightfall, the campus had poured itself into the hockey house. Music rattled the windows, a bonfire burned in the backyard, and the lawn was packed with people dancing, spilling off the porch into the grass.

Last season, I would’ve been bracing for whispers, worried about every pair of eyes on me. But now, I wasn’t slipping in, hoping no one saw me. I was here with Talon. His hand rested at my back as we walked through the door—a quiet reminder we didn’t have to hide anymore.

We worked our way through the crowd until we spotted Rowdy in the middle of the living room, holding court the way he always did.

Three freshmen hung on his every word while he reenacted some story about the Wolves’ “glory days” even though he was a junior now.

He used a beer can as a prop, showing off his “game-winning move” before nearly toppling into the couch.

“Glory days?” Owen cut in from the wall, smirking. “You mean the one time you blocked a shot with your face?”

Rowdy threw an arm around him, grinning. “A hero bleeds for his team, Owen. And you? You bruise like a peach.”

Kade groaned, sinking into the chair beside Willow. “You’ve been milking that bruise for six months. Let it go.”

Willow nudged him with her shoulder, smiling. “Don’t be jealous. Not everyone can make a black eye legendary.”

The room burst out laughing, and Rowdy took a dramatic bow before someone handed him another drink. The freshmen cheered like he was already an NHL star, and he soaked it up, grinning ear to ear.

Talon leaned close, his hand brushing my hip. “Every party. He can’t help himself.”

And this time, I didn’t feel like I was on the outside looking in. I was right there with them—laughing, caught up in the team’s chaos instead of standing off to the side.

The living room was crowded, heat building from too many bodies crammed into one space.

Empty cups littered the tables, and someone’s jacket was tossed across the arm of the couch.

It was easy to miss the door opening, but the ripple in the crowd gave it away.

Voices dipped, heads turned, and a small group squeezed through.

A couple of girls I recognized from campus came in first—faces I’d seen around but never spoken to. Behind them was someone new.

She was tall and blond, but not dressed for a night out.

Faded jeans, a plain black tee, and sneakers that had seen better days.

Her hair was straight, parted neatly down the middle, and the only pop of color was the swipe of red lipstick that made her stand out without even trying.

Her arms were crossed as she followed the others in, chin tipped just enough to meet the stares head-on. And there were plenty of them.

I leaned toward Talon, nodding at the door. “Do you know her?”

His gaze followed mine, tracking the blonde near the entrance.

He studied her for a long second, his brow pulling tight before he shook his head.

“Never seen her before.” His tone was thoughtful, as if he was trying to place her and coming up empty.

His arm stayed firm around my waist as his eyes flicked back once more. “Definitely not anyone I know.”

“Who’s that?” Owen asked, already watching her too.

Kade lowered his drink, squinting through the crowd. “Heard she’s Coach Dawson’s daughter.”

The room seemed to pause. Even over the music, I felt the shift in attention.

Rowdy sat up straighter, brows pulled tight. “Wait. Coach doesn’t have a daughter. He’s got two sons. That’s it.”

Kade shrugged, but his eyes stayed locked on her. “That’s what I thought too. But somebody said she just transferred in. Supposedly, she’s his kid.”

Owen frowned, clearly thrown. “Since when?”

Nobody answered. Rowdy leaned forward, still looking at her like he was trying to make sense of it. “Doesn’t add up.”

I glanced back toward the doorway. She hadn’t moved far, her arms still crossed, her eyes sweeping the room as if she was weighing every step before she took it. People noticed her, but everyone kept their distance.

The guys exchanged looks, and I knew I wasn’t the only one thinking it.

They’d been suspicious of Coach before, wondering if he was tied up in everything that went down last season.

He’d stood in front of them at training camp, swearing up and down he had nothing to do with it. In the end, they took him at his word.

But with her standing there—someone none of them had ever heard of—the doubt crept back in. And with my dad off the board, more eyes were on the staff, on every decision. There was less room for Coach to slip, less cover if something went wrong .

The music kept thumping, laughter carried from the kitchen, and the guys eventually fell back into their usual back-and-forth. Still, the question didn’t leave with the silence. It hung under the noise, heavier than before.

That was when Talon’s hand slid into mine. He didn’t say anything at first, just tugged me through the crowd as the music pounded around us.

I stumbled a step, laughing as people shifted to make room. “What’s this?” I asked, raising my brows when he glanced back. “Bailing on your own party?”

His grin flickered, but his eyes stayed locked on mine, making my chest tighten. He leaned in, his mouth brushing my ear, his voice low and rough.

“I’ve been waiting a year for this,” he said.

“That first night you showed up here, all I wanted was you. But I stopped—because you deserved more than a hookup at a party with someone I would’ve thought you wanted to forget.

” His hand tightened around mine, his voice lower now.

“Tonight’s different. Tonight, I want to give you everything I couldn’t then. ”

He didn’t slow until we reached the top of the stairs, weaving past people camped out on the steps, too caught up in their own conversations to notice us. The higher we climbed, the quieter it got, and the anticipation in me only grew.

By the time his door clicked shut, the party was nothing more than a muffled hum. The faint smell of detergent and cedar lingered in the room, the only light coming from a lamp on his nightstand.

Talon pressed me against the door, his hands framing my face before his mouth crushed mine.

It wasn’t rushed or careless—not the way it had been a year ago—but full of the hunger of someone who’d been waiting too long.

His thumbs brushed my cheeks, tender even as the kiss deepened, rough with everything he’d been holding back.

His breath dragged across my lips, his grip tightening on my hip. “I should’ve had you the second I knew what you tasted like. Buried myself so deep you were ruined for anyone else. You’re mine, you’ve been mine since that first night, and I’m going to make sure you feel it with every inch of me.”

He pressed his forehead to mine, voice dropping. “That night, I wanted you so bad. But I couldn’t touch you. You deserved better than being another mistake. Better than me back then.” His hand slid lower, steady on my hip. “But tonight? Tonight, you’re mine, and I’m yours.”

Heat rushed through me, my fingers curling into his shirt, needing him closer.

He kissed me again, slower this time, showing me this wasn’t only about want. His lips traced along my jaw, down my neck, before nipping hard enough to make me gasp.

The words stayed with me, heavy with promise.

Clothes came off in quick tugs—his hands rough one moment, careful the next. My shirt hit the floor, his jeans followed, and soon it was just us, skin to skin. He kissed me through every piece he pulled away, whispering the things he’d wanted to tell me a year ago but hadn’t.

“You don’t know how bad I’ve craved this,” he muttered, lips dragging down my throat, across my chest. “Craved you, begging me to ruin you.”

My breath caught as my nails sank into his skin. “Then ruin me,” I whispered .

He groaned deep in his chest, shifting over me, his weight pinning me to the mattress. His forehead pressed to mine, his hand cradling my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone.

“Look at me, Wren,” he said, voice hoarse.

My eyes opened, and what I saw there nearly undid me. Not just want—something deeper.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words breaking free as he pushed inside me.

The breath tore from my lungs, my hands clinging to him as he moved. His groan, low and raw, went straight through me. He started slow, careful, his lips finding mine between thrusts, as if he wanted me to feel not just his body but his love in every touch.

“Mine,” he rasped against my mouth. “Every inch of you. Mine.”

Everything else fell away, and there was only him, and the way he loved me until I couldn’t breathe anything but his name.

* * *

Thank you for reading The Players We Hate !

As a special thank you for preordering or downloading on release day, keep reading to enjoy an exclusive bonus scene that dives even deeper into Talon and Wren’s slow-burn tension.

And their story doesn’t end there—keep scrolling to the very end for their bonus epilogue and to see what to read next!