Grant sits next to me, and his gaze moves to my foot. “Dude, where are your socks?”
My tailored suit pants have risen up, revealing a few inches of skin. When I got dressed, I shoved my bare feet into leather loafers, thinking no one would notice.
Shrugging, I say, “You don’t need socks when you’re awesome.”
He merely shakes his head. “Kids these days.”
I’m aware that Grant is thirty-two, one of nine guys on the team who are over the age of thirty. Sports commentators like to make a big deal about things like this, noting the experience of our lines and who might be likely to retire. As far as I can tell, Grant is in his prime and won’t be hanging up his skates anytime soon. Which is a damn good thing as far as the Ice Hawks franchise is concerned, because he’s a steady and reliable leader, a good teammate, and a great captain. And let’s not forget one of the best players in the league. Only, I have no idea what he wants with me, or why he’s called me over to this private corner.
Faking nonchalance, I force myself to fork up a bite of my dinner and bring it to my mouth. “So, what’s up, man?” I ask around a mouthful of tender brisket.
Grant exhales a long sigh. “Wanted to talk to you about something.”
My stomach turns over again, but I force myself to swallow the bite of food. “Sure. Anything.”
He nods and meets my eyes. “I know the guys have been giving you a hard time about this whole quickie wedding thing.”
“Uh, yeah.” I take another bite of food without tasting it.
“Well, I wanted to cut the shit and find out, all joking aside, how you’re really doing.”
Wait. What? Grant—grumpy-ass, growly Grant—wants to know about my emotional state? This is an unexpected development.
I’m about to make a joke, to laugh and assure him I’m fine, but something in his eyes gives me pause. He’s being real with me, and I owe him the same.
I take a deep breath and push my plate away. “Honestly?”
He nods. “Of course.”
“Things are pretty fucking confusing.”
His expression is measured, serious. And suddenly I find myself wondering if Grant’s ever been in love.
“Go on,” he says, nodding his encouragement at me.
“Well, the thing was a joke, right? A drunken Vegas shenanigan. Except, for me, I’m not sure that’s all it is.”
“Why’s that?” he asks, and my mind spins.
Because it’s never been like this for me before. I like her as a person. As a partner. As a woman. It’s crazy how well we get along, even if there’s a lot of shit we don’t agree on. Being near her is just effortless. Take this trip, for instance. Isn’t travel supposed to be stressful? Not with Aubree. We may not agree on everything, but cats versus dogs aside, we just click. We have from that very first night in Vegas. But I can’t tell him all that.
Finally, I say, “Because I take marriage seriously. Because I like her. Because . . . I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid, or immature, or whatever. But I really like her. Shouldn’t that mean something?”
Grant’s mouth presses into a line as though he’s considering the weight of my words. “Okay. That’s what I thought. I’ve only known you a short time, but I’ve never seen you blow off your commitments or not give something your best. Everything you do, you give it your all, and I respect that.”
I nod, struck silent by the things he’s noticed about me. “What’s your take on all this?” I really don’t want to hear him caution me away from Aubree, or tell me I’m being foolish or to be careful. But he’s my captain and he’s pulled me aside, so it seems only right to get his take on things.
Grant’s expression is stern as he meets my eyes. “It’s possible there could be blow-back on the team. Aubree’s role—the organization she works for is affiliated with the team, and our rookie has just gotten hitched . . .” He pauses, taking a breath. “But I don’t think that’ll happen. And if it was going to get out, it would have by now.”
I feel pretty foolish that it never occurred to me. “Right,” I say with a nod.
“But as your captain and teammate, you’ve got my support.” He nods once. “There’s one other thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t let the guys give you a hard time. Trust yourself and follow your gut. It’ll serve you well. You got me, rookie?”
An easy smile overtakes my face. “Yes, sir.”
The rest of the evening passes without much excitement. There’s food and cake, and some speeches by Owen’s older male relatives.
I end up spending more time with them than I’d planned, and by the time I make it back to the villa, Aubree is asleep, curled on her side, facing away from me. I hoped for some alone time with her tonight. And before your mind jumps into the gutter—no, I don’t mean like that (although I wouldn’t have minded, for the record.) It’s just that I barely saw her today, outside of our couple of hours by the pool.
Disappointed, I change out of my suit and slip into bed beside her, careful not to wake her.
There’s always tomorrow, I guess.
• • •
I spend the next afternoon running a few more last-minute errands for the bridal party. This time, my talents have been loaned out to Becca’s mom—those talents being that I have a car and know how to use my GPS. Apparently, the florist forgot to include a corsage for Becca’s grandmother, so I went to pick up the hastily made replacement, and a few more stops besides.
I make it back just in time for the wedding ceremony to begin.
The guests are all seated under a huge white tent in rows of little gold-adorned chairs, and a harpist strums a soft melody that makes the whole thing feel enchanted. From the sidelines, the wedding coordinator gets us lined up in the correct order, and then I’m taking Aubree’s hand to escort her down the aisle. When I left this morning, she was still dressed in the hotel robe with her hair wet from the shower. Now she’s . . . breathtaking.
Her pale pink dress brushes the ground and hugs her body in all the right places. I have to curl my hands into fists just to keep them to myself. I want to run my fingertips along her spine, feel the warmth of her skin, and know if she’ll shiver under my touch.
“Made it back just in time,” she whispers as we make our way down the aisle to the front of the gathering.
“You look incredible,” I whisper back.
Aubree’s lips twitch, but she keeps her eyes straight ahead.
Once the wedding party is all in place, the music changes to something more classic. Becca, in a formfitting white lace gown, begins making her way down the aisle toward where Owen is standing stock-still, gazing at her with an awe-filled expression.
When she reaches her destination, they share a smile and a couple of hushed whispers before Becca straightens his bow tie with a smirk.
The officiant smiles warmly at the crowd. “Friends and family of Owen Parrish and Becca Phillips, you have all been invited here today to witness and celebrate the deep, uniting love these two share.”
One of Becca’s friends from college reads a poem I’m not familiar with. Something about finding the strength to let yourself be vulnerable. It’s not very wedding themed, but it fits somehow with Owen and Becca. For as long as I’ve known them, which admittedly isn’t all that long, I’ve seen how fiercely they love each other. And to do that, I guess you have to be vulnerable.