Page 61 of The Players We Hate
Across the room, Gavin hadn’t moved.
Still no food in front of him. No drink. Just the man in the suit across from him, speaking low and measured.
And then, almost like it had been choreographed, Gavin reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a plain white envelope.
He slid it across the table.
The man didn’t even blink. He tucked the envelope inside his suit jacket like he did every day.
My spine stiffened.
It happened fast, but it told me everything I needed to know. This wasn’t about dinner or guidance. It was business. And judging by Gavin’s expression, he didn’t want any part of it.
I tore my gaze away just as my mother’s voice cut through again.
“I’ll be sending you a list of local vendors I’d like you to coordinate with next week. The venue is booked, but the catering is a disaster. I’ll need you to step in.”
I blinked, forcing myself back to the conversation. “I can help,” I said. “But I’ll have to work around the internship hours once I start.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Of course. I just don’t want you to lose focus. These extracurriculars are lovely, but remember optics matter.”
Optics. The story of my life.
As she rattled off the names of socialites she wanted to charm into attending, I let myself look back one more time.
Gavin was gone. The booth sat empty, dishes cleared. I hadn’t even noticed him slip out.
But the man in the suit was still there, nursing his drink, looking perfectly at ease.
By the time the car pulled up to the dorms, the sky was dark, the lampposts cutting through it with a weak glow.I stepped out, tugged my coat tighter, and headed for the entrance. The air bit at my lungs, my breath showing white before fading away.
Inside, I headed straight for the stairs, moving quicker than I normally would in heels, each step pounding in my ears like a drum I couldn’t shut off.
When I reached my room, I dropped my coat onto the chair, kicked off my boots, and collapsed onto my bed, barely bothering to turn on the light.
I pulled out my phone and opened the Rixton Wolves hockey roster. My thumb hovered for a second before I typed his name.
Gavin Cruz
#19 – Right Wing
Junior
Status: Injured Reserve – Lower Body Injury (Out Indefinitely)
I stared at the screen. He’s out indefinitely.
Except I’d just watched him cross the restaurant without so much as a limp. There was no sign of a brace, no wince, nothing. My stomach sank.
If he wasn’t really hurt, then why pretend? And what business did he have passing envelopes to men who had no reason to be anywhere near a college athlete?
My grip tightened on my phone as the truth pressed down on me. This wasn’t just some nagging suspicion. Something bigger was going on. And like it or not, I was already tangled up in it.
Chapter Eighteen
Talon
The scrape of blades tore across the ice, chased by the hard crack of a puck slamming into the boards. My breath fogged the inside of my cage as I bent low, circling toward center ice and calling for a line change. My muscles ached, sweat trailing down my spine beneath the gear, but I kept pushing. Slowing down wasn’t an option, not with everything outside the rink falling apart.
