Page 93 of The Players We Hate
For a heartbeat, time stalled. The puck kissed the inside post and buried in the back of the net.
The arena blew open.
Boards rattled with fists, sticks pounded the ice. My name rolled down from the stands, louder with every chant.
I coasted toward the glass, chest heaving, and that was when I saw her.
Wren.
On her feet, arms high, my jersey drowning her frame. Willow screamed beside her, but I barely saw anyone else. Wren’s smile was wide and unguarded, her hands cupped around her mouth as she shouted for me. Her eyes found mine across the chaos, and just for a second, everything else dropped away—the crowd, the pressure, the game.
There was only her.
I slammed my fist against the glass in front of her, a silent claim, my grin breaking wide when her cheeks flushed and she cheered louder.
“Mine,” I mouthed, my breath fogging the glass. Her eyes widened, lips parting before her smile spread even brighter. She shouted my name again, louder, like she wanted the whole arena to hear it.
My teammates swarmed me as I skated back to the bench, slapping my helmet, shouting in my ear, but mypulse was still tethered to that one image—Wren, in my jersey, screaming my name like it belonged to her.
And maybe it did. Hell, maybe it always had.
The final buzzer sounded minutes later. We’d held them off. We were moving on to the next round of the playoffs. The boys celebrated around me, helmets tossed, gloves in the air, but all I could think about was her.
And standing there in the middle of all that noise, I knew the truth I’d been fighting off for too long.
I loved her.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
Wren
The house hit me the second I stepped inside. Music thumped hard enough to rattle the windows, the bass running up through the floor into my chest. The place was packed shoulder to shoulder, red cups raised, voices shouting to be heard. String lights sagged from the beams, throwing off a hazy glow that barely cut through the noise.
It wasn’t just one team celebrating. Braysen and Rixton had gone head-to-head, and the loss still stung for some. The room buzzed with rivalry and relief—shoulders bumping, cups clinking. Some rode the high of the win, others drank off the loss, but no one seemed to dwell on it.
Beer and perfume hung heavy in the air. The greasy tang of pizza boxes stacked in the kitchen drifted through the crowd. Every so often, a chant of “chug, chug, chug” broke out, feet stomping until the noise blurred into the bass.
I kept my shoulders tucked in, trying to slip through without drawing attention. But there was no hiding in Talon’s jersey. It drowned me, sleeves brushing my hands, his number stretched bold across my back. People noticed.Their eyes caught, then doubled back, curious, weighing me up.
“You good?” Willow leaned close, raising her voice over the music.
My fingers tapped my pocket, the flash drive pressing steady against my thigh. My stomach buzzed, but I forced a smile. “Yeah,” I said loud enough for her to hear. “It’s… a lot. But kind of fun.”
And it was. The bass in my chest, the haze of lights, the laughter rolling through the room—it felt good not being stuck on the outside looking in.
Before Willow could say more, her gaze snagged across the room. I followed it to Kade leaning against the wall by the kitchen, hair damp at the ends, shoulders still carrying the game.
He crooked a finger, and Willow flushed.
“Go,” I teased, nudging her.
She laughed and slipped into the crowd without hesitation.
I watched Willow go, the crowd pulling her in until she disappeared. People shouted Kade’s name, one guy smacking him hard on the back, but he didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on her. The second she reached him, his arm slid around her waist, and he kissed her temple like it was second nature. She melted into him without hesitation.
My gaze slid before I could stop it—straight to Talon. He stood at the far edge of the room, half in shadow, sleeves shoved to his elbows. His stare locked on me, unflinching, heat simmering behind it. It hit low in my stomach, a pull I couldn’t shake. Every second stretched, his eyes daring me to be the one to look away.
I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not when the memory of the hotel lobby still burned hot in my mind—his voice low in my ear, promising he’d drag me upstairs and show me exactly who I belonged to. The jersey hanging off me now—his name bold across my back—only fed the reminder. His eyes told me he hadn’t forgotten either.
