41. Redux
REDUX
CHELSEA
Itake a deep breath and unbuckle my seatbelt, ignoring the lack of gravity in my stomach. Because tonight, I’m going to win back the man I love.
Probably.
Maybe.
I look at my chauffeur-slash-moral support, who’s watching me expectantly from the driver’s seat of the Jetta.
“Are you sure this isn’t stupid?”
Shanna sighs. “Don’t you dare wuss out on me now. You need to wield all of your nameless-one-night-stand-with-a-hot-tattooed-hockey-player badassery and go and do this, you hear me?”
I bob my head like a boxer warming up for the fight of my life. “I hear you.”
“Good. This is no time for second guessing. We made a plan. You wrote it on your clipboard, and what do you do with things that are written on your clipboard?”
“I make them happen,” I answer dutifully.
“Damn right you do. Now suit up.”
Shanna passes me a tube of strawberry Chapstick, and I apply it before capping it and handing it back.
She waves it off. “Actually, that’s yours. You left it in my car the other day, so just shove it in your purse or something.”
I tuck it in my black evening clutch. “I was wondering where it went.”
“Now get in there and eggplant-emoji-thumbs-up-emoji the pants off the man you love. And that’s an order.”
“Yes. I’m just going to go in there and... oh, God.” My knuckles whiten as I clutch the satin purse in my lap. “What if he says no?”
“You love him, right?”
So much my heart hurts. “I do.”
Shanna shrugs. “Then it doesn’t matter what he says. You have to do it anyway.”
The truth of it calms me.
I was too scared to risk my heart before. But Brett’s worth it. He’s worth the risk.
Here goes nothing.
With a deep breath, I get out of the car. The sidewalk is snow-free under my three-inch black knee boots, unlike the last time I did this, and the wind slipping through my v-neck sweater is warm. I shiver anyway.
“Text me and let me know how it goes. You got this.”
I smile through my nerves. Being honest about Dustin, and about Brett, has brought us closer than ever, and her support means everything.
“I got this,” I repeat, pushing the door shut.
With a fortifying breath of balmy Missoula air, I stride into Sugar, the club my father rented out for a wind-up party to thank the team for an incredible season.
Once the bouncer finds my name on the list—thank you, Dad—I hurry past the coat check, decline a drink offer from the server stationed near the entrance, and stand against the back wall.
The dance floor has been filled with tables full of players, coaches, trainers, administrative staff.
Everyone affiliated with this historic season was invited for catered dinner, followed by an evening of drinks and dancing.
I’m systematically scanning the occupants of the tables while my father wraps up his speech at the front of the room.
“—to say thank you. No one dreamed we’d make the postseason, but thanks to some incredible grit and determination, not only did Wolfpack make the playoffs, you guys took the best team in the league to seven games, and you made them fight hard to beat us.
So I hope you are as proud of your hard work as I am.
And next year, we’re going all the way to the Cup! ”
I catch sight of Brett as he turns to say something to Jace, the second before the room erupts in a cacophony of cheering and clapping and cat calls. He’s sitting at the left-most table in the front row with his back to me.
“Enjoy the party, and drink responsibly. There’ll be cabs waiting to take you home at the end of the night,” my father says, wrapping up.
The house lights come up, and the DJ plays something twangy that Brett will hate, and I square my shoulders and walk straight toward him.
I’m wildly underdressed amongst the suit-and-cocktail-dress crowd, but I remind myself that I’m wearing this sweater and these jeans in the name of love, and I keep walking, even as Brett’s tablemates start to notice me.
I pick up my pace when Jace raises a hand in salute, which causes Nik to look over and tip his head in greeting. I arrive at the table just as Brett grabs his glass, which means I have about three seconds before he turns around to see who everyone is waving at.
It’s now or never.
“Excuse me.”
Brett’s shoulders stiffen at the sound of my voice, but I force myself to keep going.
Stick to the plan.
“My name’s Chelsea. Chelsea London. And I don’t mean to take you away from your friends, but can I buy you a drink?”
My breath snags in my lungs as he turns in his chair, and I worry some of the strawberry sheen off my bottom lip as I wait for his reaction. His expression is carefully neutral for a moment, but when my outfit registers, his beautiful gray-blue eyes snap to mine in surprised confusion.
“Uh, Chelsea, you know that’s Brett, right?” Chase asks from the other side of the table.
Brett sets his full glass down.
Time passes with the slow, thick beat of my heart.
Thump... thump... thump…
He wets his lips—like maybe his mouth is suddenly as dry as mine—and gives me the slightest of nods. “Sure. I could use a drink.”
I can breathe again at the sound of his voice, and relief trembles through me as he stands.
“Okay, seriously, what the hell’s going on here? He already has a drink. He literally just set his whiskey back on the table. And isn’t the booze free tonight anyway?”
“Jesus, Hawk.” Nik cuffs him in the back of the head. “How are you so good at hockey and so bad at life? Learn when to shut up, would you?”
Brett and I walk in silence toward the bar, and aside from the way I’m strangling my purse, I figure things are going about as well as they can be right now. I take a seat on one of the stools and I’m relieved when he follows my lead.
Unlike last time we did this, the bartender comes right over.
“Could I get a whiskey for…” I look at him. “I’m sorry, but I make it a policy not to buy drinks for men whose names I don’t know.”
His lips twitch at the corner, and I take it as a good sign.
“It’s Brett. Sillinger,” he adds after a moment.
I turn back to the bartender. “A whiskey for Mr. Sillinger, and I will take something slushy. Preferably with a piece of fruit on a plastic sword in it. Thank you.” I set my purse on the bar beside me. “So, Brett. What do you do for a living?”
He braces an elbow on the bar and turns toward me. Damn, he looks good in a suit. “I play hockey.”
“That sounds exciting.”
“It has its moments,” he agrees as the bartender places our drinks in front of us. Since it’s an open bar, I slide the man a generous tip before I grab the strawberry daiquiri and take a reinforcing sip.
“So, Chelsea London, what’s your story?” he asks.
The sound of my name on his lips calms me, gives me courage.
“Funnily enough, I work for a hockey team. My dad owns and manages it, but don’t let the nepotism fool you. I’m very good at my job.”
“I’ll bet you are.” Brett lifts his glass, staring contemplatively at the amber liquid. He looks like a man on the cusp of an important decision. He downs the contents of the tumbler and sets it on the bar with a thunk. “But I didn’t ask what you do for a living. I asked what your story is.”
“Oh.” I grab my straw and give my drink a nervous stir. “Well, that will take a little longer to answer.”
He shrugs a big shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I try not to read too much into those words, despite the hope blooming in my chest, because even if he means them the way I want him to mean them, I need to get this out.
“Okay, well, once upon a time, there was a type-A princess who thought she was looking for a big bad wolf that she met at a marketing ball, where they kind of hit it off.”
I give a dismissive wave of my fingers. “I won’t bore you with the details. Anyway, the next day, she found out the big bad wolf was actually a handsome prince.”
Brett raises his eyebrows. “Whoa. Surprise twist.”
“Completely! She didn’t see that coming at all.
And she was so scared when she realized that this prince guy was everything she’d ever wanted, that instead of letting him sweep her off her feet and appreciating everything he was, she just locked him in a tower and only let him out when he promised to be the wolf. ”
I shake my head with dismay. “Turns out she was so focused on the way she thought things ought to be, that she missed out on the way things were. She totally blew it.”
I bring the straw to my mouth. The sharp-sweet taste of rum and fake strawberries melts on my tongue. “How about you? What’s your story?”
Brett strokes his thumb down the side of his empty glass.
“Me? I found a princess once. But I, uh, let some insecurities about who I used to be get in the way of who I am now, and I pushed her away. Ambushed her in the middle of the night at her castle. Total dick move. Now I’m just your typical cursed prince, doomed to wander the earth alone until I locate the pair of boobs that fit this magic bra I found after the best missionary sex of my life. ”
I sit up a little straighter at the opening he’s left me. “That’s a super weird coincidence. Because I once left a bra behind after the best missionary sex of my life. But that was with a big bad wolf, not a prince, so...”
Brett glances over at me. “I actually have a side-gig as a wolf. I’m part of a pack and everything.”
“Oh?” The hope in my chest is out of control now. I couldn’t have wrangled it into something more manageable if I’d tried. “Small world.”
“Now that you mention it, you do remind me of this princess I met in a bar once.” Brett shifts on the stool so he’s facing me.
“So what do we do now?” I ask, turning toward him. My knee brushes the inside of his thigh.
“Well, maybe we just leave it up to one of those fairy tale tests of fate.” He’s staring at my mouth, igniting a low hum in my belly. “I don’t have the bra with me, but the woman I’m thinking of tastes like strawberries.”
He leans in, but I hold up a finger to stop him. “Hold on one sec.”
I fish the plastic sword from my drink and slide the strawberry off it with my teeth.
My pulse kicks up at the way Brett focuses on my mouth while I chew. Swallow. Lick my lips for good measure. “Okay. Where were we?”
A dangerous grin works its way across Brett’s face, and my skin prickles with want. “I’m pretty sure you just cheated fate.”
I shrug, shifting forward on my bar stool to grab him by the tie. “Sometimes, when she wants something badly enough, a princess has to break the rules and take matters into her own hands.”
I pull him close and his groan mixes with my sigh as our mouths meet in the kind of kiss that wakes sleeping princesses and promises them forever.
And when I think my heart might burst, I touch my tongue to his bottom lip to wake the beast, and he growls as he grabs me by the thighs and hauls me right off my stool and onto his lap.
Wrapping my legs around his waist, I give myself up to a kiss that promises something else entirely.
I’m panting when our mouths part. My heart is beating so fast.
Brett tips his forehead against mine. “People are starting to stare.”
His warning means nothing. I’m exactly where I belong. “Let them.”
I kiss him again, reveling in the way his mouth chases mine when I pull back.
“I’m so sorry, Brett. I never meant to make you feel temporary. I was just so worried I wouldn’t be enough for you.”
“You were always enough,” he assures me. “I just needed to believe I was.”
“Maybe we both did.” I trace the knot of his tie. “You were right about the checklist. I made it to keep myself safe. But I don’t want safe anymore. I want you.”
Something kindles in his eyes, and I lose my breath.
“You better be sure this time. Because I can’t lose you again.”
His words glue together broken pieces inside of me, and I slide my hand up to cradle the stubbled jaw of the man who means everything to me. “I love you so much.”
He reaches up and brushes my hair behind my ear. “I love you too, Chels. I have from the moment I laid eyes on you.”
The room blurs for a second, tears stinging my eyes so suddenly that I laugh at myself.
I wiggle my hips to distract us both. To let him know I’m aware that staring at me isn’t all his body wants right now. “And here I thought it was the minute you laid hands on me.”
“Yeah, that part was really good, too,” he agrees with a grin.
“So, what do you say you carry me out of here, and let me get to work on giving you a happy ending,” I tease, unable to hold back a giggle as he tightens his arms around me and stands up.
But he doesn’t walk out of the bar. He doesn’t move at all, actually. Just stands there, holding me like I’m something precious. A tremor of tenderness moves through my chest, and my smile fades.
“Actually,” he says, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to my mouth. “I think maybe a happily ever after is more my style.”