Page 43 of The Players We Hate
His voice dropped, cold and clipped. “She’s my sister. She doesn’t need you messing with her head to get even with me.”
“No,” I snapped. “She doesn’t need me feeding her anything. Maybe you’re scared of her finding out the truth on her own. What you and your father did and who you truly are.”
For a second, the tension tightened between us. His shoulders squared, his lip curling like he had one last card to play.
“You think you’re helping her?” Wells hissed. “You’re not. You’re dragging her into a storm she can’t handle. And when it blows up, she’ll be the one paying for it. Not you.”
I let my bag hit the sidewalk and shoved him back into the brick column. My forearm came up across his chest, holding him there. His breath caught, his pulse kicking hard under my arm.
“You don’t get to talk about storms,” I growled. “You blackmailed my sister until she had no choice but to run. You wrecked her life to save your own skin. So don’t stand here and pretend you give a damn about protecting Wren.”
His jaw tightened, chin lifting, certain he still had the upper hand. “You’ll ruin her, too,” he bit out. “You think you’re different, but you’re not. You’ll drag her down with you.”
“No,” I said, voice low. “The only one who’s ever dragged her down is standing right in front of me.”
We locked eyes, both breathing hard. Then he shoved at my chest, spitting out the words through gritted teeth.
“Get off me.”
I leaned in close, my voice low and controlled. “Stay out of her life, Perry. Try to drag Wren down like you did Tatum, and you’ll regret it.”
The shift hit me all at once, a warning, a silent war declared in the space between us. I braced for it, fists tight and body coiled, until a slow, familiar voice cut through the courtyard.
“Damn, Talon, you're trying to rack up penalty minutes before the game?”
Rowdy.Of course.
I didn’t have to look to know it was him. The amusement in his voice carried from a mile away, the grin laced with trouble and enough warning to tell me to ease up. Then he was there, sliding between us, clapping a hand against my chest and pushing me back an inch.
“Come on, man,” he said lightly, keeping his tone even. “Coach’ll lose his mind if you’re late because you were caught fighting. Save it for the ice.”
“I’m good,” I muttered, though my fists told a different story.
Rowdy turned his attention to Wells, his expression sharp. “You always gotta wind him up before warm-ups, Perry? He needs that fire for his slapshot, not to deal with your fragile ego.”
Wells tugged his jacket straighter, clinging to whatever pride he had left. “This isn’t about ego.”
Rowdy grinned. “Nah. You’ve got more helicopter-bro vibes than protective ones. It’s overkill.”
I almost laughed, but I swallowed it down. Rowdy’s jokes eased the edge, though not enough to unclench my fists or my jaw.
He tipped his head toward the rink. “We’ve got fifteen minutes till warm-ups. Save the fight for the ice.”
I gave a sharp nod. “I’m coming.”
Rowdy pivoted, clapping me on the shoulder as he threw Wells one last side-eye on his way out. “You’ve had your little chat. Now quit poking the bear before he bites.”
I thought that would be the end of it, but when we came up on the nearest bench, Wells couldn’t help himself.
“I heard about the Halloween party.”
We slowed, though neither of us turned fully. Rowdy’s smirk lingered, sharp at the edges.
Wells’s voice was thick with smugness. “The hand-in-hand exit? Bold move, even for you, Pierce.” His glare cut straight at me. “You want to screw around with girls on campus, that’s your problem. But stay the hell away from my sister.”
The pause that followed was heavy, stretched tight between us.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and cut him a glare sharp enough to slice. “You don’t tell her what to do anymore. And you sure as hell don’t tell me.”
