Page 14 of What If I Hate You (Anaheim Stars Hockey #6)

“She’s not down here yet, Teddy Bear,” Oliver tells me, knowing who I was looking for just now.

“Why not?”

I don’t know why I just asked that.

I shouldn’t care.

I don’t want to care.

But if she’s skipping a meal because of me, I’ll feel even worse than I already do.

“Well, I guess the fact you don’t know,” Griffin shrugs, “means you two didn’t…you know…”

“Fuck,” Bodhi finishes Griffin’s sentence. “He’s saying you two must not have fucked it out last night.”

“No, asshole. We didn’t…” I give Bodhi a deep scowl as I lower myself to an empty chair, frustration oozing out of me. “I wasn’t with her after she left the bar. I haven’t seen her since.” I huff. “You know contrary to what some of you might think, I’m not a douchebag.”

“Says the man who was literally the definition of douchebag last night.” Ella’s voice is tinged with irritation and hell, it takes a lot for Ella to be mad. “Or at least that’s what Blakely said this morning.”

“That’s just it, Ella. I didn’t mean what I said to her. It came out all wrong. I didn’t mean it.”

She shrugs and sips her coffee, glaring at me over her mug.

“I tend to be one of those people who believe that what you say out of anger and frustration is actually exactly what you mean. And you say it because you let your guard down. You turn your filter off so your inner thoughts just leak right out of you before you have a chance to think about it.” She pats her husband on his thigh.

“Just ask Auggie what I think about that.”

“Babe,” August slides down in his chair. “You know I really am crazy about your tits, right? I mean we’ve been over this a thousand times since that night.”

She winks. “Oh, I know you are, babe.” She kisses his temple. “I just like to give you a hard time and besides, what you said that day is the perfect example of speaking without thinking first.”

She’s not wrong. I remember the day August told us all he would never be attracted to Ella’s tits, but in his defense, that was before he realized how fucking far he had fallen for his best friend. Now he can’t keep his eyes, or his hands, off her.

Even so, I think Ella’s wrong about me.

“Fuck.” I lean forward, my elbows on the table, rubbing my hand over my face. “Can we not do this right now? I feel like shit enough about this. I wanted to apologize to her last night but she was asleep…or at least I didn’t hear anything outside her door so I left her alone.”

Harrison lifts his chin, his eyes floating just above my head to something behind me.

Or rather, someone.

“Looks like now’s your chance.”

I turn around just in time to see Blakely walking through the buffet line, grabbing a granola bar, a banana, and a bottle of water before settling at a table with Michelle, one of the other front office girls.

She already had a coffee in her hand so she must’ve been up and out earlier than the rest of us.

She looks… God, she looks fine. Perfectly composed.

That’s almost worse. Her hair is up in a ponytail, not a tendril out of place, and she’s wearing a pair of jeans that hug her hips and a Stars hoodie that would only look better on her if it had my name on the back.

She sips her coffee as if it doesn’t taste like last night’s fight.

Like I didn’t completely lose my shit and say something I can’t take back.

And then she laughs like she’s not actively gutting me by pretending I don’t exist.

I thought she’d come after me. I thought she’d be mad. I was hoping for it, honestly. A glare. A snarky dig. Something I could grab onto and wrestle with.

But this?

This ice-cold indifference?

It’s worse than anger.

“Go. Now.” Marlee practically pushes me out of my seat. “And don’t come back until you’re both in love.”

“What the fuck?” I whisper shout. “Marlee?—”

“Just go!” Marlee’s glare is giving me all the fuck-around-and-find-out vibes and I’m reading it loud and clear.

“Fix this, Bear. Fix it right fucking now because that’s one of my best friends and she’s way better of a person than you give her any credit for and she doesn’t deserve to be shit on by the likes of you. So, fix it.”

“Okay, okay.” I turn around and stare at Blakely as she talks with Michelle and rub the back of my neck trying to decide what I’m going to say when I reach her table.

I hover for half a second, staring like a jackass. I can feel eyes on me—from the servers in the buffet line to my own teammates and the rest of the staff. I don’t care though. I cross the room straight toward her and stop beside her chair.

“Blakely.”

She looks up slowly, all calm and professional. “Barrett.”

That’s it. No bite, no emotion. Just my name like it doesn’t mean a damn thing. Like I don’t mean a damn thing.

“Can I talk to you?” I nod toward the hallway.

She glances sideways, probably weighing whether I’m worth the effort. Then she gives me a tight smile that doesn’t touch her eyes. “I’m actually mid-conversation.”

Michelle starts to get up. “We were just?—”

“We weren’t,” she cuts in, eyes still locked on me.

I rub the back of my neck again, heat crawling up the sides of my face. I feel huge and stupid and completely exposed. “Please,” I say. “It’ll just take a minute.”

There’s a long pause and then she rises, smooth as ever, brushing imaginary lint from her blazer. “Excuse me Michelle. I’ll just be a minute.”

Michelle nods and then Blakely follows me into the hall without a word, arms crossed over her chest like a goddamn barrier.

“Well?”

I turn to face her. “I was outta line last night.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Yes. You were.”

Fuck. I deserve that.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I rush out. “I was…fuck, I don’t even know what I was, but I let it get out of hand.”

She doesn’t blink. “You called me the token bitch, Barrett. I don’t really care how you meant it.”

My stomach turns. She’s not yelling. Not emotional. Just… done .

“You’re right,” I mutter. “I fucked up. You didn’t deserve that. I…I lost my temper.”

“You did.” She gives me that same polite, unreadable smile. “And I appreciate the apology.”

That’s it?

“That’s it?” I say before I can stop myself. “That’s all you’ve got?”

She tilts her head slightly. “What else do you want? A hug?”

God, I want more than that. I want a damn time machine. I want to rewind to the moment I opened my mouth and punch myself in the face.

“I didn’t want to make it personal,” I say, voice lower now. “But with you, it…it is personal. It always has been.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but I swear something flickers in her eyes—just for a second—then it’s gone.

“And that’s your problem,” she says, calm as ever. “Not mine.”

She turns and walks back into the dining room like I never touched a nerve at all.

And I just stand there, alone in the hallway, every breath loud and heavy in my chest.

I fucked up.

Not just with her.

With who she is. What she deals with. What I should’ve respected from day one.

And now?

I’m going to have to earn my way back from this.

One inch at a time.