If You Need Me (The Toronto Terror Series)

Half an hour later, I’m sitting in a conference room with Jamie Fielding, the GM, Coach Vander Zee, and two other members of staff. Nancy, Coach’s secretary, does nothing to conceal the disapproving look on her face as she regards me over her reading glasses. Shilpa is waiting to be called in later. Dallas is supposed to be here, too, but none of us have heard from him.

I try not to strangle my own hands or sweat through my blouse as Shirley, the head of HR, reads over the no-fraternization policy. Slowly. In excruciating detail. I want to die right now. How is it that Dallas has the ability, even ten years later, to embarrass me this badly? And where is he?

Shirley stops reading.

“Thanks, Shirley,” Coach Vander Zee says.

Fielding taps his pen on the table. “I…don’t understand. You know the policy, Hemi. We just went through this.”

I can handle anger and frustration a lot better than the disappointed look on his face. I want to sink into the ground. I’d also like to bludgeon Dallas with his hockey stick and throw his body in Lake Ontario. And then maybe eat a pint of ice cream.

I hate lying, but I have no other choice if I want to save both of our jobs. There is solace in knowing Dallas will be indebted to me forever now. “We had a discussion last night, Dallas and I.” This is the truth. We did. But not about me being the love of his life. “And I promise, we’ve kept it professional. We were planning to come in today to talk through logistics and sign all the appropriate paperwork.” All this lying is making me sweat. “But I guess he got excited and jumped the gun.” My mouth is horribly dry, and my palms are damp. I need a gallon of water and some deep breathing exercises.

There’s a knock on the door.

“There’s a meeting in progress,” Fielding calls out.

Dallas pokes his head in. “Hey. Yeah, Shilpa said you were all in here. Sorry I’m late.” His eyes slide to mine. “Wilhelmina.” My name is laden with apology.

I’m not sure if I’m relieved to have him here or not. “I was explaining that we’d planned to come in today to discuss the progression in our relationship, but in your excitement, you preemptively shared it with the world by accident.”

He slides into the chair to my left and covers my hand with his, squeezing. “I’m so sorry.” Then he addresses the table. “I know protocol. This is absolutely my fault, and I’ll take full responsibility for it. Wills was adamant that we wait until the offseason before we pursued this.” He turns and gives me a soft smile. “And it’s been so hard to be this close to her and not act on these feelings. But I wanted to respect Wilhelmina and the league, and of course, protocol and the no-fraternization policy. Which I fucked up royally by posting last night.” He gives the table an imploring look. “We haven’t even kissed. There has been no fraternizing. Just a lot of thinking about it. Like, so fucking much.” He pokes his cheek with his tongue and nods, like all of this should make sense to everyone else.

His ability to lie convincingly is unnerving.

He squeezes my hand again. “I’m so sorry. I know we had a plan, honey, and I shot it all to shit.” He returns his attention to the team and stretches his arm across the back of my chair, fingers skimming my shoulder. “Whatever the consequences are, make them mine. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. It’s just…I’ve known Wilhelmina for years, and then when we both ended up here, I had all these opportunities to get to know her all over again… How could I resist her, you know?” He smiles his famous smile.

Fielding looks like he’s trying not to echo that smile.

Coach Vander Zee rubs his bottom lip. “Hemi definitely knows how to handle hockey players.”

“Right? She’s a badass. Wilhelmina is incredible.” He motions to the people around the table. “You all know this. I know this. And last night when we talked things through and made the decision to try, I was just so stoked.” He aims his megawatt smile at me. “All this time I’ve been waiting for you, and my patience paid off. It only took a decade.” He has the audacity to wink, as if what happened in grade twelve was our inside joke, before he gives his attention back to Coach Vander Zee and Fielding. “But I posted without thinking, obviously, and that’s my bad.”

His bad? Like he forgot to pick up milk and bread. Like it’s no big deal.

Fielding and Vander Zee nod like they completely understand. And once again King Fucking Dallas prevails, winning them over with all his goddamn charisma and charm.

Fielding shifts his gaze to me. “Do you agree with Bright?”

“I don’t know about being incredible, but last night we did talk things through, and Dallas did express so much…joy. I wasn’t there when he posted, so I’m taking him at his word for that part.”

“If you were less capable and Dallas wasn’t already prone to acts of thoughtlessness, you two would be in a hell of a lot more trouble. We need to get Shilpa in here with paperwork. And from here on, you’ll need Hammer—” Fielding frowns. “Or do we call her Peggy? Or Aurora?”

Shirley calls Shilpa in.

“She’s fine with Hammer when we’re at work,” I offer. “But Aurora if you’re introducing her to people outside the team. Roman is still a little stuck on Peggy.” Our friends have a lot of nicknames, and we just roll with it. Her dad is the only one who calls her Peggy anyway.

“Got it. Thanks. Hammer should be the lead on any promo opportunities moving forward for Dallas,” Jamie says.

“Wilhelmina is the best at keeping me level during promos,” Dallas interjects.

“Hemi can be there, but we need another company representative,” Vander Zee explains.

Shilpa arrives with the paperwork. She looks at me and then Dallas, but her expression remains neutral. The woman could be a professional card shark.

She takes the seat beside me. “I have the forms ready, as we discussed.”

They’re extensive. Shilpa reads the document, explaining the parameters, while Dallas and I follow along. Sweat drips down my back, and panic makes my throat tight. This is really happening. I’m committed to being Dallas’s fake girlfriend for the foreseeable future. I have to steady my hand as I sign my name. We now have a legal, binding document that states that Dallas and I are in a relationship.

I think I might vomit.

In contrast, his eyes are alight with an unreasonable amount of excitement and satisfaction as he scribbles his signature on the last page. “It’s official,” he tells me. “You’re mine.”