Page 34 of The Players We Hate
Not once did he say my name or call me his daughter. To them, I was justthe girl.
The hollow space in my chest twisted until his next words made my breath freeze.
“If Pierce interferes again,” he said slowly, “it would be awfully disappointing… if something were to happen to him.”
Something in his tone dropped, making him sound cold and menacing. The man beside him simply nodded. “Understood.”
My father’s gaze slid past him, scanning the arena. I followed the shift, catching sight of Talon as he skated out onto the ice.
And that was when it hit me. This wasn’t about rivalry or political cleanup. This was personal. Talon wasn’t safe because, whether he realized it or not, he knew too much. My father had decided that made him a risk.
“Watch him,” my father said again, his voice final. “If he steps out of line, if he opens his mouth, I want it shut down. Before it becomes a problem.”
The other man gave a curt nod and walked off, disappearing around the corner. My father stood there a moment longer before turning and freezing when he saw me.
His gait slowed. A flash of surprise crossed his face before it smoothed over into something practiced and unreadable.
He hadn’t known I was there. Hadn’t even thought to look.
Not unless he needed something from me.
I watched as his eyes swept over me. He didn’t ask how long I’d been standing there, but he didn’t need to. I saw it in the way his jaw ticked, in the slow inhale he tried to disguise. He was already mentally backtracking, spinning damage control.
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. I just stood there, the edges of my smile sharpened by every lie I’d been fed.
I’d spent years teaching myself how to disappear, until being invisible became the armor I never took off.
His expression warmed, and when he spoke, his tone was as rehearsed as a campaign commercial.
“There you are, sweetheart,” he said, like we’d simply lost track of one another in the crowd. “Thought I’d lost you.”
You didn’t even know I was gone.
I bit the words back, forcing a nod instead. “Just needed a breather,” I replied smoothly, motioning vaguely toward the opposite hallway. “Too many people.”
“Understandable,” he said, resting a hand on my lower back in that practiced, guiding way politicians did. “Let’s get back. They’ll be announcing the starting lineups any minute now.”
I let him steer me back to the box, every step echoing in my ears.
What else didn’t I know? What else had they buried under campaign promises and carefully selected headlines?
The conversation I’d overheard played on repeat in my head. His voice was clipped as he talked about Talon, as if he were a problem to be managed. Not a person. Not someone who was hurt by the damage his son created. Just another loose end to tie off before the November election.
“If he opens his mouth, I want to know about it before the press does.”
A chill crawled down my spine.
He hadn’t said Tatum’s name outright, but he didn’t need to. Not after how Talon reacted when I mentioned her. The meaning was clear.
Keep it quiet.
Protect the image.
Bury the damage.
Inside the box, the air was stifling. Voices overlapped, glasses clinked, the crowd buzzing even before the game began. The tension sat heavy, all smiles on the surface while everyone angled for the cameras and clawed for power underneath.
I slipped into my seat beside my mother, who was already swept up in conversation with one of the donors’ wives. It took a moment before she glanced my way, distracted, then turned back to the ice. She hadn’t even noticed I’d been gone.
