Chapter 13 #2
I’d choked on coffee. Stellan had laughed hard enough to clutch the counter.
Now, looking at him buttoning his cuffs, something in me twisted hard enough to steal my breath. “You nervous?” I asked.
His fingers paused, then resumed their task. “No.”
I took a step toward him. “You’ll be fine.”
“I know.” It sounded automatic, don’t show the cracks, and maybe he realized it, too, because he sighed and dropped his arms. “No, okay. Maybe a little. Naomi and I had twelve days to build a pitch for a room full of strangers who can decide our future. We’re up against people who’ve been doing this for months. ”
“You’re ready,” I told him.
He looked at me, some of the wit draining out of his eyes. “You really think so?”
“I know so.” I reached for him. “I’ve heard the two of you run through it enough times by now. You know the numbers, you know the asks, you know what the weak points are. Reid is happy, which should count as its own kind of certification.”
It got a laugh out of him, brief and real. “He’s been thorough in trying to rip holes into it, that’s for sure.”
“And he failed.”
Stellan leaned into me, smiling faintly. “Yeah, okay. What about you, though?”
“What about me?”
“You’ll have to work the room, too.”
Yeah, the part I usually hated. Smiling and circulating, making strangers feel like their names mattered to me personally. The money side of it all. Normally, I’d spend the drive over wanting to crawl out of my own skin.
Tonight, though? I was too aware of Stellan, of how he and Naomi were about to put something fragile and real in front of people who treated charity like a hobby with tax benefits.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I’m not worried,” he said. “I put you in this suit, didn’t I?”
“Your faith in the power of clothing is astounding.”
He huffed out a laugh, warm against my chin, and I let my eyes skim across the wall behind him. Storm-blue, rust-red, older colors underneath. I hadn’t touched it in weeks.
“Still itching to repaint?” he asked, as if he’d caught where my attention had wandered.
“Yeah,” I said. “Just no time.”
It was true. Partly, anyway. Because the other part was—well. If I painted it over now, it might feel like something I wasn’t ready to admit. Shifting shades of green and blue, slashes of orange.
I turned away and, for reasons I couldn’t quite explain, said, “My parents are coming for Thanksgiving, by the way.”
His gaze focused on me. “Oh. Okay, cool.”
“They get here the day after tomorrow,” I told him. Just information, nothing that meant anything. Just so he could make other plans. “Staying a few days.”
A beat. “That’ll be nice for you.”
“Yeah.” It would be. Mom had already texted about whipping up some kind of Minnesota dessert situation with too much cream that I’d be expected to eat, and Dad had asked whether they should rent a car with winter tires. “Haven’t seen them in too long.”
Stellan nodded, fingers light on the collar of my blazer. “So I guess you’ll be busy?”
Yes. But you should meet them.
Impossible.
“Probably.” The word tasted strangely heavy on my tongue. “Just for a few days.”
His face barely changed, just the smallest tightening around the eyes, obvious only if you knew him. Part of his whole identity, most likely, learning how to make himself look easy.
A second passed before he asked, “Do they know?”
I took a breath. “About me?”
“Yeah.” No joke this time, just a clear, steady look.
“No.” I shook my head. “They don’t.”
Another second. “Would they care?”
“I don’t think so.” I stopped, paused to actually consider it.
“One of my uncles is gay. It’s never been an issue.
” I shrugged, but the motion felt tense.
“I just haven’t told them. It hasn’t been that long since I admitted it to myself, and most days, it’s easier to keep it in a box and get on with things, you know?
Rather than dwell on it. And I think my mom would worry. ”
Slight stillness to the line of his mouth, easy to miss—like I’d said something that landed just a little off to the side, but he didn’t want to make it into an issue.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.” A little too quickly. “No, really. I just wondered.”
He looked distant for a second, like he’d stepped into some corner of his own head. His parents, perhaps, and I could ask—should, maybe. But not now. Now it was my hand at the back of his neck, thumb just under his jaw, his gaze lifting to meet mine.
“You’ll do great,” I said, and kissed him before he could answer. His mouth opened under mine, warm and familiar, the whole room narrowing to that, to taste and touch, the way his breath caught. The shape of him against me, mine for just this moment.
The buzzer. Naomi here to pick him up while I went in the team car. Safe optics, neatly arranged compartments of my life. Just a player who’d invited a promising local initiative into the room.
Stellan straightened and stepped back, looking once more at me in the navy suit he’d chosen, all cool lines and expensive fabric. Something shifted in his expression, went quiet and firm with resolve. “Okay,” he said. “Showtime.”
I nodded and smiled, tried to remind myself that this was meant to be simple.
It didn’t feel simple. Not anymore.
The atrium had dressed for the occasion. Same Museum of Flight, same three stories of glass and steel as the season-launch dinner. Back then, I’d walked in wearing Stellan’s choice. Tonight, he was part of the room.
Round tables dressed in white linen. Waiters weaving through.
Sponsor logos, Cascades blue, and people in expensive clothes mingling with long-stemmed glasses in hand.
And there, off to one side: Suit Up Wednesdays.
A proper feature area with a rack of carefully chosen clothes, one display board with photos and numbers and quotes from kids who’d benefited.
No stale brochures, no sad folding table. Reid had delivered.
And Stellan and Naomi had done the rest. She wore a dark-green dress that flowed with quiet confidence, while Stellan was in black—dark suit, pale shirt. Breathtaking, just slightly. Hair done, jaw clean, smile just bright enough to crack the whole room open.
Yeah.
Then he glanced up and found me across the space. His focus sharpened, then eased, something warm moving over him before he tamped it down. I felt it all the way to my toes.
Keep moving, I told myself. Let them work.
My body made a different call. I drifted over, not in a straight line but not exactly dawdling either, and joined them. Nothing wrong with that. Why wouldn’t I? I’d invited them here.
“Well,” Naomi said. “You do clean up nice.”
“And you look terrifying,” I told her. “I mean that as a compliment.”
“That’s how I took it,” she said.
Stellan’s mouth twitched. “Did you come over here to judge us?”
“Possibly.” My attention moved from the display board to the one-pagers stacked neatly at the edge of the table, and then back to Stellan because I was only human, apparently. “It all looks very professional.”
He gave me a small, warm look. “Blame Reid.”
“Kind of my life motto, actually,” I said, smiling, just as the foundation director materialized next to me, all white teeth and equally white blazer.
“Matt!” It was a little too loud but genuine. “Thanks a bunch for bringing these guys in. Suit Up Wednesdays, right? Great stuff.”
That was how the evening started: handshakes, names, talk of timing and flow for Naomi’s ninety seconds to shine.
I moved along because I had to, making small talk that triggered a faint headache between my eyebrows—hockey culture, this season’s roster, the importance of giving back. Smile and nod, smile and nod.
Halfway across the room, Stellan did the same.
Better, though, with fluid ease and warmth I couldn’t even fake.
He had a donor half laughing near their station, one hand sketching a shape in the air while he talked.
Not performing, or maybe a little, but mostly just alive, authentic in his belief they could change lives. And, well.
Hot.
A few minutes later, I got trapped near their display by a couple who ran a regional chain of trendy restaurants and had opinions on leadership styles. A few feet away, a board member was monologuing at Cole about the team image. We shared a commiserating glance.
“So how do you two split it?” a woman asked Naomi just then. “The youth work, I mean.”
Naomi smiled like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
“We’re a very lean, agile operation.” Reid vocabulary: nailed it.
“But I handle most of the girls, the non-binary kids, and much of the admin. Stellan usually takes the boys—especially the queer ones. It helps that he’s gay himself and has strong opinions about color types. ”
Stellan shot her a look. “Subtle.”
The woman laughed. Cole’s head turned just slightly, and, well—great. Just fucking great.
Not that it was an issue or anything. I’d just gotten them in the room, wasn’t standing next to Stellan waving a rainbow flag or anything of the sort. He smiled at the woman, easy and bright, before his gaze flicked over and caught mine.
I glanced away.
The formal program started soon after. Lights dipped to pull attention toward a stage set up at the far end of the atrium.
People flocked to their seats, conversation petering out.
I took my assigned place at one of the nearer tables with Cole and two board members, sipped my sparkling water, and nodded in all the right places.
Foundation stuff. Welcome remarks. Thanks to our generous sponsors for being utterly wonderful human beings. So blessed. So grateful.
I leaned just close enough to Cole for a private, “Any minute now they’ll praise courage, grit, and platinum-tier sponsorship.”
He kept his eyes forward, mouth twitching up. “Feeling a little cynical tonight?”
“Just a little.”
“Yeah.” He took a sip of wine. “If they say ‘community spirit’ three more times, I win a shot. Straight.”