Page 32 of The Players We Hate
“I have a game to play,” I said, trying to ignore the way her expression fell.
“Right,” she whispered. “Of course.”
She started to turn, her arms curling in around herself, trying to fold herself away until my voice stopped her.
“We’ll talk after,” I said, tone softer this time.
Her gaze lifted, unsure. “Promise?”
My only answer was a short nod before heading toward the locker room, but her voice followed me.
“Good luck tonight.”
It wasn’t the kind of thing you say to be nice. It carried weight. When I looked back, she was still watching me—not judging, not pitying, just torn. And that look stuck with me all the way down the tunnel.
The locker room buzzed with noise, guys shouting and wrapping tape around sticks. Rowdy pounded on a locker as if we were already down a goal, but I barely heard it.
Not over the blood rushing in my ears. Not over the sound of her voice still ringing in my head.
I sat down on the bench, laced my skates with practiced muscle memory, and shoved my helmet on, trying to cage the thoughts running wild in my head. She shouldn’t have followed me. She shouldn’t have asked about Tatum.
I shouldn’t have wanted her more because of it, but I did.
And now I had to bury those feelings.
The door to the tunnel opened, and the roar of the crowd hit me. The regular season opener always carried weight, but tonight? It felt heavier.
Cameras flashed as we stepped onto the ice, lights bouncing off the boards like fireworks. I led the charge, jaw tight, heart pounding, every muscle coiled.
Lined up on the blue line, I glanced toward the suite. And there she was—above the glass, standing next to her father and the donors. She looked nothing like the girl who clawed at me in a hallway days ago. Her eyes cut through the noise, locking on mine.
And everything else fell away.
I hated how much I liked her being there, how it settled something in my chest even while adrenaline buzzed through me. She didn’t belong in that box with people who only showed up when the cameras did. I knew better. I’d seen the side of her they hadn’t.
I forced my eyes back where they belonged. This was my game, my ice, my team. But no matter how hard I skated, I felt the weight of Wren’s eyes.
For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t just about winning. It was about showing her why I deserved it.
Chapter Nine
Wren
I stood in the hallway long after the door shut behind him.
Talon’s broad shoulders disappeared into the tunnel, his jersey clinging to him, his jaw set with that quiet intensity he carried everywhere. Even after he vanished from view, the weight of him stayed with me, heavy in my chest.
I should’ve walked back to the box, taken my place next to my father, and pretended nothing was different. Instead, I stayed where I was, rooted in place.
My back was pressed to the cold cinderblock wall, and I let my head tip against it, eyes fluttering shut. I could still feel him—the heat of his hands on my hips, the grit of his voice against my throat, and the press of his mouth that had unraveled every carefully built wall I’d spent years keeping in place.
The memory hadn’t dulled. That stairwell kiss still lived on my skin, and tonight, when I stopped him in the hall, the weight of his green eyes on me sparked everything I’d tried to bury.
And God help me, I wanted to burn with it.
I inhaled sharply, trying to gather my composure, but it was too late. The ache had already settled in, not just for him but for the chance to make this right. It wasn’t only want, it was the need to bridge the distance between us. And that terrified me more than anything.
I reached for my phone before I could talk myself out of it. My fingers worked on muscle memory, unlocking it, scrolling through my contacts until I landed on a name I hadn’t touched since spring.
