Page 6 of The Players We Hate (Rixton U #2)

Talo n

I woke to a sliver of sunlight cutting across my face, sharp and blinding, as if the universe was reminding me there was no escaping what I had done last night.

The first thing I noticed was the emptiness beside me.

The sheets were twisted where she had been, the warmth already fading.

I stretched out in the hollow she left, as if pressing myself into it could keep her there, could stop the moment from slipping through my fingers.

Her scent lingered—lavender and vanilla, soft and sharp all at once.

It settled over me as a quiet reminder that she had been here, and for a moment, she had been mine.

Wren.

Her name pressed into my chest, heavy and impossible to ignore.

I shifted onto my back, muscles tight, the ache in my body matching the chaos in my head.

I closed my eyes, but the image of her was still there—her lips parted, breath shallow, and eyes locked on mine as she came apart beneath me, unwilling to let the moment end.

And I hadn’t wanted it to either .

She slipped out after, and I let her go, giving her the head start she wanted so no one would catch us together. I should have gone with her. Instead, I stayed behind, staring at the ceiling as if it might hold answers.

It hadn’t been just a hookup.

That was what it should have been. Another distraction in a long line of distractions. A way to take the edge off the need to touch her. But the way she looked at me made it impossible to resist, and I gave in to the temptation of watching her fall apart in my hands.

That was when I knew it was already more. Not with the way her body answered mine, like she trusted me with pieces of herself she never meant to give away. I knew it the moment she whispered my name, soft and breathless, like it carried weight.

When she left, I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter.

But even in the dark, her scent clung to me, and I couldn’t stop replaying it—the tremble of her body under my hands, the hitch in her breath when I pushed her closer to the edge, the way she clung to me as though I was the only thing keeping her grounded.

I had gotten off thinking about her.

Even hours later, I could still taste her on my tongue.

The buzz of my phone on the nightstand pulled me out of the memories. Three new messages lit up the screen.

Beckham: Great game last night, bro. Just caught the highlights and you were shutting 'em down like a beast.

Hayes: You and Owen were unstoppable. The Frozen Four is without a doubt happening this season .

Another ping.

Hayes: Tatum’s doing good. Says she finally unpacked everything. She got a job at a local bakery and seems happier. She said this was the fresh start she needed.

I stared at the message, jaw tightening.

Tatum.

My little sister. The one who had been forced to leave when it all went to hell. The girl who had to start over after her trust was shattered.

And I had hooked up with his sister.

Wren’s last name hadn’t left scars on her skin like it had on Tatum’s. Scars deep enough to make her run. Scars that almost broke her.

What the hell had I done?

I dragged a hand through my hair, guilt hitting hard and fast. I should have stopped it. Should have walked away before it ever got this far.

But I hadn’t. Because the moment she asked me to touch her, the moment her eyes locked on mine with that look I couldn’t shake, nothing else had mattered.

I swiped quickly and texted back:

Me: Appreciate it. Glad she’s settling in. Tell her I’ll call soon.

I dropped the phone on the nightstand and leaned forward, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.

This shouldn’t have happened. Wren never should have ended up in my bed .

But it hadn’t felt like a mistake. Not when every second with her gave me something I hadn’t even known I was missing until it was right in front of me.

Her last name didn’t matter. The rules didn’t matter. She was already under my skin, and I didn’t think I could cut her out if I tried.

The second I climbed out of bed, the air felt colder. Sharper. My muscles ached, but not from practice. It was a different kind of sore, a tension wound tight inside me that wouldn’t ease.

I padded across the hardwood floor, the memory of her voice curling around me like smoke.

Promise me you’ll keep this between us.

That whisper played on a loop in my head, quiet but cutting.

Most girls wanted to be seen. Wanted people to know they had been with me. Like sleeping with the guy wearing the “C” was some kind of prize.

But Wren?

She hadn’t even stuck around. And I hated how much that still ate at me.

It wasn’t my ego. Not really.

When her name left Alisa’s mouth, all I had seen was Tatum.

Sitting at our old kitchen table with hollowed eyes and trembling hands, pretending she wasn’t shattered.

I remembered how she tensed with each buzz of her phone, how her eyes settled on me, expecting me to fix it.

And I tried. I had been trying my whole damn life.

She had been barely old enough to lose her first tooth when our dad looked me dead in the eye and told me I was the man of the house.

Said it was my job to protect them. Then he left.

Disappeared like a coward and dumped all that weight onto a kid who didn’t even know how to tie a tie or fix a busted lock.

So I held it together the best I could. I pushed myself harder on the ice, wanting to be stronger, sharper, more disciplined. My whole life had been about looking out for the people I loved, even when it meant losing parts of myself along the way.

I grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom, hoping a shower would clear my head. It didn’t.

The moment the spray hit my skin, everything I had tried to bury flooded right back in. Wren beneath me, her breath catching, the taste of her on my tongue as she fell apart.

I braced both hands against the tile, eyes shut, jaw clenched.

I couldn’t stop seeing her. Couldn’t stop feeling her.

She was everywhere—in every breath, every pulse, every aching second. I tried to fight it, but I was already gone.

My body moved on instinct, and I gave in to the storm she left behind. It was fast, desperate, messy, and when it was over, I pressed my forehead to the wall, steam curling around me as I struggled to catch my breath.

She had known.

She had to have known.

There was no way she didn’t know what her brother had done to Tatum. No way she could look me in the eye without feeling the weight of it between us. And still, she had never said a word.

Maybe that was what hit hardest. Not what we did, but that she saw me—every rough edge, every scar—and didn’t back down .

Or perhaps that was why I was only a secret to her. Something reckless and forgettable. Something she could tuck away in a box and pretend never happened.

Just like I was trying and failing to do right now.

She didn’t want word getting back to her brother any more than I wanted Tatum finding out.

The worst part? I wasn’t sure I would choose differently if I could do it all again.

And deep down, twisted and dark as it was… I wanted Wells to find out.

I wanted him to know exactly what I had done. I wanted him to wonder if I would ruin his sister the way he had ruined mine. Let him sweat. Let him question if I was capable of doing to her what he had done to Tatum.

I dried off fast, dragging on sweats and a hoodie without bothering to look in the mirror.

But when I passed the foggy glass, I stopped. Water dripped from my hair, my reflection hazy. I swiped a hand across the surface, and when my face came into view, I hated what I saw.

Not because I felt guilty, but because I didn’t.

Beneath the sharp edges and practiced smirk, I looked wrecked. Not from going too far. Not from guilt. From her.

From the way she looked at me—as if I wasn’t just a body, a hookup, a headline, or another forgettable night. She looked at me as though I mattered. As though I was worth something.

She hadn’t seen the player, the stats, the muscle, or the chip on my shoulder. She had seen the man beneath it, trusted him, and given herself to him in ways I hadn’t expected .

And it rattled the hell out of me.

I’d never had that before. Every hookup before her was surface level, just an escape to keep people at arm’s length. Take what I wanted, move on, feel nothing.

But Wren… she let me in. She gave me pieces of herself I never expected, and it hit a part of me I thought was gone.

Now I didn’t know if I should forget it or chase the next time she’ll look at me like that again.

“Morning, sunshine,” Owen said around a mouthful of cereal, tone easy but gaze too sharp to ignore. “Sleep alright?”

I grunted, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. “Sure.”

“You missed a hell of a party.”

I twisted the cap open and took a long drink, avoiding his stare. “Wasn’t in the mood.”

He hopped down from the counter, bare feet hitting the tile with a dull thud. “No?” His tone stayed casual, but an edge sharpened every word. “So… what was that I saw last night?”

My hand stilled mid-drink.

“You’re gonna have to elaborate,” I quipped even though I already knew where this was going.

Owen gave me a smirk, one brow lifted. “Wells Perry’s sister.”

Her name on his lips was a blow to the ribs. I didn’t flinch, but I didn’t confirm it either.

His brows rose. “You gonna play it off like that was nothing? ’Cause I saw you disappear upstairs with her.”

I held his stare for a second, then glanced down at the counter, jaw tight. The silence between us stretched until I finally said, “Not that it’s any of your business, but nothing happened. And besides, I doubt I’ll ever see her here again. This wasn’t her scene anyway.”

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

He was quiet for a beat too long. “Yeah,” he said slowly, dragging the word out like he didn’t believe a damn word. “Sure looked like nothing happened when she came flying out of your room later. You know… freshly fucked.”

My head snapped up, glare sharp. “Don’t talk about her that way. Have some fuckin’ respect.”

He smirked and shrugged. “I’m just saying what I saw.”

My pulse kicked harder in my throat, jaw flexing. “Whatever you think you saw, you’re wrong. Mind your own business and drop it.”

Owen raised both hands in mock surrender but didn’t back off. “Okay, man. Figured I’d ask since, you know… Wells showed up outside the locker room after the game.”

I went still. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” he said, too casually. “Thought maybe you were making a statement.”

My spine straightened. “You think I’d use her to get back at him?”

“I think you’ve had reasons to hate the guy,” Owen replied, meeting my eyes. “And I think you’ve done crazier shit for less.”

The accusation burned hotter than it should have. “Wren isn’t part of this. This isn’t some payback.”

“No?” He tilted his head. “Then what’s she part of?”

I shoved a hand through my hair, the back of my neck burning. “I didn’t plan for this, alright? It just… happened. ”

Owen eyed me, something unreadable flickering behind his expression. “So what are you gonna do if Tatum finds out?”

I froze. My chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with Wren’s body and everything to do with Tatum’s face flashing through my mind—the look of betrayal and hurt after what Wells had done, only now it was aimed at me.

“She won’t,” I said flatly.

Owen’s voice dropped. “That’s not what I asked.”

My temper flared. “Nothing happened .”

“Sure.” Owen smirked again, but this one felt colder. “Tell yourself whatever you need to so you can sleep at night.”

I glared at him, but he turned away, rinsing out his bowl without another word.

Owen disappeared upstairs, and I was left standing in the kitchen with nothing but the echo of his words and the memory of her walking out the door. The silence pressed in, suffocating, reminding me exactly what I had done and who I had done it with.

And maybe he was right. Perhaps she was a mistake waiting to happen. The truth I couldn’t escape was that I’d let it happen again.