Page 31 of The Players We Hate
I froze. The others kept walking, but I stayed still, every muscle tensing.
I didn’t have to turn to know it was her.
Her heels clicked lightly against the tile floor, and when I looked back, she was weaving past a confused-looking faculty rep, murmuring something about following up with a player. Her lips were painted a soft mauve, her eyes flicking toward mine like she was bracing for impact.
For a second, I hated that I wanted to pull her into the nearest room and ask her why the hell she was here and why we were still pretending the other night never happened.
“I didn’t get the chance to say this the other night,” she said, stopping in front of me. Her voice was low, the nerves vibrating beneath the surface. “But I didn’t know who you were. That night. I didn’t know you were Tatum’s brother.”
The air thickened between us.
I studied her. She looked different again. Her shoulders were tight, her hands clasped, but her voice didn’t waver. She meant it. Still, it wasn’t enough to quiet the storm in my chest.
“And if you had known?” I asked, my voice low and rough. “Would it have changed anything?”
Wren’s eyes flicked to the side, her fingers twisting the edge of her sleeve. “I don’t think so,” she said quietly. “But I should’ve known. Your last name should’ve clicked, but I wasn’t thinking about anything except… you.”
The way she said it made something twist in my gut. There wasn’t a trace of control or manipulation in her voice. Only a raw kind of honesty that hit harder than I expected.
“Maybe it was for the best you didn’t know,” I said, watching her closely. “If we’d acknowledged it that night… maybe none of this would’ve happened. I happen to like that you don’t care about who I am on the ice.”
Her eyes snapped back to mine, a flicker of something soft in their depths. “I don’t,” she said, firmer this time. “That night… it wasn’t about who you are to everyone else. It was about how I felt. With you.”
The words punched through something in me. Because I felt it too.
“I don’t care about the jersey, or your stats, or how loud people cheer when you step on the ice. I care about how you looked at me that night. For once, I didn’t feel invisible.”
I couldn’t breathe for a second. Couldn’t move.
Because she understood. She saw past the captain, past Tatum’s brother, past the name her father could twist into leverage. She saw me.
“I heard there was a falling out between you and Wells,” she said, testing the waters. “I didn’t know the whole story, but… I’ve heard things.”
I stayed still, forcing myself not to react, even as every muscle in my body pulled tight.
“He embarrassed your sister, didn’t he?” she asked softly. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but it must’ve been bad.”
Her voice wavered at the end, and for a second, I hated that I couldn’t lump her in with him. I couldn’t bring myself to despise her the way I did her brother because something in me believed she meant it. I wanted to believe she cared.
“Is she okay?” she asked, quieter now.
I looked away, jaw flexing.
Tatum hadn’t wanted anyone to know the full truth. Especially not someone who shared blood with the guy who’d hurt her.
“She’s not here,” I said after a long pause. “That’s all you need to know.”
Wren’s breath caught, and something shifted behind her eyes. I’d slammed a door she didn’t even know she’d been reaching for.
“I didn’t mean to overstep,” she said. “I just… I wanted to know. After the other night, I thought maybe—”
“You thought wrong,” I cut in.
Her lips parted, but she stayed quiet, and for a second, I almost regretted snapping. Almost. She stood there like every answer I didn’t know how to ask for, every quiet moment I’d been chasing all week.
But I couldn’t let her see that. Not with her father upstairs, shaking hands with my coach, already carving out the future of this team.
I stepped back, pulse hammering in my throat. I needed space and some air.
