Page 77 of The Players We Hate
Walking away had to hurt less than staying. At least, that was what I told myself.
My fists clenched as I shoved the side door of the barn open. The heavy air hit me like I deserved it.
I didn’t look over my shoulder.
If I had, I never would’ve left.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Talon
The media room was dark except for the pale blue glow of the screen. I sat hunched forward in the same chair I’d been stuck in for the past hour, elbow on my knee, eyes locked on the clip I couldn’t stop replaying.
Gavin.
The way he came out of the tunnel in the last game wouldn’t leave me alone. Everyone else had let it slide, but I couldn’t, not after everything that had piled up this season—the fake injuries, the half-second stalls during plays, the missing medical files, the puck through Kade’s window.
And Kade hadn’t let it go either. Willow’s photos had given him something to chase, and once he started digging, there was no pulling him out. She stayed close, supporting him in ways neither of them wanted to admit out loud.
I clicked again and froze the frame. Gavin came out with a limp, dragging his left foot like it hurt, until it didn’t. For a split second, his stride evened out, the shift in his weight smooth and effortless, too easy for someone who was supposed to be injured.
Then he looked over his shoulder. Not casual. Not toward the bench. It was the kind of look you gave when you knew someone was watching.
Maybe not a coach. Perhaps it was someone else.
“Shit.” I shoved away from the chair, the legs scraping the floor. Heat crawled under my skin, my head buzzing too loud to think. I needed air. Needed to move.
The side door groaned when I shoved it open, the night pressing in on me. Cold air cut through my hoodie, straight down my spine. It clung, heavy enough to drag every thought with it.
My boots thudded across the gravel as I crossed campus. Spring break had emptied the place. Most kids were off somewhere warm or home with family. Me? I was chasing shadows with grainy footage and a gut that wouldn’t shut up.
When I rounded the old humanities building, I spotted Wren.
She hadn’t noticed me yet. Pacing under a flickering lamppost, arms tight across her chest, black coat pulled in like armor. Her hair blew across her face, but she didn’t push it aside. Jaw locked, her whole body was tight like she was hanging on by a thread.
She stopped long enough to check her phone, shoved it into her pocket, then started pacing again.
I slowed, narrowing my eyes like I could read the answer in her movements. What the hell was she doing out here alone?
I stepped closer, my boot crunching against the gravel. Her head jerked up at the sound.
“You look like you’re about to talk yourself into something stupid,” I said.
She spun toward me, hand flying to her chest. “Jesus, Talon. You scared the hell out of me.”
“I didn’t expect to find you out here,” I said, scanning the empty stretch of campus. “Most people cleared out days ago. Heading somewhere tropical or home for the break. Yet here you are.”
She folded her arms, her expression tight. “I didn’t want to go home.”
The way her voice dipped on the word made it sound bitter, like it left a bad taste in her mouth.
“So you stayed,” I said, watching her closely. “Alone.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m not the only one still on campus.”
“Maybe not,” I muttered, stepping closer. “But you keep circling, and it’s pulling you deeper.”
She drew in a shaky breath, lifting her chin, daring me to push. “Because I don’t have another choice.”
