If You Want Me (The Toronto Terror Series)

It’s a home game tonight, and we’re all in our box to watch Toronto play New York. Flip Madden, Rix’s brother who plays center, has just gotten a penalty, which is unsurprising since his personal nemesis, Connor Grace, plays for New York. But one second I’m pissed about Flip’s penalty, and the next I’m freaking out because Scarlet Reed, the actress, is sitting three rows back from center ice. She’s with another movie star. I can’t even.

“I heard she was coming out this way.” Hemi taps her lip thoughtfully and pulls out her phone. “I wonder how long she’s staying.”

“Is she filming locally?” I ask. “I wonder if she’ll come to more games while she’s here. Wouldn’t that be so cool?”

“What do I know her from?” Tally asks.

“She’s been in a couple of movies lately, but The Way We Weren’t was my favorite show during my teens.” I watched it every week like it was my religion, and I was so disappointed when they ended it a year and a half ago. But I have all the episodes downloaded, so I can binge them whenever I want.

“Oh, yes! I started watching that this summer,” Tally says.

Hemi’s eyes pop as she scans her screen. “Oh wow. She’s here filming through the beginning of June.”

“I wonder where in Toronto they’re filming,” I muse. If the Terror makes the playoffs, she might come to one of those games.

“High Park for sure.” Hemi’s face lights up. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“That I might meet her and get a picture with her and fangirl like a complete loser and be embarrassed by my fangirling?” I ask.

“Yes, and also, she’ll be in town for the gala,” Hemi says.

I grab her arm. “Do you think she’d attend?”

“She’s a hockey fan, and it’s a charity event. It wouldn’t hurt to extend an invitation,” Hemi says. “Plus, we have the night with a hockey player auction, and you know that’ll be a huge hit.”NôvelDrama.Org (C) content.

“I don’t want to get my hopes up, but that would be so cool. How hard would it be to get a contact number for her?”

“I wonder if Hollis still talks to her. They used to date when he played for LA,” Shilpa muses. “Maybe you could ask him to call in a favor?”

“Uh, yeah, but I don’t know much about how that ended.” I’m aware they dated, but he’s never so much as mentioned her, and I’ve never asked. It’s an unwritten rule. His life is already public enough, and I know better than to pry. He doesn’t even know about my star crush on her. The media portrayed it as an amicable breakup, but who knows if that’s true?

“I’ll see what kind of strings I can pull for a contact,” Hemi says.

“Can I try first?” I ask. “It’s gala related, and I want to keep that off your plate since you have enough going on.” Getting Scarlet to attend would be the icing on the gala cake.

“Absolutely. I love that you’re making this yours.” She squeezes my arm.

I refocus on the game, my mind spinning as I ponder this new twist. Hollis rotates onto the ice, and Tristan pats him on the shoulder, taking his seat on the bench. Hollis misses an easy pass. It’s clear by his expression and the tight set of his shoulders that he’s frustrated. Especially when New York ends up with the puck.

“Oh, shit. That’s not great.” We’re already down by one goal. I bet my dad is pissed for letting it through.

Hollis heads for the crease, but Kodiak Bowman is on the same trajectory. Hollis spins, giving Bowman his left side instead of his right as they collide. Sticks go flying, and Hollis gets an elbow to the face. He goes down, his helmet hitting the ice with a crack that echoes through the arena. I stand, along with the rest of the girls, as the game is stopped.

“That did not look good,” Rix says.

“That was a hard hit,” Hemi agrees.

I cover my mouth with my hand. “I really hope he’s okay.”

My dad is right there, kneeling beside Hollis with his hand on his chest as the ref skates over.

The team doctor takes the ice, and after another minute of back and forth, Hollis gets to his feet and skates to the gate with the assistance of the team doctor and a ref. He disappears down the hall. I hope he’s not out of the game completely.

Bowman gets a penalty, taking away their power play. But it’s five on five, which means they’re working extra hard on the ice. First period turns into second, but it isn’t until the beginning of the third that Hollis is back on the bench. They don’t rotate him in, though.

I shake my head. “I hope they’re being cautious and he didn’t mess up his knee again.”

Last year was hard for Hollis. I was around for a lot of dinners with him and my dad talking rehab and next steps if he couldn’t get back on the ice. He’s interested in coaching college hockey, but my dad thinks he’d be a great sportscaster. I sincerely hope he doesn’t have to make that decision now, though. Not when he worked so hard to get back on the ice this season.

Hollis getting benched also seems to impact team morale. They can’t keep the puck away from the net, and Bowman scores a goal in the last two minutes of the game, giving New York the win.

While the arena clears, we hang in the box, all of us worried about Hollis and the loss.

“I feel like walking tomorrow will be a feat for the ages.” Rix tosses a piece of popcorn in the air and tries to catch it with her mouth, but it drops into her shirt.

Hemi puts her hands over Tally’s ears. “Nothing like a good old anger bang, huh?”

Tally rolls her eyes. “I can still hear you.”

Rix shrugs. “Either that, or I’ll have to use it to console him. Regardless, after a game like this, he’ll be a monster.”

“You are truly the leader of the corruption committee,” Hemi says with a smirk.

“I enjoy making Ash feel better after a bad game,” Shilpa says with a faraway look in her eyes.

“One day I hope I’ll have someone who wants to make me happy after a bad day,” Tally says with a sigh.

I pat her shoulder. “You and me both.” I’d give my left tit to be the one to console Hollis after a game like this.

I glance across the rink to the fans in the one-hundred section filing out of the arena. I spot Scarlet and her castmate as they make their way down their row. The number 55 is emblazoned on the back of her jersey, and HENDRIX is stamped across her shoulders.

“Hmm… Maybe Hollis and Scarlet do still talk,” Hemi muses when her eyes follow mine. “It might be easier than you think to get that contact info.”

“Maybe.” But that’s a privacy line I don’t want to step over with Hollis. I also don’t love the tightness in my stomach, or the emotion I identify as jealousy. She’s shown up to one of his games, wearing his jersey after more than seven years. Are they friends? Is he still interested in her?

Rix’s phone pings with messages. “Looks like the guys want to go to the Watering Hole, which means you can come, Tally.” The Watering Hole is a pub-style restaurant relatively close to where many of the guys on the team live. The locals who go there are respectful of the team, and the owners take good care of us. It’s a lot different from the clubs Tally can’t come to because she’s underage.

“We should head there now. Grab a table and a round of drinks.” Hemi stands. “You girls in? Tally, you want to check with your dad first?”

“Yeah, let me text him.”

We leave the box and make our way to the staff lot where Hemi’s SUV is parked. She’s usually up for being the designated driver since she watches out for players like Rix’s brother, who tend to make bad decisions on nights like these.

We arrive ahead of the team and grab a table near the bar. One of the regular servers who knows us all by name takes our drink order. But I’m still anxious about Hollis’s on-ice hit. I send my dad a text, asking for an update, but he doesn’t always remember to check messages after a game. I could text Hollis, who usually responds quicker, but things still feel weird. I hope he’s okay.

Tristan, Flip, and Dallas show up first. Flip and Dallas head for the bar, while Tristan makes a beeline for Rix. As soon as he reaches her, his fingers slide along the edge of her jaw to the hollow behind her ear, and his thumb sweeps in the opposite direction. It basically looks like he’s holding her by the throat—gently—and then he leans in and brushes his nose against hers.

Every time he does it, Rix turns into a giant puddle, and Tally looks like she’s about to die. Hemi smirks. I watch in fascinated awe.

“That game was bullshit,” he murmurs.

“It was bullshit,” Rix agrees.

His nostrils flare, and he sighs. “One drink and we leave, Bea?”

“We’ll see.”

As soon as he releases her, I jump in. “How is Hollis?”

Tristan turns to me. “He has a mild concussion, but otherwise, I think he’s okay. He and Roman went home straight from the game, though.”

“They’re not coming out?” I ask. Even after a bad game, my dad usually still goes out with the team.

“Nah. Hollis has a headache, and Roman offered to be on watch tonight, so they skipped.”

“Was it that bad?”

“He was quiet in the locker room, but your dad probably knows what’s what,” Tristan offers.

“Okay. Thanks for the update.” I don’t want to overreact, but Hollis is good at pushing through pain. That he went straight home makes me question whether he’s hurt worse than he’s letting on.

“You girls need anything?” Tristan thumbs over his shoulder. “I’m gonna see if I can prevent Flip from making choices that will kill his endorsement campaigns.”

“I appreciate you, Tristan,” Hemi says. “I’ve got more than enough to manage without Flip adding fires to put out.”

“Remember you said that when you need someone to dress up like a clown.” He kisses Rix on the cheek and joins Flip and Dallas.

Rix sighs. “At least he’s not out trying to conquer the world with his dick tonight.”

“Why is he usually such a fuckboy?” I ask.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she says. “We have great parents, and our childhood was stable. He had a girlfriend through most of high school, but after he made the pros…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know what he’s been trying to prove, but it sure isn’t great for whoever ends up with his heart. When he finally falls ass over head in love, he’ll have to deal with the fallout of years of gratuitous, meaningless sex. I get the sense that it’s less about him loving it and more that he’s literally drowning himself in other people. We’ve both started therapy, but I don’t want to bring it up with him. We’re all on our own journeys, you know?”

“Hmm, that’s an interesting theory,” Hemi muses.

Tally pokes at the ice in her drink, looking sad.

My phone finally buzzes with a message from my dad.

Dado

Sorry, just saw this now. Hollis and I are unwinding, and I’m on concussion watch. So far he seems okay, but he’s got one hell of a headache.

Aurora

Is it just a concussion?

Dado

Fingers crossed, but we’ll see how he’s feeling tomorrow.

Aurora

What time is practice in the morning?

Dado

Not until nine.

I have an early-morning class. I want to talk to my dad before he goes to bed.

Aurora

Heading home now. Can I come up and see you before you go to bed?

Dado

Of course.

Aurora

See you soon.

Dado

Be safe, love you.

Aurora

I will, love you back.

“I’m grabbing an Uber. My dad’s on concussion watch,” I tell the girls.

“I can drive you,” Hemi offers. “Tally needs to be home soon, anyway.”

I leave my drink half full and hug the girls. Rix ends up staying with Tristan because Flip is in full-on self-flagellation mode and also drunk—which isn’t something he does often. He clearly feels like a giant bag of shit. As much as I don’t want to play the blame game, if he’d kept his shit together and not let Grace get under his skin, maybe Hollis wouldn’t have a concussion. But I don’t know Flip’s history with Grace. And there clearly is one. Two people don’t hate each other that much for no damn reason.

Hemi drops me off, and once I’m in the elevator, I message my dad to let him know I’m on my way up.

He meets me at the door, dressed in his typical bedwear: a pair of plaid flannel pants and a white T-shirt. “Hey, kiddo. Sorry I missed your message earlier.” He looks tired as he opens his arms and I step into them, wrapping mine around his waist. He’s never had a serious injury in his twenty-year career, and until last year, Hollis had been the same way. It’s terrifying to see someone I care about get hurt, especially a second time.

“How are you? How’s Hollis?” I ask.

He gives me a squeeze, then steps back and runs his hand through his hair. “I’m fine. I hate to lose, but it’s part of the game. Hollis though? The aches will hit him tomorrow. I rewatched that hit when I got home. He went down hard.”

“What about the concussion? How serious is that?” If it’s severe, it could impact more than being able to play. Not being on the ice with his team and having to stay back when they traveled after his injury affected more than Hollis’s body last year. For a while, he was depressed. I spent a lot of time at his place, tidying up, making sure he was okay, that he was eating properly, and that he didn’t drown in worries and what-ifs. Especially when he was stuck in his place, and the team was away. We were together more then. Spending all that time with him fueled my crush.

Dad rubs the back of his neck. “The team doctor suggested we wake him every few hours.”

Concussions aren’t as rare as we’d like them to be. “How long has he been out?”

“Not long. I’ll check on him around three, and then again at six,” he says.

“I can take the six o’clock check. I’ll be out the door by seven-thirty, anyway. That way you can sleep a bit longer and check on him before you leave for practice,” I offer.

“Are you sure that’s enough sleep for you?”

“I’ll be up around that time anyway, and I can stay in my old room tonight to make it easier.” I can’t wait until tomorrow evening to see for myself that he’s okay, but I can’t tell my dad that, especially not after what I did. I worry he’ll see right through me. He has a strict no players rule, and I can’t stand the idea of him being disappointed in me.

“If you’re sure you don’t mind,” Dad concedes.

“Not at all. I’ll run down to my apartment and grab what I need.”

“Okay. Thanks, kiddo.”

I return to my apartment, fill an overnight bag, and head back up to my dad’s place.

“It’s nice to have you here for the night, even if the circumstances are less than ideal.” Dad hugs me. “We’ll have dinner together tomorrow?”

“That sounds great, Dado. I can make my special homemade mac and cheese.” It’s his favorite after a big loss.

“That’d be amazing. Hollis would appreciate it, too.”

I send him off to bed and stop in the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water and put the few dishes on the counter in the dishwasher. I peek in the fridge and note he’s low on a few essentials. A list sits on the counter. I’m constantly trying to get him to use an app, but he can be old school about stuff like this. We’re a team of two, even with his paper lists.

Once the kitchen stuff is handled, I pad down the hall to my old bedroom and sigh as I slide between the hot pink sheets. How upset would Dad be if he knew what I did at Hollis’s? How angry would he be at Hollis for giving me permission to use his place for self-gratification? I don’t even want to imagine his reaction. No hockey players is the only real rule he’s ever enforced. We didn’t really need them otherwise. I am his girl, and he is my dad. We’ve always been a unit of two. I take care of him, and he takes care of me. He’s so protective. All his energy has been put into hockey and me. I love him, but sometimes I wish I wasn’t the only woman in his life. He has a big heart, but sometimes all that attention can feel a little overwhelming. I’m compelled to be perfect all the time, always wanting to make him happy.

I set my alarm, then settle in to get some rest. At two fifty-two, I wake to the sound of the apartment door opening and closing, and the alarm being punched in. At six, my alarm goes off. I quickly brush my teeth and hair and head across the hall to Hollis’s. Postie and Malone meow their excitement as I key in the alarm code. Before I check on Hollis, I give them both a generous helping of wet food.

My palms are suddenly damp and my mouth dry as I approach his bedroom door. My stomach rolls with shame, while my lady parts zing at the memory of what I did the last time I was in here. I’m frustrated that I can even think about that at a time like this. Hollis has a concussion. He needs to be taken care of, not ogled.

I open the door. He’s lying on his back, and the comforter has been pushed aside, leaving one bare leg exposed. The sheets skim his waist, his bare chest and tattoos on display. While I’ve seen him in a bathing suit many times, he’s usually the guy who pulls on a shirt once he’s out of the water.

The last time I saw him shirtless, though, was last week when he was fresh from the shower, wrapped in only a towel. A line of light filters through a gap in the curtains and cuts across his stomach, highlighting rippling abs and his defined chest, marked with vibrant ink. I long to trace the outline of those leaves with my fingertips.

“Stop checking him out and make sure he’s okay, you asshole,” I whisper.

I take a deep, calming breath and cross the room, quietly calling his name. It feels illicit to be in his private space with him. I’ve taken care of him before, but what I did in here changes everything. Especially because he knows.

I call his name again, louder this time, but all I get is a little snort-snore. I sit on the edge of the bed to shake his shoulder. “Hey, Hollis. Wake up for a minute.”

He groans and rolls toward me.

That makes it easier to jostle him. “Come on, Hollis. Wakey-wakey.” His skin is warm and smooth, and I shouldn’t let my fingers linger, but the zing that travels up my arm makes it hard to pull away.

He grunts.

“Come on, Hollis. Open your eyes for me, pretty please.” Anxiety makes my heart race. I need him to be okay.

He rolls onto his back and grabs my hand. I’m forced to lean in as he settles my palm on his chest and holds it captive.

I exhale an unsteady breath at the unintentional intimacy. I miss how easy things used to be between us, but I can’t turn back time. All these feelings I’ve kept buried have been unearthed, and they keep growing. His heart drums steadily under my hand. What I want most is to stretch out alongside him, rest my head on his chest, and tell him how scared I am—for him, for me, for what’s happening to my heart. For the awful, wonderful hope winding around that single phrase, “if things were different.” Those four little words have tilted my world. It’s about more than getting off to thoughts of him. More than once over the past week, I’ve caught myself daydreaming about being his freaking girlfriend. About cuddling with him on the couch. Being his person. Taking care of him, like I am now.

“Hollis,” my voice cracks with emotion.

His calloused hand smooths along my forearm and up my biceps to my shoulder. He’s clearly not awake. He has no idea what he’s doing, that he’s playing directly into the fantasy I’ve woven. But I’m frozen as his warm fingers skim the column of my neck and slide under my hair.

Hollis makes a noise, this one low and deep.

“If things were different…”

His hand curves around the side of my neck as his eyes open. My breath catches as he blinks against the murky darkness. The sun is still an hour from rising, so only the ambient light from the buildings across the street cuts through the darkness.

The hand at the side of my neck moves, fingers drifting along the edge of my jaw. It’s embarrassing the number of times I’ve wished for this. Longed to be wanted by Hollis the same way I want him. Imagined him touching me like this. To feel his lips on mine.

So much changed after his on-ice accident last year. He stopped being just my dad’s best friend and a hockey star I lusted after in secret. We became friends outside of my dad. I saw Hollis vulnerable, uncertain of his future. The lines started shifting. He confided in me, expressed concerns about his future on the ice, how afraid he was of the unknown. He said he wanted to steal some of my enthusiasm and excitement for what was in front of me. He became more, and we became more. At least for me.

His unfocused gaze meets mine. “I need to stop dreaming about you.”

My breath hitches, and my heart stutters. I catch his hand. “You’re not dreaming. I’m checking to make sure you’re okay.”

“Princess?” His brows pull together.

I secretly love it when he calls me Princess. “Hey, hi. Sorry to wake you.”

“You shouldn’t be here.” His gaze moves over my face and drops to my chest, eyes darkening before they lift again.

I let go of his hand, and it falls to the bed, his fingers skimming my knee. “You suffered a concussion last night. I have an early class, so I told my dad I’d check on you. Do you remember what happened?”

“What happened?” His tongue drags across his bottom lip.

“At the game. Do you remember?” I press.

He blinks a few times. “Scarlet.”

“Reed? The actress? She was at the game.” My stomach clenches. My fantasy dissolves. Maybe he invited her. What if he’s interested in her again? She’s beautiful, accomplished, and much closer to his age. I hate that I’m jealous.

He nods once and sighs. “It threw me. I didn’t expect her to be there.”

Relief is an anvil and a problem. “Do you remember what happened after you saw her?”

His eyes close. “I took a hit. Fuck.” His eyes pop open, and he sits up in a rush. His hand goes to his temple, and he grimaces. “My head.”

I hop off the bed and step back. I wring my hands, then cross my arms to hide my nipples. “I can get you a painkiller. Let me get you a painkiller.”

He throws the covers off and slings his legs over the side of the bed. “It’s okay. I’ll manage.” He takes a deep breath and pushes to his feet. He sways for a second, his hand at his forehead.

I put a steadying palm on his shoulder. He outweighs me by a good eighty pounds. I can’t stop him if he goes down. “Please, Hollis. Let me help.”

His fingers grip my wrist. The electric zip slams through my veins and turns my body into a live wire. He exhales harshly, and his gaze is slow to lift from the floor. It pauses at my chest, where my traitorous nipples perk against the thin fabric. His jaw tics, and his throat bobs.

His eyes close again. “I need you to go, Princess.”

“But I—” My gaze drops, and my breath leaves me. “Oh.” It comes out sounding halfway to a moan.

Hollis is wearing only a pair of boxer briefs. White boxer briefs. And they do absolutely nothing to hide the morning wood he’s rocking.

“Now, please.” His voice is rough as he releases my wrist.

“Yes. Right. I’m going. I’m sorry.” I hustle my ass out of his bedroom. My hands are shaking as I rearm the alarm and quietly let myself out. I’m equally shaky as I let myself back into my dad’s place. I don’t rearm the alarm there. Instead, I get all my crap from my old bedroom and pull on a hoodie to hide my nipples. I take the elevator back to my apartment.

I should not get out Batdick. I should not get myself off to the fantasy of Hollis pulling me into bed with him. Kissing me. Touching me. Filling me. But I do.