If You Hate Me (The Toronto Terror Series)

We won again tonight. No thanks to me. I’ve been playing like shit since I ended things with Bea. But going home to my empty condo didn’t seem appealing, so I’m out with Flip and the rest of the guys, celebrating even though I don’t feel like it. At least we’re in the VIP section with a table of our own and a bottle of scotch that Flip surprisingly paid for.

Two days ago, I found out Bea went to Vancouver. It’s my fault she’s there. I broke up with her like an idiot, and the first thing she did was hop on a plane. I sip my scotch. I hate my life.

“So why is my sister in Vancouver?” Flip asks. He’s been texting her the past couple of days, but I guess she hasn’t given him much information. And Hammer and Hemi are pissed at me. All I’ve gotten from them are side-eyes and middle fingers. Shilpa won’t even acknowledge my existence.

“Because Essie is there.” I’ve said this half a dozen times already. I don’t know what else he needs me to say.

“Yeah, but what happened between the two of you that she went there with no warning?”

I’ve been pretty vague about things. Mostly because I don’t want him to punch me in the face again, even though I deserve it. “Bea misses her. They say it every time they talk on the phone. They’re always planning visits and talking about portals or whatever. And her boss already said there’s a position out there.”

Flip frowns. “She seemed perfectly happy in Toronto. She and Hammer and Hemi and Tally are like the four freaking Musketeers.”

I drum on my knee. “Yeah, but who knows where I’ll be next year. It’s not like she needs her life upended. Especially not because of me.”

“Well, didn’t you just do exactly that by breaking up with her?” Roman asks.

Flip uncrosses his arms and reaches for his glass. “Dude. This isn’t about you and where you’ll be next year.”

“Then what’s it about?”

He drains his drink and refills it. “Your mom.”

“I haven’t spoken to my mom in years.”

“Exactly.”

“Oh, fuck this.” I start to stand, but Flip puts his hand on my shoulder.

“Listen, man, that shit fucked you up. She was a coward and a garbage mother. Her leaving the way she did, how it all went down, it wasn’t cool, man.” I don’t know how to deal with the empathy in his tone or on his face. “You’re in love with my sister, and you’re projecting your issues onto her because you’re fucking terrified of losing someone else you care about.”

“That’s not⁠—”

“It is. That’s exactly what this is about. It’s why your relationships don’t last more than a couple of months. And why you rolled with all the fun times before Rix moved in with us. The same night Nate tells you he and his girlfriend broke up, you end things with Rix.” He makes a circle motion with his finger. “It’s all connected. You think because Nate couldn’t make his relationship work, you won’t be able to either.”

“That’s not… It’s more than that,” I say.

“Of course it’s more than that,” Flip says with a sigh. “Nate’s breakup is just a piece of the puzzle. You broke up with Rix because you went into a panic spiral. You possibly being traded at the end of the season—which, based on stats and logic, isn’t probable—is a convenient excuse.”

“It could happen, though. And it’s not like Bea is going to come with me if I have to move.”

“Dude, it’s months away. Have you talked about it with her? Asked her what she wants? I mean, come on. Stop burying your head in the sand and just admit you’re in love with her.” We stare at each other for a few long, painful seconds before he shakes his head. “I always knew your mom leaving fucked you up, but I didn’t realize how badly until now. You broke up with Rix because you’re afraid she’ll bail if things get hard. So you did it first.”

“She would leave eventually. I’ll fuck it up.”

“Congratulations, you’ve already managed to do that by breaking her fucking heart, you idiot!” Roman snaps. “She sobbed for hours after you left. Peggy said she was beside herself. She couldn’t figure out what she did wrong.”

“I can’t give her what she needs. I can’t be what she needs,” I say.

Flip raises a hand before Roman can rip my head off again. “Look, I get that you’ve got some real hang-ups about relationships because of your mom, and they’re totally understandable. But Rix isn’t the type of person to up and bail. It’s not who she is. So don’t blow it because you’re too afraid to face what you already know. She’s it for you.” He sighs.

“I know what it’s like to have your heart ripped out of your chest, and that’s what you did to Rix. Maybe you should try telling her how you feel instead of circling the issue and wallowing in a pit of despair,” Flip adds. “I know what you’re like, man. You avoid conflict. It’s the reason it took you falling for my fucking sister to finally tell me you didn’t want in on all the bedroom parties. And I’m sorry for that, man. I should have realized you were going with the flow.” He seems genuinely apologetic.

I don’t have a chance to respond, because a woman in a sequined dress rushes over.

“Flip! Oh my God! I thought it was you!”

He gives her a chin tip. “Hey, how you doing? You’re looking hot tonight.” He slides out of the booth and offers her his arm. “I gotta hit the bathroom. You wanna keep me company?”

She giggles and slips her arm through his. “Of course I do.”

Hollis watches them leave with a disbelieving look on his face. “He’s going to fuck her in the bathroom, isn’t he?”

“Probably. Yeah.” I gulp my scotch.

If Bea was here, we’d probably be on the dance floor together. It was always extended foreplay, and then I’d get her home and naked. Afterward, I’d feed her snacks in bed, and she’d fall asleep tucked against my side. And my arm would always fall asleep, but I’d deal with the pins and needles because I didn’t want her to move. Because all I want is to be near her—however she’ll take me. Or I would have, before I broke up with her.

I let Flip’s words sink in. Did I really push her away? Did I sabotage myself because I’m too fucking afraid of my own feelings? Did I put words in her mouth because I’m the one who believes I’m not worth staying for?

“You’re a fucking pussy,” Roman says.

“Tell me how you really feel,” I grumble into my glass.

“Oh, here we go,” Hollis says.

“I called you out on this months ago. Fucking months,” Roman says. “I was sure you were going to fuck things up by not being honest with Flip, and I was right. Because Rix ended up moving in with Peggy. And who helped you get your head out of your ass back then?”

“You did,” I admit grudgingly.

“Well, here’s another one: relationships are hard and messy and sometimes they’re scary as fuck, but don’t end one because you’re too fucking scared to admit how you feel to her and yourself.”

It’s like he’s inside my goddamn head. “What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

“What if she does?” Hollis counters. “What if you’re everything she’s been looking for? What if you’re it for her? Are you really going to let her walk away without a fight?”

“She’s in Vancouver.” What if she decides to stay? What if her visit becomes permanent?

“And?” I’ve never seen Hollis look this annoyed. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You have the chance to be with the one person you really want, and you’re still sitting here like a dejected asshole. Not all of us are that lucky. Go get her back, dipshit.”

Flip returns with messed-up hair and lipstick prints on his shirt. “What’d I miss?”

“I gotta go.” I knock back the rest of my scotch, which probably isn’t my best move, and slide out of the booth.

“Go where?”

“The airport.”

“Halle-fucking-lujah,” Hollis mutters.

“Go get her.” Roman claps me on the shoulder and tucks something in my pocket. “That’s the name of a therapist. When you get back, do yourself a favor and make an appointment. You getting your head out of your ass is only step one.”

I don’t argue, just thank him—even though the idea of talking about my fucking feelings with a stranger is about as appealing as swimming with piranhas.

I drink three bottles of water on the way to the airport and buy a pack of gum before I approach the ticket counter. I get a seat on the first flight out to Vancouver, leaving at six-oh-five a.m. I sober up in the lounge by eating breakfast and drinking more water, then stop at the airport store and buy a ridiculous number of overpriced bags of candy—all Bea’s favorites. I also buy a backpack because I have nothing else with me. Then I board the plane, loosen my tie, pop the top button on my shirt, and sleep the entire way to Vancouver.

But when we land, I immediately second-guess my decision. What if I tell her how I feel, but it’s too late? What if she wants to move to Vancouver after visiting Essie? What if she comes back to Toronto and I do something else to fuck it all up? I stand in the middle of the airport, wishing for a set of fucking balls. But I’m frozen. Unable to move. Unable to do the one thing I desperately want to, which is find my way back to Bea. I’m choking on my fear. Drowning in the panic that I’m here and so close to what I want, but certain I can’t have it.

People brush by me as I war with myself to do something—anything but stand here, paralyzed by my own fucking fear. I hate how weak it all makes me feel. How powerless I am, and how much power Bea has over my feelings without even knowing it. But as the minutes tick by, I can’t make myself text her or find another way to get Essie’s address.

I pull the card Roman gave me out of my pocket. I don’t know what I expect—for some magical fairy godmother psychologist to pick up and immediately give me the backbone to get the fuck over myself?—but it goes to voicemail.

“Hi. My name is Tristan Stiles. My teammate, Roman Hammerstein, gave me your number. I’m in love with my best friend’s sister, but I don’t think I deserve her. She also hates me right now because I’m an asshole, and I’m fucking up my life because I don’t know how to handle my feelings. I could use some help. Please. When you have a chance, can you call me back so I don’t lose her forever? Thanks.” I leave my number and end the call.

I still can’t make myself call Bea, so instead I go to the counter and buy a ticket home. It leaves in less than an hour. Since I have no bags and a Nexus pass, I make it through security and onto the plane without causing a delay, even though I’m the last passenger to board. I’m grateful there was an open seat in first class, because I don’t fit well in regular seats.

As soon as we take off, I regret my choice. It’s possible I’m losing my mind. But we’re already in the air, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s only ten in the morning Vancouver time, but it’s already afternoon in Toronto so I order a scotch.

An hour into the flight, I’m scrolling through pictures of Bea on my phone, and I swear I catch a hint of citrus and vanilla as someone passes me on the way to the bathroom. When I look up all I see is the bathroom door closing as the flight attendant tells someone they should use the washrooms at rows twenty-eight or fifty-four.

The smell makes me wish, again, that I hadn’t changed my stupid fucking mind and gotten back on the plane. I drain the rest of my scotch and grab the backpack from under my seat to rummage around for candies. I opened a few of the bags when we were landing earlier to get the taste of sleep out of my mouth.

The bathroom door opens.

“Miss, please return to your seat, and please use the designated bathrooms.”

“Sorry. Sorry. There was a taco incident. It won’t happen again.”

I’m in the middle of ripping into a bag, and the voice shocks me. The bag explodes, Fuzzy Peaches landing everywhere. One hits the man next to me in the cheek.

“Shit. Sorry.”

Bea’s head whips around. “The fuck?”

For reasons I don’t understand, I shove a bunch of Fuzzy Peaches in my mouth, even though they make my mouth itchy and I hate them. Bea loves them.

She stalks down the aisle. Her brow is furrowed in confusion, which is reasonable since I’m supposed to be in Toronto. “Why are you on a plane home from Vancouver when you played a game in Toronto last night?”

“I’m not. I mean yes, we played in Toronto last night. And yes, I’m flying back from Vancouver.” I say this through a mouthful of candy I can’t stand. My tongue is already itching. I want to spit it out, but the flight attendant already took my glass. Bea is standing in the aisle, looking beautiful, and tired, and really perplexed. Now’s my chance to tell her how I feel, but she looks the opposite of happy to see me. I remind myself that this makes sense because I was such a dick to her when I broke things off. What if she’s only coming home to get her stuff and move to Vancouver permanently?

“Why are you eating Fuzzy Peaches? You hate them,” she asks.

“No, I don’t.” I shove more in my mouth. I don’t know why I’m lying. Other than I’m panicking and didn’t expect to see her for at least another twenty-four hours.

“What are you doing here?” Bea’s eyes narrow. “Why would you fly to Vancouver?”

“Because.” I chew furiously, but my mouth is dry, and swallowing is the worst. “I wanted to talk to you.” If I had something I could spit them into, I might be able to think a little more clearly. I should tell her the truth. All the lying is what got us into this mess in the first place. “But I changed my mind when I landed. I couldn’t even make myself leave the airport or text you. So I got back on a flight home.”

“You changed your mind?” Bea’s confusion shifts to disbelief.

“Yeah.” I swallow the mouthful of horrible candy. “And now we’re on the same flight.” I need to stop stating facts and start saying something that actually matters. But she looks so damn angry. And I don’t want to do this in front of a plane full of people. Especially if she confirms what I already believe to be true: she doesn’t want me anymore.

“You are an asshole of the highest order,” Bea snaps.

“I think we came to that conclusion a long time ago,” I concur. Bea has known I’m an asshole for a long time.

“Miss? Please, I need you to return to your seat.” The flight attendant is standing behind her with her arms crossed.

“I know. I’m going.” She pins me with a hateful glare. “Fuck you, Tristan. Fuck you for being a thoughtless, overwhelming dick.” She looks around, maybe realizing we have the attention of all of first class. “I’m so sorry. Drinks are on him. And snacks.” She points to me.

“Drinks and snacks are free in first class,” says the guy I hit with the Fuzzy Peach.

“Right. Thank you.” She flips me the bird and disappears back into economy.

Well, that went the opposite of how I’d hoped.

“You’re Tristan Stiles, number forty-four, right wing for Toronto Terror,” Fuzzy Peach Guy says.

“Yeah.” My mouth is so itchy, and I think I totally blew any chance I had of getting Bea back.

“Think I could get your autograph for my son? He idolizes you.”

“Sure. Yeah.” I sign his baseball cap and his laptop. “You wouldn’t have an antihistamine, would you?”

“I don’t. Sorry.”

“No worries.”

My mouth is already starting to peel. The next three and a half hours are going to be long.