If You Need Me (The Toronto Terror Series)

“I hate to admit it, but it’s a lovely party,” Mom says through a practiced smile.

“It is,” I agree.

It’s also one of my worst nightmares come true. This weekend will be full of them. Everyone from high school is here, and their parents. It’s like graduation night, but ten years later. Dallas is on the other side of the room, chatting with a bunch of guys from our year. I recognize all of them, and I’m sure they probably recognize me, but we weren’t friends.

I can feel the judgy stares from across the room, where Brooklyn’s friends stand in a semicircle, laughing and chatting. After prom, they all stopped talking to me. A few days later, I heard two of them in the hall saying I’d gotten what I deserved. That I was a pushy know-it-all, and they’d only tolerated me because of Brooklyn. I was too much, and they were glad they didn’t have to pretend to be my friends anymore. I take a deep breath and shove those memories aside, because they still hurt, still make me feel small and insignificant. Even though I know I’m not. Or at least I usually know I’m not…

I stand between my moms, accepting another glass of champagne as the server passes. I’m on my second, and things are blissfully soft around the edges. More tolerable. And Dallas just keeps getting hotter.

“A plaid shirt and running shoes should not look that good on a man,” I grumble into my glass. His shoes are custom made, and in team colors.

“He has interesting fashion sense. But it works for him,” Mom muses.

“I know. Sometimes he wears plaid suits and sneakers and still manages to look put together.” I sound more irritated than smitten, and at this point I’m not sure which is accurate. I’m stressed. I feel totally out of place, like the loser in the corner. I wish Shilpa was here. I wish the whole Badass Babe Brigade was here and I felt like part of something instead of being an outsider.

“It shows his personality, doesn’t it?” Ma says thoughtfully.

I make a noise of affirmation. He’s such an outdoorsy, northern-Ontario-loving guy. He’s always smiling, even when I make him do horrible things he hates. He’s been nothing but nice to me since we started this whole fake-relationship debacle. He’s spent a ridiculous amount of money on clothes, gifts, and other things he thought I might need for dates and this weekend. Every outfit he’s bought fits me perfectly and is exactly my style. And then there are the orgasms, which I will not think about right now. Shilpa’s words about getting what I need out of this turn over in my mind.

They announce that the buffet is open, but I decide to wait until the initial rush has slowed, crossing my fingers there will still be a few of Diana’s famous cheese biscuits left. She made several platters. They’re such a simple thing—Rice Krispies, sharp cheddar, and cayenne pepper—but everyone loves them and always go back for more. Dallas sampled a couple before we left for the party, and Diana rapped him on the knuckles every time he tried to sneak another one.

My moms stop to say hello to Roland March, the town’s primary real estate lawyer. I say hi, but when they immediately dive into business talk, I excuse myself and check out the buffet. I stiffen when I spot Brooklyn’s mom. I haven’t seen her in years, and I haven’t spoken to her since graduation. Thankfully, Dallas’s mom slides her arm through mine.

“Shall we grab something to eat together?”

“I don’t want to miss out on your cheese biscuits,” I admit.

She pats my hand. “I have more hidden in the freezer at home.”

“Of course you do.”

Brooklyn’s mom’s back is to us, so she doesn’t notice our approach.

“What a surprise that Wilhelmina ended up with one of the players,” she says sarcastically to the woman standing next to her.

Her friend laughs. “I guess now we know why she chose the field she did—access to all those rich men.”

Dallas’s mom stiffens beside me. “Ugly isn’t a good look on you, Carla.”

My eyes widen. I’ve never heard a harsh word out of her mouth until now. Mrs. Bright does not take anyone’s shit, apparently.

The two women spin around. “Oh! Diana, Wilhelmina, I just meant⁠—”

Diana holds up a hand. “I know what you meant, and Dallas is lucky to have found someone as special as Wilhelmina. She’s exactly what he needs in a partner.”

I squeeze her arm as I untangle mine from hers. “I’m going to use the ladies’ room.” I turn to Brooklyn’s mom. “Congratulations. I’m sure you must be thrilled about Sean and Brooklyn’s engagement. They truly deserve each other.” I spin around before she can say anything else and make a beeline for the bathroom.

I’m only a handful of steps away from my escape when I almost collide with Sean and Brooklyn. I glance around, wishing one of my moms was with me, or even Dallas, but I’m all alone. Adulthood has leaned out the soft lines of Brooklyn’s face. I note, however, with a hint of petty glee, that Sean’s hairline is already receding.

I force a smile and try to keep my voice steady. “Brooklyn, Sean, congratulations on your engagement.”

Brooklyn’s smile looks as brittle as I feel. Sean stands at her side, eyes moving over me on an assessing sweep. I mentally thank Dallas for picking out a dress that accentuates my curves and highlights my cleavage, but in a tasteful, not an in-your-face way.

“Wilhelmina!” Brooklyn’s voice is all fake excitement. “It’s so good to see you!”

She pulls me in for a wet-rag, limp hug. I pat her back and remind myself that after this weekend, I won’t have to exchange more than a polite hello with her again for at least another decade—unless I get an invitation to her wedding. I’d consider giving myself food poisoning to get out of having to endure something like this again.

She steps back, severing the contact after a few painfully awkward seconds. “And congratulations on your engagement. I admit, I was a little shocked. You actually hooked Dallas.” She shakes her head. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Right?” I laugh, and it sounds halfway to hysterical.

“I guess you’re not holding a grudge anymore if you’re here.” Brooklyn glances around the room, like she’s looking for an escape.

That makes two of us. “We’re all adults now.” I force a smile.

She hums her agreement and links her arm with Sean’s. “Oh! There’s Katie! We should go say hi.” She turns her fake smile back to me. “Let’s definitely catch up sometime this weekend.”

“I should be so lucky.” I hope this is the last conversation I ever have with these two.

Brooklyn guides Sean away, whispering as they go.

On shaky legs, I finish my trip to the bathroom, grateful that I cross paths with a server on the way. I grab two glasses of champagne, thank him, and continue into the bathroom. I’m grateful each stall has total privacy. I throw the lock, down a glass of champagne in two gulps, and drop to the toilet seat.

“This is the worst,” I mutter. I take several deep breaths, determined not to lose my shit in a public place.

That I didn’t punch Brooklyn in the face, or scream at her, or break down in a fit of tears, seems like a serious win. Except I’m finally ready to admit I haven’t grieved the loss of Brooklyn’s friendship properly. Instead, I shoved that pain into a box and tucked it away. Sort of like my adoption files. Time has taught me that she was never a good friend, but there’s still a disconnect inside me. I wanted to be as important to her as she was to me. The way she hurt me caused a ripple effect that changed my life—though probably for the better, I remind myself. I moved to the city for university and vowed never to trust the wrong person to have my back again. And yet here I am. Fake engaged to the guy who watched his friends push me into puddles on the playground. I want to believe he’s truly sorry for all the things that happened growing up. That he really is a nice guy, the kind I’d be happy to bring home to my moms. But we’re just a big old pile of fucking fake, and I hate it.

I sip my remaining glass of champagne as I rummage around in my purse for my phone. My Badass Babe Brigade group chat is on fire today. The girls have been messaging relentlessly since I sent them a picture of the adorable cabin Dallas and I are staying in. I only showed them the outside.

But in my private chat with Shilpa, I included a photo of the very tiny bed. That chat is full of shifty-eyed GIFs. Again, I wish she was here. She knows how nervous I am about sleeping in a bed beside Dallas, particularly a small one. I leave my Shilpa chat alone, because there’s potential for me to end up in tears if I’m honest with her about how I’m handling things. Instead, I open the Badass Babe Brigade thread.

There are several messages referencing a picture Dallas apparently posted, and everyone is all about the heart eyes and how hot I look. I quickly pull up his social media. The pinned post is a picture of me between my moms, smiling and laughing. He’s captioned it with a cheesy phrase about how beautiful I am and how lucky he is to have me.

I return to the Badass Babe Brigade chat.

I compose a message in response:

I’m immediately flooded with group hug GIFs and promises that we’ll have a girls’-night sleepover at Hammer’s when I return.

A new message from Shilpa appears in our private chat.

I use the bathroom for its intended purpose and not just a hiding place, then steel myself for more unpleasant interactions. Shilpa is right, yet trying to convince my brain of that feels insurmountable.

I barely make it ten steps back into the room when a body blocks my way. Broad chest covered in plaid. Smells like my favorite cologne. “Hey! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

I fight to put my feelings back in the box, to hide all the hurt. To not show how out of place I feel. “I just needed the restroom.”

His eyes search mine. “Are you okay, honey?”

I swallow the pain of this whole experience and struggle to form a smile. But he’s all I have right now. He’s my rock, and I’ve spent the last two hours watching him shine like he always does while I fight demons no one can see. “I’m fine,” I croak.

He pushes my hair over my shoulders. “Wanna get out of here?”

I nod once and bite my lips together. I’m so on edge. I don’t want to need him, but I do. So badly.

He cups my face in his palm and presses his lips to my forehead. I can’t tell if he does it because he’s sorry he left me alone, or he feels sorry for me, or to keep up appearances. Regardless, it makes my knees weak and my heart stutter. I want to curl up in a ball and cry my eyes out. When he pulls back, he tips my chin up, his normally carefree expression swapped out for intense concern. “You’re the biggest badass I know, Wilhelmina.”

“I don’t feel very badass right now.”

“Let’s GTFO.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and guides us toward the door.

“Bright! Man, you can’t leave yet!” calls one of the guys I vaguely remember.

“We’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve got plans with my girl.” Dallas keeps walking, nodding to our former classmates as he guides me to the door. He doesn’t drop his arm even when we step out into the warm, dark evening. The sun has set, and the streetlamps cast a yellow glow over the sidewalk. Moths bumble around them, desperate to get close to the light.

“You want me to call a cab?” Dallas asks.

“Let’s walk.” I could use the air, and the time to mentally prepare for being trapped with him for eight hours in the small, romantic cabin, with only one tiny bed.

“Did something happen at the engagement party?” Dallas asks softly as we head back to his parents’.

“I ran into Brooklyn and Sean, which was to be expected, but I wasn’t prepared for how it would make me feel.” I don’t have anyone else to talk to about this. Even Shilpa, who would gladly listen to me bitch and moan, can’t truly understand what I’m going through.

“They’re assholes. That hasn’t changed in the past decade.”

“It doesn’t stop the hurt, Dallas. Brooklyn was my best friend. And yes, she was a shitty best friend, but she was one of the few people who liked me back then—or at least pretended to. I haven’t seen or talked to her since graduation, and even then, she was standoffish at best. You have no idea what this is like for me. You made friends everywhere and everyone loved you. They still do. Now you’re a professional hockey player. You’re successful and accomplished and the most popular guy in our class. I was barely tolerated.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is, though. I know I’m a lot. I know that about myself. I’ve certainly heard it enough. I wish I wasn’t too much for most people. This whole thing is a reminder of how hard my teen years were. I wanted to come here and prove to everyone that I’ve made it, that I’m not still that know-it-all insecure girl, but here I’m like a bad joke, fiancée to the pro hockey player who routinely tormented me and ruined my senior year. I feel like an outsider all over again.” I stumble over air and realize that on top of everything else, I’m drunk.

Dallas grabs my arm to steady me. “You’re not a joke, Wills. And you are never a lot. You’re perfect exactly as you are.”

“It’s easy for you to say from the pedestal everyone puts you on.” I shake free of his hold. “I’m done talking about this. I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.” If I get emotional on him, I’m liable to spill my guts, more than I already have. Ask him why he did all the things he did. In Toronto, I can usually ignore my past, but not here.

My mouth goes dry when we arrive at his parents and he ushers me into the cabin.

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” I announce.

“Okay.” Dallas tucks his hands in his pockets, looking lost and unsure.

I grab my nightshirt and toothbrush and disappear into the bathroom. I’m way drunker than I thought. I lost count of the number of glasses of champagne I consumed. I’m bleary-eyed and unsteady on my feet. I change into my nightshirt and nearly fall over. When I open the bathroom door, Dallas has already changed into shorts and a T-shirt. We trade places, and I stare at the bed for a few long seconds. It’s so small. So, so small.

I turn off all but the bedside lamp and climb in, shimmying as close to the edge as I can. I pull the covers up and cross my arms, trying to make myself as small as possible, which isn’t easy because I’m not small. This bed is not made for two adults.

I close my eyes and try to even out my breathing. The bathroom door opens and closes. The bed dips, and I swallow. Dallas’s arm grazes mine. I should not feel that in sensitive places, but I do.

“I’m sorry tonight was hard.” His fingers skim my thigh.

I make a noise but don’t reply with words. The memory of how good he could make me feel is invasive and unnerving, because nothing would make me feel more vulnerable, which is terrifying.

“I could make it better. Distract you, if you want,” he whispers.

It would be so easy to let him try. But I can’t deal with physical contact. I have too many feelings tonight, and I can’t manage chemistry feelings on top of all the other ones.

“’Night, Dallas.”

He withdraws his hand. “’Night, Wilhelmina.”

It’s going to be a long one.