Page 105 of The Players We Hate
“Sorry, didn’t mean to just show up,” I said, my voice low. “I was gonna text, but…”
“I’ve been ignoring my phone for a bit, so I’m glad you didn’t.”
Her tone was soft, sincere. She tugged at her sleeve hem, pulling it over her knuckles. She looked tired, the kind of tired that came from carrying too much for too long.
I stepped closer. “How are you holding up?”
Before she could answer, Alisa came out of the bathroom with a towel around her head and a smirk already in place.
“If it isn’t the knight in bruised armor,” she said.
“Alisa—” Wren started, but she cut her off.
“I’m just saying,” Alisa teased, eyes flicking between us, “he’s been broody as hell on ESPN, and you’ve been watching that clip like it’s your favorite rom-com.”
I coughed into my hand, fighting a laugh. Wren groaned.
Alisa snagged her keys from the desk and pointed at me. “I’ve been keeping an eye on her while you’ve been out there in playoff interviews, throwing punches without ever dropping your gloves. Don’t worry, I know when to make myself scarce.” She winked at Wren. “You’re welcome.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
Wren shook her head, but I caught the corner of her mouth trying to hide a smile.
“She’s the best,” I said.
“She is,” she admitted, then stilled when she caught the look on my face.
I dropped my voice. “But I was hoping you’d come with me.”
Her brows pulled together. “Come where?”
“Back to the house.” I rubbed the back of my neck, nerves buzzing under my skin. “I don’t like the thought of you here alone, watching your phone light up every time your name is mentioned. Kade’s visiting his mom, and Rowdy and Owen hit up the rink for a bit. We’ve got space. And you and me…” I hesitated. “We haven’t really had time. Not since before the playoffs started.”
Her gaze lifted, something soft flickering beneath the exhaustion. “You want me to stay with you?”
I brushed a piece of hair from her cheek. “Yeah. I do.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Okay,” she whispered.
She didn’t say much while she packed, but I could see a little of the strain lift knowing she wouldn’t spend the night dodging her phone. She folded her jeans into clean stacks, zipped her bag, and wound her charger before tucking it into the side pocket.
I leaned on the doorframe, watching her move around the room, double-checking she had everything.
“You sure you don’t wanna bring the whole closet?” I tried, aiming for lightness.
She glanced over her shoulder, lips twitching. “Tempting, but I wasn’t planning to be gone long.”
“Wren, you should know there are people outside. Two cars, same as the ones that followed me here.”
Her eyes snapped to mine. “Press?”
“Maybe. Or your dad’s people, keeping tabs.”
She drew in a breath, shoulders rising and falling, then reached for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with missed calls and unread texts. Without pausing, she opened her settings—one tap to shut off location, another to hit do not disturb.
The silence felt final.
She set the phone face down. “That’s it,” she said quietly. “No more watching, no more controlling me.”
