Page 99 of The Players We Hate
My throat was dry when I forced myself to speak. “If it comes down to it, let them have mine.”
The room went still. Talon’s head snapped toward me, his eyes flashing. “Wren—”
“I mean it.” My voice shook, but I didn’t stop. “They won’t let up until someone takes responsibility. If they want someone to talk, it might as well be me. I’m with compliance now—it’ll trace back to me anyway.”
Talon moved closer, tension coiled in his shoulders. “Once you speak out, there’s no unlinking yourself from this. You’re not just exposing your father. You’re exposing yourself.”
“I’ve spent my whole life being invisible or used as a pawn,” I said, meeting his eyes. “I’m done playing by their rules. I want people to know this wasn’t some random leak. It was a choice. My choice.”
The room went still. My words settled heavily, like dust in the air after a storm.
Talon nodded once, slow and certain. “She’s not doing this alone. If they want a name, they can take mine, too.”
My throat tightened. I didn’t feel like I deserved that kind of loyalty, but maybe it wasn’t about deserving it. Perhaps it was about standing in the truth, side by side.
A knock broke the silence.
“Wren?” Alisa’s voice came through the door, muffled but familiar. “You decent?”
I cracked it open. She stood there with two coffees in her hands, her messy bun sliding to the side, eyes puffy from no sleep.
The second she stepped in, her gaze swept the room. Her brows pulled together, confusion flashing across her face.
“Uh… did I miss something?” she asked, shifting on her feet. “Why is everyone in here? What’s going on?”
No one answered, and the silence only seemed to make her more uneasy. She set the cups down on the desk, movements quick, almost clumsy. “Okay… figured you could use caffeine. Or at least someone who doesn’t look ready to murder the TV.”
I tried for a smile, weak at best, as I shut the door. She hesitated a moment, then slipped back into our room. A beat later, the low murmur of the TV carried through the wall.
My phone buzzed again on the nightstand. I didn’t move. I already knew.
When Alisa came back, her eyes were wide, her face pale. “Wren,” she whispered, breath catching. “I just saw your last name on the screen. What’s happening?”
“Yeah.” My voice came out rough. “It’s out now.”
Her brows knit together. “Out? Wren, I don’t get it. What does this even mean? Does this have to do with your dad?”
The question hit heavy. My throat tightened, but I gave her the truth I could manage. “Yeah. He’s caught up in something ugly. And now my name’s attached to it.”
Her frown deepened as she slid one of the coffees toward me. “Jesus, Wren. I don’t even know what all of this means, but… it looks bad. How are you holding up?”
I let out a shaky breath, staring at the floor. “I don’t think I am. Feels like the ground’s shaking beneath me.”
She leaned forward, her voice softer. “I don’t know how much help I can be, but I’m here. Whatever this is, you don’t have to go through it by yourself.”
The phone buzzed again. Then again.
I finally looked.
Five missed calls from my mother. Two from my father. A voicemail I wouldn’t touch. Texts stacked one after another, piling up faster than I could keep up.
And then the one that made my stomach drop.
Mother: If you don’t pick up this phone, I will send someone to retrieve you. You’re not thinking clearly. You’re emotional. We won’t let you destroy everything we’ve built.
I stared at the words on the screen.
Everything we’ve built.
