Page 84 of The Players We Hate
“We all look for the simple answer first,” she said, glancing up at me. “Don’t beat yourself up. You already have a lot on your plate.”
For the first time, I really looked at her. Her eyes were tired, but focused.
“She reminds me of my mom,” she admitted. “The mom I knew as a kid. She tried so hard to stay strong, but she never let anyone see when she wasn’t. By the time it caught up to her, I’d already learned how to keep the secret too.”
The lump in my throat made it impossible to answer.
Wren shifted her gaze back to my mom. “Has she said anything else strange lately? Balance issues, confusion?”
Susan nodded from the chair. “She gets shaky. Slurred her words twice. Swears it’s nothing. Says it’s just stress.”
Wren’s brow furrowed as she pressed the back of her hand lightly to my mom’s forehead, then brushed damp strands of hair from her temple. “It could be her medication, or her body isn’t regulating the way it should. But she needs to be checked. This isn’t something she can push through.”
I leaned against the wall, the weight of it pressing into my chest like stone.
After we got her settled and made sure she ate the peanut butter and crackers, I found myself in the kitchen, staring at my hands while Wren poured tea into mismatched mugs. The cabinets behind her were worn and chipped. I’d grown up with them that way. The heaviness sitting in my chest—I’d grown up with that too.
She set a mug in front of me, her fingers brushing mine. “She’ll be okay for now,” Wren said gently. “She just needs to keep her levels steady.”
I nodded, staring into the steam. “She wasn’t diagnosed until later. I was old enough to remember her pushing through it like nothing was wrong. She wouldn’t even tell me when she felt off. By the time she finally saw a doctor, it was worse than it should’ve been.”
Wren’s gaze lifted to mine, calm and unwavering.
“You talk like you’ve done this before,” I said, narrowing my eyes slightly. “How do you know so much?”
Her shoulders shifted, the faintest hesitation before she answered. “My father. He’s diabetic, too.”
The name landed hard in the quiet kitchen. My jaw tightened. The reminder of who he was and what he’d do if he knew we were together sat heavy between us.
Wren’s eyes flickered, like she’d felt it too. She looked down at her tea, then back at me. “That’s why I knew what to do. And I’m glad you didn’t tell me to leave. I’m glad I came with you tonight.”
I didn’t trust myself to speak. I only nodded, grateful in a way I didn’t know how to admit.
A little while later, after grabbing a hoodie from my old room, I walked back in and caught her by the wall. Arms crossed, head tilted, staring at the photos. One of me in gear two sizes too big, grinning with a gap where a tooth used to be. A bunch of trophies lined up like they were worth more than cheap plastic.
“You were serious about it even back then,” she said softly, almost to herself. Her fingers brushed the edge of one frame, a picture of me holding up a state banner, cheeks flushed and hair sticking up under my helmet. “It’s kind of… sweet. Seeing you like this. Teenage Talon.”
I leaned against the doorframe, watching her take it all in. “Sweet, huh? That’s one word for it.”
She glanced over her shoulder, a small smile pulling at her mouth. “Don’t get a big head. I just meant you look… happy. Like you knew exactly who you were supposed to be.”
Heat crawled up the back of my neck, but I didn’t look away. Not from her.
We stood there a second too long, the air tight between us. I didn’t know what the hell this was or how far it would go, but for once, it didn’t feel like I was carrying it all by myself. And that scared the shit out of me.
“I’m staying here tonight,” I said finally, my voice rougher than I meant. “Just to keep an eye on her.”
Wren nodded, slow, like she’d been expecting it. Her gaze lingered on mine, and for a second, it felt like we were both asking the same question without saying it out loud.What do we do now?
The house was quiet, only the hum of the furnace and the occasional creak in the walls. My mom was asleep down the hall in her recliner, and it left the two of us standing in my old room, the past painted on the walls and the present pressing between us.
I stepped closer. She didn’t move away.
Her eyes lifted to mine, unsure but locked there, and I reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. The small movement broke whatever line we’d been toeing.
She drew in a sharp, quiet breath. “Talon…”
I didn’t let her finish. My mouth found hers, soft at first, like testing the weight of something fragile. She kissed me, tentative, until my hand slid to her neck and pulled her closer.
