Page 50 of The Players We Hate
It wasn’t exactly the answer I wanted, but it was enough. The fact he wanted me there at all mattered.
He opened the passenger door and waited while I climbed in, shutting it with an easy pull before jogging around to his side. The engine gave a low rumble as he slid behind the wheel, the heater pushing out air that still held some warmth from his drive over. He angled the vents toward me with a quick adjustment, then put the truck in gear and eased away from the curb in silence.
The roads were empty this early. It was us and the deserted stretch of pavement ahead, the bare trees lining the road under the dim glow of the streetlights. The quiet settled in, but my head wouldn’t stop turning over questions.
I glanced over at him as he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on his thigh. His jaw was tight, his gaze fixed ahead like he was running plays in his head instead of watching the road.
“Talon?”
He hummed in acknowledgment, not looking away from the road.
“Can I ask you something?”
He finally flicked his eyes toward me, then back again. “You’re going to anyway.”
I smiled softly. “Why Braysen? I mean, I get why she transferred, but… why here?”
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. He didn’t answer right away.
“You can trust me,” I said quietly.
He let out a breath, the kind that had been sitting in his chest too long.
“She’s living with some friends we grew up with. Working at a bakery. Trying to stay under the radar while she figures things out.”
I ran my thumb slowly along the denim of his jeans, grounding both of us.
“All because of my brother?” I asked quietly.
He nodded, and my heart sank. I wouldn’t say I was close with Tatum, but we were friendly. I hated the thought of what she went through at the hands of Wells.
“She’s doing better now?” I asked.
“She’s trying.” He blinked hard, jaw working. “I check in every week. I visit when I can.”
After that, neither of us said anything. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was heavy, stretched tight between us.
Talon’s hand rested on the console, his fingers tapping until I slid my palm onto his thigh. The movement stopped instantly.
“You can trust me,” I said quietly. “Whatever it is… you don’t have to carry it alone.”
His jaw flexed as he kept his eyes on the road. Finally, he gave a short nod.
“It wasn’t just a breakup,” he muttered. “Wells blackmailed her. More than once. And it got worse when she wouldn’t take him back.”
I pressed my hand a little firmer against his leg, letting him know I was listening, but I didn’t interrupt.
“He started showing up places, blowing up her phone, trying to guilt her into seeing him. When that didn’t work, he escalated. At a party, he somehow got a video of her up on a TV. Rowdy was there—he tried to shut it off, but by the time he did, it was already too late.”
A breath caught hard in my chest, and I lifted my hand to my mouth. “Did she report it?”
He shook his head. “No. I tried to convince her, but she knew how it would play out. Your family has the kind of pull that makes sure guys like him walk. She just wanted out, wanted a fresh start where she didn’t have to hear the whispers anymore.”
My voice fell to a whisper. “I didn’t know. I mean, I knew something happened between them, but not…”
He finally glanced over at me, something in his expression softening. “I know you’re not him.”
His words eased something in me I hadn’t realized was wound so tight. My grip on his leg tightened.
