Page 87 of The Players We Hate
Her voice shook, but she didn’t waver. “I’m already in.”
The silence dragged. Neither of us spoke, but we knew what it meant.
I kept my eyes on her, holding onto the fact she wasn’t backing down. This wasn’t just about hockey anymore. It wasn’t just about getting through it. It was about trust—choosing to stand together when shit was about to hit the fan.
I couldn’t tell what scared me more—what we were walking into, or how much I needed her to face it with me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Wren
I hadn’t planned on coming here tonight.
After my access was revoked, I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, fighting the urge to reach out to Talon. Every part of me said I needed to talk to him, but doubt kept me frozen. Would he even hear me out? Or would he shut me down before I got a word in?
Then yesterday happened. Running into him outside practice. Hearing the panic in his voice when his aunt called about his mom. Climbing into his truck without thinking twice. I’d wanted to talk then, to spill everything, but it hadn’t been the time—not when his mom’s health came first.
But I couldn’t keep putting this off. Not anymore. Which was how I ended up here, standing in front of the hockey house with my heart pounding and documents tucked into the lining of my coat.
The house always felt like enemy territory, even after everything between us. Even after the way he’d touchedme, proving he didn’t hate me as much as he wanted me to believe.
Music pounded behind the door, shouts and laughter carrying through the walls. Rowdy, probably. I waited for the noise to dip before knocking twice, my knuckles hesitant against the wood.
The door opened, and Rowdy stood there shirtless, a smirk already forming—until he saw me.
His grin dropped. “Perry?”
I tugged my coat tighter. “Is Talon here?”
Rowdy gave me a long look, as if he was trying to figure out if I was here to cause trouble. “He’s in his room. You can head up there.”
I nodded once and stepped past him, my stomach knotted.
“Thanks,” I murmured, slipping inside.
The house was warm and smelled faintly of takeout. The living room was a mess—blankets tossed over the couch, pizza boxes on the table, cups shoved to the side. Owen and one of his teammates were arguing over a video game while another guy slept with his hood pulled low. A girl I didn’t know looked at me, but I kept my head down and headed for the stairs.
It wasn’t the same as before, when the house was packed and loud, when I felt drowned out by people who all knew each other. Tonight was quieter. No crowd to fade into, no noise to cover the nerves running through me.
Talon’s door was cracked, faint light spilling into the hall. My heart thudded as I lifted my hand and knocked.
“Yeah?” His voice finally came, low and rough, carrying the kind of edge that made my pulse jump.
I pushed the door open. He was on the edge of his bed, elbows braced to his knees, phone loose in one hand while the other dragged over the back of his neck like he’d been stuck there for hours. When his eyes lifted and locked on me, his whole body went still.
The quiet stretched until it was unbearable. Finally, his voice cut through it.
“Wren.” The word was flat, but his gaze didn’t waver. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”
I swallowed, my throat dry. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”
For a second, he didn’t move. He just watched me, studying every inch as if he was trying to decide what it meant for me to show up here after last night.
I slipped inside and shut the door. The air was warmer in here, heavier. The room smelled faintly of detergent and something familiar, maybe his cologne or the fabric softener from the hoodie I wore home.
He leaned back with his arms crossed, eyes locked on me. It wasn’t distance. It was him holding on tight, guarding himself, waiting to see what I’d do.
Before I lost my nerve, I asked the only thing that had been circling in my chest since yesterday.
