Taking a Shot

by Taryn Leigh Taylor

So it wasn’t until Brett arrived at the shelter a couple hours later that he got a taste of just how incredible Chelsea was at her job. Sure, he’d seen her pull stuff off with months of preparation, but this, today, was a testament to how much she really cared about the community. It was awe-inspiring to see what she’d accomplished in such a short time.

  The place was packed with reporters, yes, but also with the entire roster of the Montana Wolfpack, decked out in T-shirts emblazoned with a variety of slogans, some decrying revenge porn, others lauding consent, and all of them currently available for pre-order on the shelter’s website to help support the women and children who were bravely telling their heartbreaking stories to reporters scattered around the room.

  “What are you guys doing here?”

  “Are you kidding? You’re one of us now,” Nik reminded him as they shook hands. “Where else would we be?”

  “Couldn’t leave you out here on your own,” Chase told him with a punch to the shoulder. “What happened was way out of bounds.”

  Lincoln stepped up next. “You’re part of a team. You know that.”

  “We’ve got your back, man.” Decker grabbed his hand and pulled him in for a bro hug. “Always. Or, I mean, at least until they trade your ass again.”

  After he’d thanked the rest of his team for coming, for standing by him, Brett walked over to the podium and waited for the executive director of the shelter to introduce him.

  And then he was on.

  …

  Chelsea stood by the wall, trying to remain unobtrusive while she watched Brett give some amazing off-the-cuff words about his experience. The basic media training hockey players received kept his message focused, not on him and what had happened with Janelle, but on the women and children in the shelter, and the epidemic of cyber revenge that was an issue that affected so many people in far more life-altering ways than it had affected him.

  Chelsea was incredibly proud of him as she stood to the side and watched him field questions from the gathered reporters. She was also proud of the team. The guys she worked with throughout the year had really stepped up and proven themselves to be men, each and every one of them jumping on board to support Brett and this worthy cause before she’d even finished the speech she’d planned, despite the last-minuteness of the task.

  As her father made a few brief remarks about how the Montana Wolfpack Organization stood with Brett and all victims of this important issue, Chelsea scrolled through the Wolfpack Community Foundation social media accounts. She was overwhelmed by the outflowing of support she saw there, and it gave her hope that having Brett shine a spotlight on this issue was an opportunity to start a thoughtful dialogue and effect some real change.

  @brttsllngr42 my boyfriend did this 2 me. I know how much it hurts. Ur not alone.

  So awesome to see @MontanaWolfpack support @brttsllngr42 through this. #stoprevengeporn

  No means no, people! Great speech by @brttsllgr42 “I’m hurt, and betrayed, and embarrassed. But it’s not going to affect my job. It’s not going to ruin my life. Not everyone is that lucky.”

  “Hey.”

  Chelsea jumped a little at the sound of Brett’s voice. She wasn’t sure how he was still so good at sneaking up on her. It was like he possessed the inherent ability to constantly surprise her.

  She forced a smile even though her heart hurt. “Hey. You did really great up there. Social media is all abuzz.” She held up her phone.

  He shrugged off the flattery. “I, uh, I just wanted to thank you for this. For all of this. I know I said I was going to do it anyway, but you made it better.” He gestured at the shelter, where his teammates were signing T-shirts and taking selfies, and chatting with people of all ages who could use a little brightness in their lives. “You made it matter more.”

  “You’re the one who made them feel like there was someone in their corner now. All I did was take your advice. What you said in Portland, about connecting with the people, not the cause? It really helped remind me why I do what I do. I’m going to make sure there’s a lot more of this kind of grassroots community work on our calendar next season. So, thank you for that. I’m glad that something good came from…all this,” she trailed off lamely. Because she didn’t know what else to say.

  They’d said everything last night. Hadn’t they?

  Brett ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah.” He nodded. Dropped his hand. His eyes caught hers, and that connection that happened between them sometimes, like they were the only two people in the world, no matter how big the crowd around them, happened now.

  Against her will, her skin prickled to attention, hope expanding her ribs and straightening her spine.

  “Listen, I—”

  “Brett? Can we get you over here for a team picture?”

  The request punctured the moment, and her breath seeped slowly from her lips as reality intruded.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah. Of course.” When he looked back at her, Chelsea knew whatever he was going to say was lost. Maybe for good. “I have to…” He pointed behind him.

  It was her turn to nod. “Yes. Definitely.” She smiled again, even though she didn’t feel like it.

  And then he was gone, the distance between them back to insurmountable, even before he moved to follow the shelter director back to where she’d gathered the team.

  Chelsea bit her lip, trying to take her mind off the hollow void in her chest.

  “Got a minute?”

  The question pulled her eyes from the photo preparations.

  “If you’re here to say ‘I told you so,’ now’s not really the time,” she told her father as he stopped beside her.

  “Actually, I wanted to explain why I gave the promotion to Andrew, and not to you.”

  “You don’t have to. Andrew’s a better fit. Brett explained it to me. And he made me realize I don’t want to schmooze donors. I want to do this.” She gestured toward the shelter. “I want to make a difference.”

  Her father’s eyebrows shot up. “Brett told you that?”

  Her dad pointed to where Brett was hunkered down at the front of the group with an adorable little girl tucked shyly against his side. Chelsea’s heart bumped against her ribs when the girl gestured at the camera and Brett whispered something in her ear to make her giggle.

  Her heart lurched and the bottom dropped out of her stomach, as if she was on a rollercoaster. No, not like a rollercoaster. Worse than that. Like she’d just fallen in love with…

  “That Brett?”

  Chelsea nodded, dazed. She was in love with Brett. She’d been fighting it for so long because it wasn’t part of the plan. But somewhere along the way, the plan had changed. She was in love with a man who had a sex tape, and was jealous of an infant, and made stupid jokes, and kissed her breathless, and understood her better than anyone else. And he liked her anyway.

  Her father cleared his throat, and at the reminder he was still there, Chelsea pulled her attention away from the handsome hockey player who made her want to shop for rocking chairs.

  “Today has been a real lesson in people not being what they’re supposed to be. And I’ve found it quite enlightening.”

  She glanced at her father. “If you’re talking about Brett, then you weren’t looking hard enough before. He’s been trying so hard to live up to your expectations, to the team’s expectations. I know you don’t think he’s serious, but he is.”

  Her father shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips. “I’m talking about you. Today I got to see what a strong woman you’ve become, standing up for what’s right, even though your heart is breaking. Putting other people before yourself. This is what makes you so extraordinary at your job. And the Wolfpack Organization is fortunate to have you. But as a brilliant young woman recently reminded me, work isn’t everything. You need to make time for the things, and the people, who matter most. And a certain member of the Wolfpack Team would be a goddamn fool not to realize how lucky he is to have you on his side. If that’s where y
ou decide you should be.”

  Chelsea’s eyes brimmed with tears at her father’s words. “I think I’ve blown it with him,” she confessed.

  “And I think some things are worth fighting for. You’ve proven that today. But no matter what you choose, I want you to know I’m incredibly proud of you.”

  She let her dad pull her in for a side hug, even though she usually frowned on that when they were at work. But today, she needed the boost.

  Sniffing, she wiped her eyes, standing tall before anyone saw this. “I’m going to go.”

  “Are you sure? I think they’re almost—”

  “I don’t want to distract from all this. This isn’t the time or the place. It’s better if I leave now.” Brett needed to focus on hockey. On the playoffs.

  Her dad nodded. “It’s your decision, and I respect your right to make it. But Chelsea? You can’t to-do list your way out of everything. Sometimes you just have to follow your heart.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chelsea took a deep breath and unbuckled her seatbelt, ignoring the lack of gravity in her stomach. Because tonight, she was going to win back the man she loved.

  Probably.

  Maybe.

  She looked at her chauffeur/moral support, who was watching her expectantly from the driver’s seat of the Jetta.

  “Are you sure this isn’t stupid?”

  Shanna sighed. “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?”

  Chelsea nodded, bobbing her head like a boxer warming up for the fight of her life. “I hear you.”

  “Damn right you did. 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,” Chelsea answered dutifully.

  “Damn right you do. Now suit up.”

  Shanna passed her a tube of strawberry Chapstick, and Chelsea applied it before capping it and handing it back.

  Shanna waved it off. “Actually, that’s yours. You left it in my car the other day, so just shove it in your purse or something.”

  Chelsea tucked it in her 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.” Chelsea’s knuckles whitened as she clutched the satin purse in her lap. “What if he says no?”

  “You love him, right?”

  So much her heart hurt. Chelsea nodded. “I do.”

  Shanna shrugged. “Then it doesn’t matter what he says. You have to do this anyway.”

  The truth of it calmed her.

  She’d been too scared to risk her heart before. But Brett was worth it. He was worth the risk.

  Here goes nothing.

  With a deep breath, Chelsea got out of the car. The sidewalk was less snowy under her three-inch black knee boots than it had been the last time she’d done this, but the wind slipping through her V-neck sweater still chilled her.

  “Text me and let me know how it goes. I love you.”

  Chelsea smiled through her nerves. “Love you, too,” she said, pushing the door shut. And then, with a deep breath of cool Billings air, she turned and walked into the bar her father had rented out for a wind-up party to thank the team for an incredible season.

  Once the bouncer found her name on the list—thank you, Dad—Chelsea hurried past the coat check, declined the offer of a drink by the waitress standing near the entrance, and stood against the back wall, systematically scanning the occupants of the tables while her father wrapped up his speech at the front of the room.

  “…to say thank you. No one dreamed we’d make the post-season, 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!”

  She caught sight of Brett as he turned to say something to Decker, the second before the room erupted in a cacophony of cheering and clapping and cat calls. He was sitting at the left-most table in the front row with his back to her.

  “Enjoy the party, and drink responsibly. There’ll be cabs waiting to take you home at the end of the night,” her father said, finishing up.

  Then the house lights came up, and the DJ played something twangy that Brett would hate, and Chelsea squared her shoulders and walked straight toward him.

  She was wildly underdressed among the suit-and-cocktail-dress crowd, but she reminded herself that she was wearing this sweater and these jeans in the name of love, and kept walking, even as Brett’s tablemates started to notice her.

  She picked up her pace when Jason raised a hand in salute, which caused Nik to look over and tip his head in greeting. She arrived at the table just as Brett grabbed his glass, which meant she had about three seconds before he was going to turn around to see who everyone was waving at. It was now or never.

  “Excuse me.”

  Brett’s shoulders stiffened at the sound of her voice, but she forced herself 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 here, but could I buy you a drink?”

  Her breath got stuck in her lungs as he turned in his chair, and she worried some of the strawberry sheen off her lip as she waited for his reaction. His expression was carefully neutral for a moment, but then her outfit registered, and his beautiful gray-blue eyes snapped to hers in surprised confusion.

  “Uh, Chelsea, you know that’s Brett, right?” Chase asked from the other side of the table.

  Brett set his glass down.

  Time passed to the slow, thick beat of her heart.

  Thump…thump…thump…

  He wet his lips—like maybe his mouth was suddenly as dry as hers—and gave her the slightest nod. “Sure. I could use a drink.”

  She could breathe again at the sound of his voice, and relief trembled through her as he got to his feet.

  “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 cuffed Chase in the back of the head. “How are you so good at hockey and so bad at life? Learn when to shut up, wouldja?”

  She and Brett walked in silence toward the bar, and aside from the fact that she was strangling her purse, Chelsea figured things were going about as well as they could be right now. She took a seat on one of the stools and was relieved when Brett followed her lead.

  Unlike last time they’d done this, the bartender came right over.

  “Could I get a whiskey for…” Chelsea looked at him. “I’m sorry, but I make it a policy not to buy drinks for men whose names I don’t know.”

  His lip twitched at the corner, and she took it as a good sign. “It’s Brett. Sillinger,” he added after a moment.

  She turned 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.” Chelsea set her purse on the bar beside her. “So, Brett. What do you do for a living?”

  He braced an elbow on the bar and turned toward her. Damn he looked good in a suit. “I play hockey.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  His gaze searched her face. “It has its moments,” he agreed as the bartender placed their drinks in front of them. Since it was an open bar, Chelsea slid the man a generous tip before she grabbed her strawberry daiquiri and took a reinforcing sip.

  “So, Chelsea London, what’s your story?” he asked.

  The sound of her name on his lips calmed her, gave her courage.

>   “Funnily enough, I work for a hockey team. My dad owns it, but don’t let the nepotism fool you. I’m very good at my job.”

  “I’ll bet you are.” Brett lifted his glass, staring contemplatively at the amber liquid. He looked like a man on the cusp of an important decision. Then he downed the contents of the tumbler and set 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.” Chelsea grabbed her straw and gave her drink a nervous stir. “Well, that will take a little longer to answer.”

  He shrugged his big shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She tried not to read too much into those words, despite the hope that bloomed in her chest, because even if he meant them the way she wanted him to mean them, she needed 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…” She gave a dismissive wave of her 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 raised 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.” Chelsea shook her 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.”

  “That’s a hell of a story.”

  She nodded, bringing her straw to her mouth. The sharp-sweet taste of rum and fake strawberries melted on her tongue. “How about you? What’s your story?”

  Brett stroked 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.”