6. Wren #3
I practically shove Silas’s schedule at his chest, wanting to get as far away from the three of them as quickly as humanly possible. He doesn’t speak, just studies me like I’m something he’s trying to figure out. Why, though? What is there to figure out? What is he looking for?
Lucian, of course, doesn’t accept my hasty attempt to offload his schedule. Instead of taking the piece of paper I’m handing him, he reaches for me instead. Long, calloused fingers wrap firmly around my wrist, causing an instant spike of panic. My eyes flash to his, going wide.
“You’re no mouse, Wren Winslow. Don’t pretend you don’t know how to bite…I have the mark on my throat to prove it.” Tilting his head back, I spot the faint red line where I held the blade to his neck. I gasp, surprised. I hadn’t realized I’d pressed it hard enough to mark him.
As quickly as he grabbed my wrist, he releases it, and at a loss for words, I hurry away to find an empty spot along the wall at the side of the room.
Lucian’s words play over in my mind. What is it he sees when he looks at me?
How can he know things about me that I’m only just now figuring out for myself?
It’s too complex of a question to address now, so I force it to the back of my mind and instead focus on the schedule in my hand. I confirm the dates I’m looking for before pulling out my phone to text Dylan.
Snapping a shot of the relevant dates, I send it to her along with a message.
Me
First Kings vs Steelhawks game is in 3 weeks!!
Dylan’s reply is immediate.
Dylan
I KNOW! Already cleared it with Bear. I’m going to drive so we can spend the whole weekend together!!!
I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I miss our hot chocolate and romcom nights!
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. The kind I barely realize is there until—
“Miss Winslow.” Carver’s voice cuts across the room. “You with us, or is whatever you’re doing on your phone more important?”
Silence falls. All heads turn my way, and I can feel my face go beetroot.
“Sorry. I—Sorry.”
I drop my head, refusing to look anywhere other than the rough gray carpet beneath my feet. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. Hushed whispers and stifled chuckles.
Of course, Carver can’t leave my humiliation there. He has to dig the hole deeper for me.
“Do try to stay focused, Miss Winslow. I know this internship came with…privileges, but it would be great if you could at least pretend you earned it.”
God, someone kill me, please. Anything would be better than this.
Heat scorches the back of my neck, and I nod a pathetic acknowledgment, too ashamed to meet his or anyone else’s gaze. However, beneath my embarrassment is anger and frustration that have my fingers curling into fists at my sides.
I’m so sick of him—of all the management staff here—talking to me in such a way.
I get it; I got this internship because of my parents.
My last name. There was absolutely zero merit involved, but since I’ve been here, I haven’t given them any reason to think I’m not capable—except for being found in the supply closet on my first day.
Every job they’ve given me, no matter how basic, I have completed without complaint.
I get them coffee when asked. I organize the towels.
Restock the fridge. Pick up pizza from the front desk.
I might not want to be here, but that doesn’t mean I don’t put in the effort when I am. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to do a good job.
Clearing his throat, Carver gets back to heading the meeting. “Everyone has their schedules, which will also be emailed out to you all. Our first game of the season is this Saturday—”
Carver’s words go through me, not really registering as I stare straight ahead at nothing in particular. I’m lost in a world of my own humiliation and building frustration until something pierces through the bubble I’ve placed myself in.
Stares.
Three of them, specifically.
Lucian’s glare is volcanic as it swivels from me to Carver. He looks like he’s barely holding himself back from attacking the Team Operations Manager.
Silas isn’t glaring, but I catch the subtle shift of his head, the coin between his fingers pausing mid-spin.
And Ronan. Ronan’s stare is glacial. Somehow, it makes him seem even more deadly than Lucian. It’s not heated like Lucian’s…it’s calculated. I can see him processing everything that just happened. Manipulating it into something he can use.
Feeling far too seen, and a little nervous at the cold look in his eyes, I swallow and look away. I force myself to focus back on whatever Carver is saying.
“—Let’s keep focus on opening week. We’ve got three home games to start the season, so no excuses for poor attendance or prep. Our first away game is in November, and we’ll need the travel roster finalized by the end of next week.”
I stand through the rest of the meeting with my back straight and my hands clasped tightly in front of me. I don’t look at anyone, and I don’t speak.
However, I promise to make Dean Carver and every other admin staff member who believes I’m going to fail eat their words.