43. Stress Cleaning
STRESS CLEANING
CHELSEA
Brett left three hours ago.
I know this because I’ve checked the clock approximately forty-seven times since the door closed behind him, and because I’ve run out of things to clean.
His kitchen is spotless. His bathroom has been reorganized by product type.
He’s a heathen who just throws all his socks in a drawer and fishes for mates, so I matched up all twenty-five pairs, which took longer than I’d like to admit, and also tells me more about Brett Sillinger than most people will ever know.
I’m wearing his PR T-shirt. The mock jersey with the logo on the front and his name and number on the back. I grabbed it off the chair in his bedroom this morning because it smelled like him and I needed the comfort, and also because I thought it might be good luck.
Like I’m manifesting what I want.
Sillinger. Number 59. Montana Wolfpack.
I’m currently elbow-deep, reorganizing Brett’s junk drawer—three chargers, some expired pizza coupons, two Allen keys, and a mystery battery. My phone is face-up on the counter so I won’t miss the notification. I’m checking it so often the screen doesn’t have a chance to go dark.
I mean, if he’d gotten fired, that would have been a pretty short conversation, right? So maybe it’s good I haven’t heard from him yet?
This is what love does to a person, apparently. Turns a perfectly organized, highly competent event coordinator into a woman who reorganizes some guy’s sock drawer and stares at her phone like it holds the secrets to the universe.
Not some guy. Brett. My—
The sound of his key in the lock snaps my head up.
He’s wearing the same gray suit he wore the night I learned his name.
He was buttoned up and nervous when he kissed me goodbye earlier. Now his tie and collar are loose, but I can’t tell if it’s in relief or defeat.
“You’re back,” I announce. Not sure why.
I bump the drawer shut with my hip.
“Hey, I got Thai food on the way home. I hope… Is that my shirt?”
I look down at myself. “I thought it would be good vibes for your meeting. Your name and number on Wolfpack merchandise.”
I can’t read his face. He sets the takeout bags on the kitchen table.
“That’s not what my jersey’s going to look like next year.”
My heart plummets, and I reach out to grip the marble counter for support.
I don’t know what this means for us. Does he still want to see me if he’s states away? Across the country? In Canada?
“They gave me the A.”
My brain buffers. I can’t process the information. “The A?”
Alternate captain. They’re making him an alternate captain.
Pieces click into place as hope tingles through my body, weakening my knees.
They re-signed him. He’s part of the Wolfpack.
“You’re staying?”
The grin that breaks across his face is pure joy.
“I’m staying.”
I launch myself into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. I’m so excited I’m giggling as I sink into his kiss.
Brett’s lips are warm and welcoming under mine, and I wind my arms around his neck as we make out, our mouths meeting with relief and promise.
The lazy stroke of his tongue winds through my system, suffusing my limbs with heat.
When we finally part, in search of oxygen, his hands tighten on my ass.
“I’m glad you didn’t go back to your place while I was gone.”
“I was too nervous. I couldn’t leave before I found out how the meeting went.” I shoot him a wry smile, rolling my eyes at myself. “I’ve been stress cleaning since you left.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I hope you cleaned out some drawers and half the closet.”
“I mean, I went through your sock drawer, but I…” I trail off when his words start to sink in, but I don’t… I can’t… Surely he doesn’t mean…
“Move in with me.”
I let go of his neck, and his body shifts to compensate for the change in balance.
“What?”
“I would have asked you before, but I wanted to wait until I knew what was going on with hockey. So you knew what you were agreeing to.”
I give him a teasing grin. “So if they’d dumped your ass, you’d be breaking up with me right now?”
I don’t get the return smile I’m expecting. In fact, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Brett more deadly serious than the way he’s looking at me right now.
“If they sent me packing, I’d be asking you to move in with me in Boston. Or Colorado. Or Montreal.”
My smile fades, blood draining from my face so fast it leaves tingles in its wake. His words have my fingers digging into his shoulders, as though pinching him will let me know if this is a dream or not.
“I don’t speak French,” I whisper. My voice won’t work properly. I’m too overcome. My body is starting to shake.
“Then I would’ve flown back here as often as possible for as long as I needed to.”
Brett wants to be with me.
No matter what.
Not even my own mother wanted that.
This isn’t love built on proximity or convenience. It’s real. The kind that lasts. The kind worth flying for.
Worth fighting for.
My breath comes out shakily, and I throw my arms around his neck, hugging him so tight that there’s no way he doesn’t feel the way my body is trembling right now.
“Hey,” he says, his voice gentle. He walks us over to the kitchen island and sets me down.
It takes me a second to loosen my grip on him enough that he can pull back and meet my eyes. “I love you.”
He reaches up, thumbs brushing the tears I didn’t realize had spilled down my cheeks.
“I know I’m not the guy people usually bet on. I’ve fucked up plenty, but you make me want to do better. Be better.”
“It’s too soo-oon,” I blubber, and his chuckle is low and husky as he cradles my face in his hands.
“Says who?”
“Everyone,” I manage.
“Well, screw ’em. We’re not following the checklist on this one. This time we’re doing it my way.”
I sniff, trying to pull myself together. “Reckless abandon and hoping for the best?”
He laughs, nodding. “It got me you.”
My gulping half-sob, half-laugh is not cute. “Yeah, well. You’re hard to say no to.”
“I sure as hell hope so, because I’m going to ask you to marry me one day, Chels.”
And just like that, he steals my breath again.
“I want you to know that I’m serious about this. About you. About us. Whatever it takes.”
He presses his forehead against mine.
“That’s a promise. So move in with me.”
I nod. I can’t stop nodding. “Okay.”
“Great. How about this weekend?”
“Brett, it’s Friday.”
“And?”
“That’s going to take a lot of planning.”
His lopsided grin hits me right in the chest. “Think you’re up to it?”
I tighten my arms around him.
“Pass me my clipboard,” I order, and then I drag him in for another kiss.