Chapter 37 Stella
THIRTY-SEVEN
STELLA
“Will you stop doing that?” Emmett scolds from the couch as I fold his sweatpants, laying them on top of the small pile I’ve created.
We left the guesthouse this morning and came to his apartment in search of his birth certificate, which we’ll need in order to apply for our marriage license.
Bailey, Livvy, and Sydney were ecstatic when I told them about our wedding plans, jumping on board to help with the arrangements.
The Grants have lived here all their lives, and are very well connected, so I’m grateful for their willingness to be a part of our big day.
But some things, we have to do on our own, which is why we’re here.
I scowl, taking a T-shirt from the basket and shaking out the wrinkles.
“Would you just shut up and let me do wife things?” Emmett has been spending so much time at the guesthouse—usually tangled up in the sheets with me for hours after being begged to stay for five more minutes—I can’t help but feel partially responsible for the mountain of clean clothing that’s been sitting here since God knows when.
He quirks a brow. “Wife things? Since when have you been into gender roles?” I freeze where I stand, considering the sentiment for several seconds before tossing the article back where it came from.
“You’re right,” I reply. “Fuck the patriarchy. Do your own laundry.” He chuckles as I plop down on the couch, his arm instinctively sliding around my shoulder and pulling me close. I cuddle up, hugging my knees to my chest with a soft sigh.
“I still can’t believe you live here,” I say, looking around the practically empty space.
It looks like the unit they show people when they’re thinking of moving into the building.
There’s furniture, a few pieces of art on the walls, and a generic decoration or two.
But other than that, this place has zero personality.
In high school, Emmett’s room was a reflection of who he was, with trophies and inspirational quotes all over.
Posters of his favorite athletes were hung like shrines, and memories that we made throughout the years were always on display.
I’m not expecting his house to look like a teenager lives here, but right now, it doesn’t look like anyone does.
His shoulder lifts into a shrug. “I’ve lived in three different cities since I was drafted.
The more I moved around, the more I realized how pointless it was to settle in anywhere.
It ended up being a vicious cycle of me refusing to let anyone get too close, not creating the bonds I needed to play well with my teammates, and getting traded.
By the time I got to Cleveland, I knew I had to make some changes in that regard, but it still never really felt like home.
At least, not until you got here.” I look up, a grateful smile tugging at my lips as he continues.
“Home isn’t a place. It’s not a luxury apartment with expensive furnishings and artwork.
It’s not a white picket fence or a big yard for parties.
Those things are nice, but to me, home is the first phone call you make when something exciting happens.
It’s the person you see next to you through all the milestones in life, and who you want holding your hand at the end. That’s you, Stell. You’re my home.”
Emotion washes over me, and suddenly, I’m not close enough.
So, I sit up, throwing my leg over his lap until I’m straddling him.
My hands frame his cheeks, gratitude overflowing as I lean forward and press my mouth to his.
I kiss him softly, feeling so complete that I could float away at any moment.
This life with him is all I’ve ever wanted.
I made terrible mistakes along the way, but I’m all in now.
As long as I’m breathing, Emmett Hayes will always have a home.
“I love you so much,” I whisper against his lips. “Thank you for choosing me, not once, but twice.”
He smiles, his dark eyes softening as his hands skate over my thighs.
“I’ll choose you every time, baby. There’s nobody else for me.
” I kiss him again, this time deeper and longer, savoring every slide of his silky tongue against mine.
I wish we could stay right here forever, lazily making out like we don’t have a care in the world.
But I’m equally as eager to make this man my husband again, so we need to get our shit together.
“Let’s go find what we came here for, before we end up naked,” I say, pulling away. He chases my lips, and I giggle, backing up further in an attempt to get him to focus. He finally gives up, groaning loudly as he places both hands under my ass and stands with me still wrapped around him.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he grumbles. “I’d much rather be fucking that sweet pussy than digging through my safe for stupid paperwork.”
My face twists in faux disgust as we make our way up the stairs, my head swiveling around to study the barren, sterile walls.
“There’s a zero percent chance of you ever getting laid in this apartment, Em.
It’s like a hospital in here. As soon as I walked through the door, my vagina dried up like the Sahara. ”
“Lies,” he says with a cocky grin, nipping at my bottom lip.
“You’re lucky I’m in a hurry to get your ass to the altar, because I bet that I could prove you wrong.
I already know you’re wet for me. You always are.
” He’s right, I am. But in my defense, Emmett is a really good kisser.
It takes almost no effort for him to get me worked up with that talented mouth of his.
I don’t argue, continuing to keep my arms and legs wrapped around him until he turns into the office and deposits me onto the dark mahogany desk.
I look around, noticing that the area behind me is decorated a little bit better than the rest of the apartment, which makes sense, since it’s the background in all of his video interviews.
There are a few shelving units hung on the wall, with signed footballs and awards placed strategically along their surfaces.
A stack of paperwork and his Renegades playbook are stacked neatly beside me, and I chuckle to myself because some things never change.
Em is a clean freak, while I thrive in a mess, but it works.
It’s us—a perfect balance of order and chaos.
“Is it in there?” I ask, gripping the edge of the desk and leaning forward so I can see over his shoulder.
The gigantic safe is wide open, and he’s got a hand braced on the outer frame with his head fully inside.
The small, round interior lights are doing absolutely nothing to illuminate the cubbies that are full of Emmett’s personal effects.
File folders neatly line an entire row, several sealed totes and items of significance sitting below.
“Somewhere,” he replies. “I haven’t needed it in a while. I’m sure it’s buried at the bottom of one of these stacks.” He roots around for a few seconds longer, standing with a laugh as he pulls out a small blue box. “I did find these, though.”
He turns, my heart immediately jumping up into my throat as soon as I see it.
I would recognize that blue velvet anywhere.
It’s the same box he held in his shaking hand the first time he asked me to marry him.
Back then, it held the promise of a beautiful future, one where we’d see all of our hopes and dreams come to life right before our eyes.
We were so young and na?ve, knowing nothing about the real world and what it takes to make a marriage work.
But that box meant everything to us, and seeing it now reminds me of where we’ve been and what we had to endure to make it to this moment.
“I can’t believe you kept them,” I choke out, tears filling my eyes as he lifts the lid, revealing three rings.
The small diamond glints in the light, memories of how I showed it off to everyone who would listen, telling them the story of my fiancé’s proposal after our graduation ceremony.
The matching silver band is in desperate need of a cleaning, which I never did because I hated the thought of taking it off.
Emmett’s wider, plain Tungsten wedding ring sits in the cutout at the bottom, right below mine.
I hate that they’ve all been here for years, ignored and unworn, when they should’ve been on our fingers for the world to see.
I can almost feel the pain that rippled through me when I pulled them off my finger, making the worst decision of my life.
It claws at my throat, spurring me to reach out and pluck the rings from the padded box before sliding them right back where they belong.
They’re snug, but I don’t care. Feeling the cool metal as it begins to warm against my skin heals me, giving back every bit of hope I lost the day I walked away.
Emmett follows, removing his ring from the box and slipping it on before taking my hand in his. A million memories swirl in the air between us—good, bad, happy, and sad—as we admire the way they look together.
His eyes, glistening with emotion, lift to mine as he leans in and caresses my lips with his in the softest whisper of a kiss.
Butterflies take flight in my stomach, excitement for what’s to come falling over me like a warm blanket.
I drop my forehead to his, existing in the moment for a few beats longer, until the overwhelming need to bind myself to this man on paper becomes so intense that I can’t ignore it.
“Hurry up and find your birth certificate, Mr. Hayes,” I say. “I’m ready to marry the fuck out of you.” He barks a laugh, the sound like music to my ears as he kisses me once more before reluctantly pulling away to focus on the task at hand.
“Whatever you say, Mrs. Hayes. You’re the boss.”