Bree snorted softly. “With all the work I have to do? I only have time for your games.”
Clint sighed and pulled her close, linking his hands behind her back. “I love you.”
“Because I’m not going to Jax’s games?” Bree laughed.
He nodded. “That, and so much more.” He pressed her to him, giving her a long, slow, thorough kiss that made her body buzz.
Bree broke off and dusted a soft kiss high on Clint’s cheek. “I will go to Grizz’s games, though. No offense.”
Clint hissed, pulling away from her playfully. “Still love you very much, but that smarts.”
She shrugged. “I’m a baseball girl. Sorry.”
He gave her a scolding look. “You’re my girl, Bree Stone. Chicago doesn’t change that.”
“You’re right,” she admitted, feeling her lips pull into a smile she hoped would dazzle him. “I am your girl, no matter where either of us is, and my man plays hockey.” She touched her brow to his, peering deeply into his piercing blue eyes. “Guess that makes me a hockey girl now.”
“It had better,” he growled before kissing her again.
And it was very, very convincing.
The room was filled to the brim with people, every table full and a few stragglers desperately looking for any seat anywhere.
Standing room only for an awards dinner.
He’d never have expected that, but it made everything better, in his mind.
Bree deserved as much attention as she could get.
She’d hate every minute of it.
Clint glanced over at her as she sat next to him, her attention on the plate before her and what remained of the dinner on it.
She was stunning this evening, and every glance at her hit that truth home once again. She’d chosen to wear white, the dress barely showing the tops of her shoulders, her thick brown hair curled and half pulled up. Her makeup was natural, which he always preferred, but Trista had convinced her to go with a little extra on the eye shadow in what they called a smoky eye.
He didn’t get it, but he loved how it brought out the green in her hazel eyes, and he loved what that did to his chest and his knees.
He watched as she fiddled around with a piece of lettuce on her plate, her fork turning it this way and that without doing anything to bring it to her mouth.
The sight made him smile. Bree was nervous.
She didn’t need to be; this wasn’t the Oscars. She already knew she was getting this award.
One quick speech, and it would be done.
But Bree didn’t like public speaking at things like this. She preferred a conference room full of eager board members willing to listen to and heed her advice, or encouraging a room full of kids to participate in physical activities while introducing them to local programs.
She really had a way with people, but being on display was one of her least favorite things.
It wasn’t a problem when Clint was the target and she was on his arm, but when it was about her, it was a big deal.
He loved that about her.
She had always described herself as a background person. He thought she deserved the spotlight.
They were never going to agree on this.
Clint put a hand over Bree’s where it rested in her lap. She looked at him at once, her lips pulling into a small smile. “Wanna run away?”
He laughed softly but shook his head. “And miss your big moment? I don’t think so, sweetheart.”
She wrinkled her nose briefly in disappointment, though he sensed she was playing. She looked over at the stage at the front of the room and exhaled roughly. “I just want them to get started. Get this over with. Then we can go home, and I can put on some sweats.”
“I love the way you look in sweats.”
Bree quirked her brows in his favorite teasing manner. “Something to look forward to, then.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the emcee intoned from the podium on the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to proceed to the awards portion of the ceremony at this time. Don’t worry, your dessert will be coming around shortly.”
The room laughed, and Clint smiled, still holding Bree’s hand tightly.
“To present the first award of the evening,” the emcee went on, “please welcome hockey Hall of Famer Coach Hal Fenwick.”
Clint grinned and looked at Bree, who’d had no idea of the identity of her presenter. She was gaping at the stage, too shocked to applaud.
Coach Fenwick approached the podium, making eye contact with Bree and Clint, waving at them both.
Clint raised two fingers and saluted, nodding his thanks.
Bree’s hold on Clint’s hand squeezed almost painfully tight now.
“Thank you,” Coach Fenwick said to the crowd. “Thank you very much.”
He looked down at the podium, then cleared his throat and raised his eyes. “There are some people who see the world as it is and have the drive to change it. To see a problem and suggest a solution. To find a cause in need of direction, take it up, and make it their banner. This is what Bree Stone and her team at Prime Outreach Incorporated have done. From their very first project with the Northbrook Elite Hockey Club, whose support videos are still some of the most viewed on the internet, they have set out to restore athletic clubs in trouble and to bring back the power of a team, a sport, an activity, and in some cases, an entire community.”
Coach Fenwick paused, smiling directly at Bree, seeming to speak only to her now. “Looking back, it is impossible to think that it has been a mere eighteen months since their very first event, when you consider all that Prime has accomplished. All that Bree has accomplished. I first met her in person at that very first event, a fundraising gala in Chicago thrown together in a short time, specifically to raise money for a club that I had devoted most of my professional career to. A club that meant everything to me. Bree, at that time, barely knew the sport, according to various sources who shall remain nameless.”
A rumble of laughter rippled across the room.
“That evening,” he went on, “was a special one for me. I don’t think Bree will even remember meeting me, considering there were so many guests having such a great time, and she managed the entire thing without breaking a sweat. But I knew I would remember her. I knew that she was something special. I knew that she would go on to do great things. And despite what she has accomplished, how she has impressed, the difference she has made, her career is only just beginning, and her work, and the work of the company she founded, will only get more and more impressive, making more of a difference than she, or the world, will ever know.” His smile grew and he dipped his chin in a nod. “It is my privilege and honor to present this year’s Rising Star award to Bree Stone and Prime Outreach Incorporated.”
Applause filled the air, and Clint released a rough exhale, turning to look at Bree. Her eyes were fixed on the stage, her throat working twice on a swallow. Her eyes met his, her lips trembling as she tried to smile.
“I love you,” Clint whispered.
“I love you too.” She leaned forward for a quick kiss, then rose, smoothing her dress before moving to the stage.
Clint got to his feet and clapped, his chest and throat tightening almost painfully with pride. He heard some whistles and whoops from somewhere behind him, which made him smile. Clearly Bree had some fans in the room, which was only right.
Bree took her statuette from Coach Fenwick, giving him a tight hug and smiling when he kissed her cheek, whispering something in her ear. She nodded and moved to the podium, exhaling shakily, one hand pushing back a short lock of hair falling over her brow.
“Wow,” she said with an almost breathless smile for the crowd. “Wow, thank you.”
The applause settled, and they all took their seats.
Bree inhaled, exhaled, then shook her head. “I can’t believe I am really here tonight. That I’ve done anything to deserve an award or attention or that Coach Fenwick would come out of retirement to h
and out one more trophy to a kid.”
Clint chuckled along with Coach and the rest of the room.
“I have been surrounded by sports my entire life,” Bree admitted, turning serious. “My brother is a baseball player, and I’ll let you guess who.” She paused for another laugh. “I never minded going to his games. I can’t say I always paid attention to them, but I went. I learned to love the sport that he loved. I saw the bond he had with his team in every level of his career. I saw the joy that it brought to his life and the dedication that he put into that sport to become great. The man he became because of that sport. And then I met a hockey player.”
She paused again and looked over at Clint, her smile reappearing. “He changed my life. Because of him, I learned what a slash is, what boards are, and why in the world there are so many fistfights in a sport using blades to move on ice.”
The room erupted with laughter, and Clint grinned in delight. She was so good up there, and were it not for the fact that he knew her so well, he would never have suspected that her knees were shaking beneath her skirts.
“I saw that same love,” Bree went on. “That same dedication. That same passion and spirit, that feeling of a team becoming a family. When the situation of the Northbrook Elite Hockey Club became known to me, it was almost immediately obvious to me that this was what I wanted to do with my life. This was what I wanted to dedicate my career to. This was a difference that I could make.”
She paused, then lifted her chin and looked out at the audience, a new strength and light filling her. “I am not an athlete myself, and I am the first to admit that I am far from it. This has never been about athletics. This has always been, and will always be, about passion, about heart, about community, and about healthy physical activity.”
Clint caught how Bree’s hand shook, not in fear, but with the passion she felt for her cause.
“It’s about giving every kid the opportunity to be part of a team, to develop not only athletic skills but life skills. To prove that no one is defined by where they live, how much money they have, or who they know.”
Applause interrupted Bree then, and she smiled as she waited for it to fade.
She swallowed hard and wet her lips. “Every club or program or team that POI supports, restores, or sponsors gives back to their community and brings their young athletes, dancers, performers, or students powerful experiences that can shape who they are and who they will become. They are changing lives, not us, and certainly not me. All we can do, and all we want to do, is make sure they are able to keep going, keep building, and continue to do just that. Thank you very much.”
Every person in the room was on their feet, cheering for this powerful woman and her impassioned speech, her call to each of them to join her without any hint of recruitment in her words.
That was the effect of Bree Stone.
The woman he loved.
Clint shook his head to himself, applauding with the rest of the room, smiling with all the love and pride in the world as she left the stage and came back to their table. He opened his arms, and she walked right into them, clinging to him while exhilarated tremors cascaded through her frame.
“Amazing,” Clint murmured in her ear. “I am so proud of you.”
She pulled back and smiled up at him, relief evident in every feature. “I couldn’t do any of this without you, Clint. Not any of it.”
He grinned and shook his head, helping her to her seat. “I find that very hard to believe, but thank you.”
“It’s true,” she insisted as he sat, taking his hand. “You are everything to me. You have to know that.”
“I am glad to hear you say so.”
His heart pounded furiously in his chest, but there could be no more perfect moment than this.
“Now that you’ve taken the athletics world by storm,” he murmured, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit coat, “maybe you’d like to take something else as well.”
He put the small box on the table and slid it pointedly towards her.
Bree stared at the still-closed box, barely breathing. Her eyes lifted to Clint’s, round and dark. “Clint McCarthy, are you serious right now?”
Clint smiled quickly and reached over to lift the lid of the box, eliciting a gasp from her. “I’ve only been more serious once in my life, and that was when I told you I love you.”
One of Bree’s hands covered her mouth for the space of several breaths, then went to her heart as she swallowed. “Oh my . . . it’s so beautiful.”
“Still doesn’t hold a candle to you, love.” Clint slid from his chair, going down to one knee before her, drawing the attention of the other guests around them now. “Bree Stone, will you marry me?”
Bree beamed at him with all the brightness and glory of the sun, frantically nodding. “Yes! Yes, yes, I would love to.” She reached for him, and he rose, kissing her fiercely as one of his hands slid to the base of her neck, careful to avoid ruining her hair.
Whoops and applause lit the air around them, and they laughed into their kiss. Clint pulled back and tugged the ring from its box, sliding it onto her finger. “It should fit,” he said unnecessarily as he pressed it to the base. “Trista gave me some very exact measurements.”
“Trista knew?” Bree asked in delighted shock.
“A few people knew,” he admitted as he pointed just behind her.
Bree whirled to see her entire family, his family, and most of their friends approaching from some of the outer tables, where they had been safely hidden from her view. She turned back to Clint, grinning even while tears began to trickle down her cheeks. “You sneak!”
He shrugged, laughing. “You always said you wanted your family there when you get engaged. You didn’t think I was listening, but I took some very careful notes.”
She closed the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck, drawing him down for a sound kiss. “I love you, Clint.”
Clint wiped away one of her tears, thinking his heart might actually explode within him. “I love you, Bree. Always will.”
Bree kissed him again and winked with a hint of promise, then turned to face their family and friends, wiggling her newly ringed finger for all to see.
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Rebecca Connolly writes romances, both period and contemporary, because she absolutely loves a good love story. She has been creating stories since childhood, and there are home videos to prove it! She started writing them down in elementary school and has never looked back. She currently lives in Indiana, spends every spare moment away from her day job absorbed in her writing, and is a hot cocoa addict.
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Faceoff (Northbrook Hockey Elite Book 1) Page 20