Brains Behind the Puck

A Clean Sweep

I've been staring at the same page of my textbook for the past hour, and none of it's sinking in. Not because the material's tough—because my mind's a whirlwind of frustration. The entire house is a reminder that I'm living with three grown men who apparently think chores are optional.

Everywhere I look, it's a mess. Dirty dishes from last night's pizza. Jackets flung over chairs. Socks and dirty T-shirts hanging everywhere, clothes that mysteriously end up in my laundry, like T-shirts, sweatpants and many boxers. And I've just about had it.

I'm tired. Tired of picking up after them. Tired of pretending it doesn't bother me. And tired of letting them get away with it. Something's gotta give.

The front door slams open, followed by the familiar thud of skates hitting the floor. James stumbles into the kitchen, face flushed, still riding the high of practice. "We're finally getting back in sync," he grins, wiping his forehead. "Even Coach thinks we've got a shot this season."

"That's great," I reply, my voice tighter than I intended. I glance at the mess they've trailed behind them—gear scattered everywhere, water bottles left empty everywhere, jackets tossed over chairs like it's some kind of art exhibit. My patience snaps.

"You guys really are helpless, huh?" I mutter, my gaze flicking to Luke and Alex as they walk in, laughing about something that happened at practice.

Alex leans against the counter, a cocky grin plastered on his face. "Riley, you should've seen it. We were on fire today."

I glare at him, crossing my arms. "Great. Maybe next time you can set the kitchen on fire with all the crap you leave behind."

Their laughter dies. All three of them freeze, staring at me like they've just realised I'm about to lose it.

"Seriously, guys. I love living here, but this?" I wave my hand at the disaster zone that is our kitchen. "It's not working for me. I'm not your maid. I'm tired of doing your laundry, picking up your dirty plates, and finding your boxers in my stuff. You're grown men—clean up after yourselves."

James's face drops, and Luke rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, looking genuinely sheepish. But Alex? He has the nerve to flash that smug grin, arms crossed like he's completely unfazed by my outburst.

"Come on, Sunshine. We're not that bad. Just a little... distracted," Alex says, his voice all smooth and teasing.

I shoot him a glare. "Distracted? By what? The tornado you guys unleash every time you step foot in the house?"

Alex steps forward, dropping his grin just slightly. "You've got that fire in your eyes, Sunshine. Kinda hot when you're mad."

My pulse quickens, but I don't let him see it. Instead, I take a step toward him, tilting my head. "It'll get a lot hotter when I burn your stuff if you don't start cleaning up."

His smirk falters, but I see a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—respect, maybe. Whatever it is, it makes my chest tighten in a way I can't quite explain.

Luke shifts uncomfortably, clearly realising how much they've been slacking. "Uh... we didn't realise it was that bad, Riley. Honestly."

James jumps in, all boyish charm and wide eyes. "Yeah, I mean... we've been busy with hockey and stuff, but we can clean up. We're house-trained... sort of?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Right, and I'm the Queen of England. Do me a favour and start acting like grown-ups before I lose it."

James holds his hands up in surrender, looking genuinely guilty. "We're sorry. We didn't mean to dump everything on you."

Luke nods in agreement, eyes softening. "We've been focused on practice, but you shouldn't have to deal with all this. We'll do better."

I cross my arms, meeting Alex's gaze head-on. He's still leaning against the counter, but his smirk has softened into something that looks almost... impressed.

"You're right. You have been slobs. So here's the deal—you're cleaning this entire place today. If this kitchen isn't spotless in an hour, I'm out."

Alex straightens up, his playful grin slipping, but his eyes stay locked on mine, challenging me. "You wouldn't survive without us, Sunshine."

I take a step closer, refusing to back down. "Watch me."

For a second, the air between us thickens. His grin fades, and something else flickers in his eyes—something more intense. But before I can figure it out, he looks away, breaking the moment.

As I turn to leave, I hear Alex groan dramatically behind me. "I can't believe I'm actually cleaning. This is a dark day in history."

Luke laughs, already grabbing a dish towel. "Yeah, well, it's your mess, man."

I can't help but glance over my shoulder as Alex starts picking up his hockey gear, still grumbling under his breath. He catches me looking and flashes a grin.

"Don't worry, Sunshine. I'll work off all this extra energy later."

I roll my eyes. "What's that? Can't hear you over all your excuses."

Before I can argue, Luke and James are already clearing the dishes from the table, and Alex is picking up the gear he dumped by the door. It's almost surreal watching these three hockey players—who usually leave a trail of destruction in their wake—look so determined to clean.

I head upstairs, grab my book, and sink into my bed. For a moment, I don't know what to do with myself. It feels strange to just sit back and relax, knowing they're downstairs actually cleaning. But as I crack open my book, the tension in my shoulders starts to melt away.

Downstairs, I can hear the faint sounds of them working. Luke muttering something about dish soap, Alex cursing as something crashes, and James laughing at both of them. It's oddly soothing.

After a while, the noise quiets down, and then I hear James's voice calling up to me, "Riley! You might want to come see this!"

I head downstairs, fully expecting to find an even bigger mess. But when I step into the kitchen, I stop in my tracks. The counters are spotless, the dishes are done, and all their hockey gear has disappeared.

"Well?" James asks, looking like a proud kid. "What do you think?"

I walk around the kitchen, inspecting their work, a smile creeping up my face. "Okay, I'll admit it. I'm impressed."

Alex leans casually against the now-clean counter, his grin back in full force, but there's a glint in his eye—like he's challenging me to doubt him again.

"Told you we could handle it," he says, voice low and teasing.

"For now," I tease, crossing my arms. "But this doesn't mean you're off the hook. I expect it to stay clean for more than a day."

Luke chuckles, throwing a dish towel over his shoulder. "Deal. We'll try not to turn the place into a disaster zone again."

James drapes an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a side hug. "Thanks for putting up with us. We know we've been... a little focused on hockey."

I smile, leaning into him. "Yeah, just a little. But I wouldn't trade it."

I catch Alex's eyes across the room. He's watching me, something unreadable in his gaze. "Guess we'll just have to keep earning our keep," he says, voice low, teasing but with an edge that sends a shiver through me.

I laugh, but there's a flicker of heat in my chest. "Yeah, you better."

There's a beat of silence, the tension between us thick, but then Alex smirks, breaking the moment. "And next time, maybe I'll surprise you with my... cleaning skills."