If You Need Me (The Toronto Terror Series)

I surreptitiously rearrange my anxiety boner before I stand and pull Willy’s chair away from the table. She’s not expecting it, so it screeches obnoxiously across the floor. No one looks particularly stoked about this new development. Except for me. Internally, I’m delirious with joy.

I apologize again to Fielding and Vander Zee and gently press my fingertips against Willy’s back as I follow her to her office. She closes the door and whirls to face me.

Her gorgeous face is a mask of rage. “Was this a ploy?”

“What?” I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I mirror Willy and prop them on my hips, then think better of it and stuff them in my pockets.

“Did you post that so I wouldn’t have a choice about being your date for the reunion?” She paces her office, heels clipping angrily on the floor. She’s wearing navy dress pants, a burgundy blouse, and a matching blue blazer, buttoned at the waist, showing off her curvy hourglass figure. She pokes me in the chest with her pointy fingernail. “You better not humiliate me again. I swear on all that is holy, Dallas, if you screw me over again like you always have, I will make it my life’s mission to destroy you, one humiliating promo op at a time.”

Beneath the very real rage that causes her cheeks to flush, hurt and betrayal lurk in her eyes. It makes me feel like the giant bag of shit I am. My anxiety boner deflates, thank God. “It wasn’t a ploy. I was drunk and not thinking clearly.”

“Do you have any idea how fucked we would have been if I hadn’t gone along with this? You would have been suspended then traded, Dallas, and I would have been the laughingstock of the hockey world. There’s a good chance I will be anyway, thanks to you.”

I frown. “Why would dating me make you the laughingstock of the hockey world?” I run a hand through my hair. “I’m in the top fifteen percent in the league.”

“Check your ego, Dallas.”

“That’s based on stats, not ego. And dating me will be awesome for the reunion. We show up together, and no one will give a shit about Brooklyn and Sean.” And I can keep her safe from their assholery. No one will mess with her if she’s with me.

“Are you serious?” She gives me a disbelieving look. “How can you be thinking about our reunion? Do you not understand how this diminishes my credibility as a professional? I look like a bunny, Dallas.”

Her words hit me like a slap across the face. “I’m not like Flip.” I might flirt with women when I’m approached at the bar, but my family all keep tabs on me through social media. As if I want pictures of me doing inappropriate things floating around the internet for my brothers and sister to razz me about. Or my mom to lecture me over. Shit.

Wills pinches the bridge of her nose. “How people perceive you and how they perceive me is very, very different. I don’t have the luxury of a double standard that works in my favor like you do.”

“How so?”

“You can date whoever you want, and no one will pass judgment on you—except maybe to question why you ended up with someone like me when you could be dating a supermodel if you want.”

“You’re gorgeous.” She sees herself in the mirror. She has to know this.

She rolls her eyes. She does that a lot with me. Willy props one fist on her hip. “How I look isn’t the biggest issue, Dallas. I’m the team PR person, and you’re a player. My salary and yours are highly discordant. You make millions a year, and I do not. I look like I got in bed with a player so I can skip my way down Easy Street. People will speculate, and it won’t be in my favor. What you did yesterday goes against everything I’m trained to do. You created a shitstorm for me, so thanks. We also can’t break up for a while or I risk even more damage to my reputation. And now I have no choice but to be your goddamn date to the reunion.” She’s back to getting in my face.

I wish my body’s reaction wasn’t to get instantly hard when she puts me in my place like this. She’s a force, and I’m obsessed with her. It’s not a new thing, but it has grown over the past few years since she came back into my life. I’m always game for whatever charity promo ops she has in the down months because it gives me a reason to see her. My infatuation verges on masochistic. I can’t stay away from her, even though she hates me, and rightly so. Even when I wasn’t an active participant in her torment when we were growing up, I didn’t do enough to stop it. Not until it was too late. I can make up for all of it now, though. “I’ll be an awesome date. The best date you’ve ever had.”

She practically snarls at me. “Going alone would have been preferable than going with you. I refuse to be the butt of yet another one of your shitty childish jokes.”

Looking at her now, I see the little girl kids made fun of, the outspoken preteen who didn’t back down in the face of torment, and the teenager who held her head high even when it was hard. I didn’t stand up for her the way I should have then. I was too fixated on fitting in, on being on top. But it got lonely up there. No one was real with me. Except Wills. Always Wills. “I promise I won’t fuck you over.”

“Like I trust you.”

“Let me prove that I can be exactly what you need. You want me to be the overly affectionate, doting boyfriend? I’m in. I’ll keep you safe from Sean and Brooklyn.”

She scoffs. “Like you kept me safe from you?”

“Wills…” I reach out, but she knocks my arm away and gives me a look that should have me six feet underground. It’s the same one she gives me when I try to say anything that remotely resembles an apology. I hold my hands up in supplication, trying to find a way to appeal to the girl I broke all those years ago. “Let me be your wingman. For all the times you’ve saved my ass. Let me pay you back for⁠—”

Her eyes flash.

I want to tell her how sorry I am. How I wish I could take every little thing I ever did back. When we first started working together, I tried often, but she always shut me down. So I stopped, not wanting her to think it was all lip service. She has never had a reason to believe I would be sincere. It seems she’s still not ready for the truth. Not yet. Not now. I can see why she might not trust what I have to say. “We’ll steal the show,” I promise.

When her eyes come back to mine, I see the damage that was done when we were kids, how it sits inside her beautiful heart and weighs it down with hurt. And I let so much of it happen. I didn’t save her every time I could have—should have. But I can now.

“How stupid do you think I am, Dallas?”

“You’re brilliant, Wilhelmina.” And I mean it. “You’re the smartest woman I know.”

“You’ll just embarrass me again,” she snaps, but there’s a waver in her voice and a wobble in her chin.

I want to run myself over with a truck made entirely of cactuses. “I won’t. I promise. I will be a kickass date. I look great in a suit.”

“Your self-love is unreal. Are you always your own first priority?”

“Your favorite color is royal blue, but you wear the lighter shades to support the team. You usually only drink club soda when we’re out so you can keep an eye on everyone.” I take a breath. “And your favorite band is The Hip, and it has been since you were a kid.” The Hip, otherwise known as The Tragically Hip, is a Canadian band that is well loved, especially where we grew up.

Hemi blinks at me, her face a mask of confusion. “How do you know all this stuff? Why do you know all this stuff about me?”

I scramble for a reason that doesn’t make me look like a complete creeper. I tap my temple. “My brother got the doctor brain, but I got the random-facts-that-are-good-for-dates gene.”

Her phone buzzes inside her pocket; she fishes it out and exhales angrily through her nostrils. “Not today, Satan.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask, stupidly. Clearly things aren’t okay. I’ve accidentally forced Wills into being my girlfriend. As if she didn’t already hate me enough.

“I have shit that needs to be managed, and I’m about five seconds away from strangling you, so it would be in your best interest to leave my office.”

“Right. Okay. But we should iron out the details of this”—I motion between us—“over dinner.”

She blinks at me.

“We can talk about it later.” I’ll make a reservation somewhere nice. I leave her office and am beyond relieved to find the hall empty. My phone has been vibrating against the head of my dick for at least half an hour. The fallout from this will be something else.

I duck into one of the empty conference rooms and drop into a chair. I remember scrolling through the pictures last night but not posting one. Although I did wake up on the couch this morning with a wicked headache and a bottle of scotch that was significantly emptier than I’d anticipated. It made my morning visit to the retirement village to crochet with The Crafty Crew less enjoyable than usual.

I open my messages and find I have more than a hundred new ones. My teammate group chat has been particularly active. I ignore it for now.

I have a single new message from Ash.

I leave it for now. I’m sure he has no less than a million questions.

I also have a ton of messages from my family.

She ends all messages like they’re letters.

I doubt Willy will be enthusiastic about a visit to my granny, no matter how much she likes her. I move on to the next message, from my brother Ferris.

My oldest brother, Manning, has also messaged.

I also have a message from my younger sister, Paris.

I have many messages from my mom.

I have a single message from my dad.

“Fuck.” I run a hand through my hair.

I hit the call button, and my mom picks up on the first ring.

“Dallas, finally. Why am I finding out that you have a girlfriend through your social media? I’m excited about this, but I’m very hurt to be learning this at the same time as two and a half million other people—which is impressive, by the way. Your following just keeps growing.” She layers in a compliment with her ire, it’s her way.

“Thanks, Mom, and I’m sorry.”

“You better be sorry. This is a big deal. You haven’t brought home a girlfriend, or introduced us to anyone, or posted about anyone in years. Years, Dallas! How long have you been seeing each other? How long have you been hiding this from your family? From your own mother?” She tsks me.

My mom chose to set aside her own career so she could be a full-time mom. With three boys and one girl and only six years between the oldest and youngest, we were a busy household. Between getting Ferris and I to our separate practices, traveling for competitive sports away games, and Manning and Paris’s extreme extracurricular schedules, my mom still found time to devote to her own volunteering. Fortunately, my dad is an oncologist and could financially support the family, making it easier for my mom to follow her heart and focus her energy on raising us. She jumped in with both feet and rocked the shit out of being the best mom possible. Even now, we’re a tight-knit family.

Her hurt at finding out about me and Wills along with the rest of the world is likely pretty deep.

“It’s pretty new, Mom.” Like a couple of hours now.

“Do not lie to your mother, Dallas! The way you were smiling in that picture tells me this has been going on for a while!”

“I promise, it couldn’t have been going on because of the no-fraternization policy with the team,” I explain. “So we were trying to stay away from each other.” Even that’s a stretch. But, if I can be the boyfriend Willy never knew she wanted, maybe I have a chance in hell of turning this fake dating into real dating.

“Wilhelmina finally knows about the crush you’ve had on her since you were young, doesn’t she?” She makes a little excited noise.

“Uh, I mean…we’re dating so…” I clear my throat so it doesn’t sound like my balls are caught in a vise. Please don’t have my yearbook open. “That was a long time ago, though. We don’t talk about our childhoods much.”

Mom has no idea what happened around prom, the nail in my proverbial coffin, and I’d like to keep it that way. She would be horrified by my actions.

“Since your dad and I are coming down for the charity game this weekend, we’ll have a chance to get to know her better.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. She’ll be pretty busy with the event.”

“After the event we can plan a dinner for her. What kind of food does Wilhelmina like? Do you want me to stop and get you some of those butter tarts in Orillia on the way? The chocolate chip ones?”

“Uh, I, uh… Maybe you should let me check with her first.”

“You’re serious about this girl and you don’t even know what kind of treats she likes? Dallas, I raised you better than that,” Mom chastises.

“No, Mom, I know what she likes. Anything with peaches is her favorite. I’m sure she would love the butter tarts from Orillia.” They’re the best butter tarts in the world.

“Perfect. I’ll hit the market today and make a fresh pie this afternoon.” Mom’s voice is giddy with excitement. Her pies win awards every summer.

“That sounds great, Mom, but⁠—”

She cuts me off before I can express my concerns about the possibility of Willy murdering me over dinner with my family. As if the celebrity event isn’t stressful enough.

“No buts, sweetie. We want to celebrate this new relationship. Don’t you worry, we’ll embrace her wholeheartedly, even though you didn’t tell us before you told the rest of the world.”

Yeah, she’s stuck on that point.

“I really am sorry about that.”

“I know. You’re my impulsive one. I’ll message when we’re on our way down. Oh! And I’ll bring Grandma Bippy’s engagement ring!”

“Mom, we just started dating.”

“You’ve been in love with her forever and it’s important to be prepared. Besides, neither of your brother’s even have a girlfriend, so there’s no way they’ll be proposing anytime soon. And your sister is too busy to date.” She sighs forlornly. “Anyway, for the family dinner, I’ll cook so it can be nice and intimate. I can’t wait to see Wilhelmina all grown up! Love you. Bye, sweetie.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

She ends the call before I can protest. It sucks that I’ve gotten her hopes up to the point that she’s bringing “the ring.” Whoever gets engaged first is the proud owner of great-grandma Bippy’s rare blue diamond ring.

“Shit.” I run a hand through my hair. My hole keeps getting deeper. Wills is already pissed at me for being an idiot. I can’t see her being thrilled about a meet-the-parents dinner date. We haven’t even dealt with our friends, and now this. But there’s no getting out of it.

I can soften the blow of an unexpected family dinner, though. I step out into the warm summer day and head down the street, stopping at the local florist to buy another ostentatiously large bouquet of pink and peach-colored flowers, complete with vase and heart balloon. My next stop is her favorite coffee shop. Treats and flowers are always a winner.

Armed with more flowers and food, I return to the office, but stop at my car to grab one more thing, tucking it into the takeout bag. Unsurprisingly, my raging anxiety boner is back in full force by the time I reach her office. I do some surreptitious rearranging and hope it isn’t obvious as I prepare to knock.

My palms are sweating, my throat is tight, and my heart rate is elevated. Unfortunately, Willy’s anger is preferable to the guilt trip my mother will lay on me if I back out of dinner. It’s an impossible position, but Mom guilt supersedes even clown detail, which is saying something.

I knock on Willy’s door and wait for her “come in” before I poke my head into her office. She fluffs out her hair. She was probably wearing it in a topknot. She does that often in the summer because her hair is so thick. I’m sure the back of her neck gets hot.

Her pen is clamped between her teeth, and she’s wearing my favorite blue-light glasses. The frames are tortoiseshell with baby blue arms. She is stunning.

She removes the pen from between her teeth and glares at me. “Do you want to die today, Dallas?”

“I brought you lunch. And flowers, and I’m sorry.” I envision her stabbing me with the pen in her hand when I tell her the news, which does nothing to calm any part of me down.

Willy frowns as I set the vase of flowers on the small conference table. I edge closer and set the latte and takeout bag on her desk, then quickly step back.

She eyes me with suspicion and crosses her arms. “What did you do now?”

“I didn’t do anything per se.” I back up several steps. I need a quick escape route, and I have the gift of speed on my side. “I thought your office could use a little pop of color.” I motion to the flowers. “And I know you’re busy with last-minute details around the celebrity hockey game this weekend, and you probably haven’t taken a break for lunch, so I brought you something to eat and a latte for your caffeine fix.” I take several more cautious steps backwards.

Willy narrows her beautiful brown eyes at me, then pries the lid off the latte. “Is this the lavender one?”

“Yeah. Half sweet with oat milk.”

“That’s my favorite.” It sounds like an accusation. “Why are you being so nice?”

I swallow loudly. “I’m pre-apologizing through gifts.” I know it will take a lot more than a couple of bouquets of flowers and a lunch or two, but it’s a start. I back up another step.

When I reach the doorway, I rap on the doorframe and blurt, “My parents are coming down for the charity game and they want to have dinner with you after, and I’m sorry about that.” I duck as she hurls a stress ball at my head. She only misses because my reflexes are so good.

“What the hell, Dallas? There’s no way I’m having dinner with your parents. Tell them no.”

“I can’t. My mom’s hurt that I didn’t tell her about us before I posted on social media, which is not your fault, it’s my fault. But she will make dinner happen, Wills. There’s no getting out of it for either of us. She will corner you at the game and insist on making food for you while also reminding you that meals are important and everyone has to eat, and I’m sorry, but it’ll be a great meal. I know you’ll sign me up for clown detail, and that’s something I’ll have to live with. It’ll be really casual. You don’t need to bring anything, just your beautiful self. I’m gonna go before you kill me.”

I book it down the hall, and another stress ball comes flying past me, but I’m fast, and she’s wearing heels, so I outrun her for now.