Page 35 of The Players We Hate
Below us, the rink gleamed under the lights. Players in black-and-silver jerseys cut across the ice, warm-up shots echoing against the boards. The crowd roared as the announcer called the starting lineup.
Then he skated out. Number 20.
Talon carried the kind of confidence that drew every eye, but the tension in his body told the truth. And even in all of that, he still searched for me.
His gaze skimmed the box, and when it hit mine, something jolted through me—sharp, impossible to ignore. For a second, everything else slipped away—the overheard conversation, the unanswered message, the secrets closing in.
I leaned forward, pulse tight in my throat, eyes locked on him.
Maybe I couldn’t fix what my family had broken. But I was done pretending I didn’t seeit.
Chapter Ten
Talon
Smoke from the bonfire drifted into the night, mixing with the bass that rattled off the stone walls of Devil’s Backbone. The old tunnel stretched dark behind us, a scar in the mountain turned party spot. Cars were jammed along the dirt trail for nearly a mile, their headlights cut, everyone already lost in the crowd.
I tugged at the collar of my leather jacket and rolled my shoulders. The faux claw marks slashed across my chest peeked through the ripped flannel I’d thrown on at the last minute. The wolf ears on my head were Rowdy’s idea. A smear of stage blood ran down my neck and over my collarbone, finishing the whole “Big Bad Wolf” vibe we were going for.
The rest of the guys leaned in harder than I had. Kade was wearing fangs, and Rowdy had glued on fur patches and stuck plastic claws on his gloves.
Still, it got a laugh out of people. And if there was one thing we needed this season, it was a distraction. A win on the ice. A break from the weight pressing on all sides.
I hadn’t planned to text Wren, but the group thread had been buzzing about the party for days, and something about the way she’d avoided me after last week’s game got under my skin. So I sent her a half-assed message.
Me: I’m going tonight. Bet you won’t show.
Her reply came hours later.
Wren: You’re probably right.
And maybe she was. I hadn’t expected her. Not after the hallway. Not after that look in the box—eyes cutting into me, as if I was both the problem and the punishment.
The fire snapped behind me, dry wood breaking under the heat.
And then I felt her.
My body registered her before my eyes did—everything inside me shifting. The noise dulled, a static hush pressing in. The music faded until all I caught was the pound of my heartbeat.
Then I turned. And fuck me—there she was.
Wren stepped into view, framed in firelight and chaos, a forbidden fairy tale made flesh. A sin in red.
The cape slipped off her shoulders as she stepped closer. The dress underneath clung to her, tight enough it looked sewn on. A black corset pulled her waist in, lifted her chest, and heat twisted in my gut. The hood still hung around her shoulders, the red satin catching the firelight—same as her lips.
Fuck. She wore it like a dare. Sheknew.
My chest tightened, breath catching as if my lungs forgot how to work. My pulse hammered low and hard, blood rushing in my ears. I barely noticed Rowdy elbow Kade, or Kade nudge me, stunned by the sight of her in thigh-high boots.
Wren didn’t look anywhere else. Her eyes scanned the crowd, landed on mine, and held. Waiting to see if I’d turn away.
Hell no. I couldn’t if I tried.
She moved with purpose, every step certain, walking into the wolves’ den as if daring it to bite.
Alisa practically skipped, glowing in a pastel dress with a crown of daisies, her hair woven with ribbons, glitter dusted over her shoulders. She clung to Wren’s arm, whispering something that made Wren laugh softly, but even that laugh didn’t pull her eyes off mine.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” Alisa said, strutting up like this washerwin. “She wasn’t going to come, but I reminded her you’d be here.”
