Page 22 of The Players We Hate
Time to figure out what my father’s planning, to get close enough without getting burned—and to make sure he never found out about Talon. If my father did, he’d find a way to hurt him.
The questions pounded louder than my heartbeat, and for the first time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the truth.
Chapter Six
Talon
She was everywhere.
She moved through campus with the grace of something carved from ice, polished into charm. Her chin was lifted, a polite smile fixed in place. She had this way of slipping through a room as if the noise couldn’t touch her, as if she was above it all. Flawless and controlled.
Untouchable.
It pissed me off how easily she wore the mask, pretending that night didn’t exist. Pretending she hadn’t been in my bed, moaning my name, her nails digging into my hair. Pretending I hadn’t mapped every sound, every shiver I drew from her.
Now she was back to being the version everyone else saw and thought they knew, but I’d seen more. I’d felt more. And every time I closed my eyes, she was there. Laid out beneath me, voice ragged, whisperingdon’t stop, the words carrying the weight of a world that couldn’t survive if I did.
I’d lost count of how many times I woke up hard as hell and twice as pissed. My body remembered something mybrain kept trying to forget. I’d thrown myself into workouts, drills, anything that might help drown her out.
Nothing helped. She was still there, lodged in my head, even as she refused to look at me. On campus, she passed me as if I were no one, as if I’d never touched her, as if I didn’t exist at all.
The truth that burned most was that I hadn’t reached out either. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to, but because I refused to be her secret. Not when she was mine for ten minutes before vanishing, like it never meant a thing.
I was leaning over the kitchen counter, protein shake untouched in front of me, when Owen finally spoke.
“You gonna glower at your lunch all day, or are you planning to actually drink it?”
I glanced up. He was flipping a puck between his fingers across the room, casual as hell, but I could feel the stare behind it.
“I’m not glowering,” I muttered.
“Sure you’re not,” Rowdy called out from the couch, wrapped in the same ugly fleece blanket he stole every time someone did laundry. “You’ve been sulking all week. You barked at Coach during drills, threw your tape at the wall, and scared that poor kid who wanted your autograph yesterday.”
“He was filming me,” I said, grabbing the shake and taking a slow, bitter sip.
“He was like eight,” Kade deadpanned, shutting the fridge with his hip. “You’ve been skating like a man with something to prove and pacing as if you’re ready to throw hands with anyone who looks at you sideways.”
I set the bottle down harder than I meant to, the dull thud echoing in the silence that followed.
They were not wrong.
I’d been off. Every muscle in my body wound too tight and one sharp comment away from snapping. I was short with everyone, distracted during film, running drills as if I could outrun whatever was eating at me.
The truth was, I hadn’t been able to shake her, and I hated it.
I hated how much space she took up in my head. How loud the silence was since she left.
I should’ve texted her. Should’ve asked. But I didn’t. Because deep down, I knew how it looked, and I knew it was what she wanted.
Promise me you’ll keep this between us.
I didn’t chase girls who wanted to pretend I didn’t exist or keep what happened a secret.
Yet still, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. The look on her face when she came apart for me—raw, as though she’d never let herself feel without control before.
I scraped a hand through my hair and pushed off the counter, grabbing my stick and bag from where they were propped near the door.
“I’m heading to the practice facility.”
