Chapter 28 #2
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.