Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
Colton
If I ever doubted I could feel more out of place in a suit than the first time I saw my reflection in the locker room after getting drafted, I was wrong.
Monumentally, existentially, wrong. There’s a difference between this and the tuxedos you wear for team photo ops.
Where everyone’s secretly hungover, and the photographer’s cracking “Blue Steel” jokes to keep you from knifing each other and the one you put on for your wedding.
Especially when the wedding is at Tribeca Rooftop, the skyline of Manhattan cutting a million-dollar horizon around you, and every surface has been scrubbed so clean you could eat caviar off of it, which you might be required to do later if my mom has her way.
Even my dad keeps worrying he’s going to break something if he sneezes too loud.
That’s how you know it’s a classy joint.
But I wanted the best for my wife. Nothing but the best because she fucking deserves it.
I am not supposed to see the bride before the ceremony.
And I start to believe that this is the most stupid ritual there ever was.
She slept at Isla’s last night and there was no contact.
I couldn’t even call her. But the fact that not sleeping in her arms for just one day was so horrible proves again and again, that I am irrevocably in love with that woman.
My little Iron Lady is, I’m told, currently “sequestered” in the bridal suite with a phalanx of hair and makeup sorceresses.
She is, apparently, not to be disturbed except in the event of a presidential assassination or if the florist somehow forgot the white roses.
He didn’t. There are approximately two metric tons of them lining the aisles.
I would like nothing more than to sneak upstairs and drag her back here for five minutes of privacy, but my mom takes tradition seriously.
And that woman has survived two kidney operations.
As if I could refuse her any request. I’m so happy she’s healthy now.
And that Jenna is too. Like, honestly, there’s nothing more important than your family’s health.
So, instead, I’m hiding in the groom’s side staging area with my best men Riley and Jay.
“Are you gonna pass out?” Jay asks, not bothering to lower his voice, because nothing fazes him really. “You look a little… peaked.”
I just grunt.
“He’s fine,” Riley says, straightening my lapel for the twelfth time. “This is his ‘someone ate the last of his cereal’ face. Don’t read into it. Ignore him.”
I glare at Riley. “You know I can hear you, right?”
Riley grins, not even a little apologetic. He’s in the rare club of people I let get away with that. “It’s endearing, big guy. Don’t worry. You only have to read like four lines and kiss the girl.”
“I have to walk down that aisle without tripping. In these shoes.” I point at the patent leather monstrosities threatening to shear the skin off my toes. “Can’t feel my left foot.”
Jay’s mouth twitches. “I’m pretty sure your wife will have a more difficult time. And hey if you’re the one falling, it’ll go viral. But maybe in a heartwarming way, you know? Like, ‘pro hockey player, just a big softie at his own wedding.’” He mimes dabbing his eyes. “They’ll eat it up.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” I grumble.
A planner—one of three—pokes her head in. “Ten minutes,” she chirps, then vanishes before I can ask her name. I’m not convinced she isn’t a hologram.
Riley, whose hands have been fidgeting with a small velvet box for the past five minutes, clears his throat. “You sure about this?”
That actually gets a rise out of me. “What, you got an alternate plan? Want to kidnap me, take me to Vegas, get me a fake passport?”
Jay brightens, “Do I get to pick the name?”
“Shut up,” Riley and I say at the same time.
Riley sighs, glances down at the box, and—his voice drops— “I mean, just making sure. You good?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “Sure,” I say, and I mean it. “Better than ever.”
Jay raises an eyebrow at Riley, who grins like he just got handed a brand-new puppy.
“Then let’s go get you hitched,” Riley says, clapping me on the shoulder.
The procession starts with a string quartet playing something classical but upbeat, it’s a song from Bridgerton.
Jenna loved that show. While I wait for my bride, I glance at the rows of white chairs and man, they are packed—hockey teammates who clean up about as well as zoo animals, Jenna’s little family, and an alarming number of small children who I have never seen before.
They must be from all my cousins that my parents flew in from Russia.
Livy spots me and waves so violently the crown tilts over her left ear. Her front teeth are missing, the new ones still coming in, and it gives her smile this wild, unfiltered power. I wink at her, and she gives me two thumbs up. We’re in this together.
The first few steps are weird, but then I settle into the rhythm.
I can almost hear Jenna’s voice in my head: “Shoulders back, walk like you own the place, but don’t look like a serial killer.
” I keep my eyes on the end of the aisle, where there’s a slightly elevated platform, an arch of more flowers, and the officiant—who looks exactly like the “after” picture for a teeth-whitening ad.
They make me stand at the front, hands clasped, as the music changes and the wedding planner gives a silent “go” sign to the flower girls.
Livy is last in line, holding a tiny white pillow.
She walks with slow, careful steps, like she’s balancing on ice, eyes fixed on me the whole way.
When she gets to the front, she leans over, whispers “You look weird,” and hands me the pillow with the rings.
“Thanks, Liv,” I say, and she beams. “You look beautiful.”
She waits at my side because that’s where she belongs too. She’s part of all of it today.
Then, finally, the doors at the back open.
If I hadn’t already blown out my emotional reserves this year, this would have knocked me over.
Jenna stands at the entrance, framed by the city behind her—glass towers, bridges, a storm of late afternoon sunlight.
Her long is loose, a thousand little curls spiraling out around her face.
That little patch where they had to shave it has grown out until it brushes her chin, but they’ve made sure it’s hidden from view, even though that’s my favorite curl of hers.
The dress isn’t what I expected—it’s even better.
It’s sleek and simple, nothing puffy or princess-y, just this clean white line that makes her look carved out of marble.
She’s not wearing a veil, but she’s got this look in her eyes like she’s seeing something in me nobody else ever has.
She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t fake a coy smile or blink back tears for the crowd.
She just walks, perfectly measured, all the way up to me.
For a second, I forget we’re in front of a hundred people.
It’s just us, and Livy, who is now chewing her hair and staring at Jenna like she might just float away.
Her bridesmaids—Isla, Liora, Rosie, and Priya—stand by with beaming smiles, but I can’t help but feel that all Jenna sees is me.
She stops right in front of me. “Hi,” she whispers.
I mouth “Hi,” back, because I’m not actually sure I can speak out loud. Everything moves so fast, too fast, because suddenly we hit the vows.
Jenna insisted we write our own, but in the weeks leading up, I couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound like a bad greeting card or a hockey pep talk. But when it’s my turn, it just comes out.
“I didn’t believe in happy endings,” I say, and already people are sniffling.
Wow. They really didn’t need anything, did they?
“Never even believed in happy beginnings, to be honest. But you…” I look at her, and she’s not blinking.
“You made me want to be better. Not just for you. For Livy. For the person I pretended to be when I first met you, and the person you somehow saw anyway. You’re my first. Not my first relationship.
The first person I felt intimate with. I mean my first ‘I love you’. And you will be the last.”
Jenna’s cheeks go pink, and her mouth curves up. She holds my hand a little tighter.
The officiant nods. Jenna’s turn.
She takes a breath, steadying herself in that way I’ve watched her do before every big trial.
“I spent my life building a wall so high nobody could even get close,” she says.
“I was good at it. I thought it would protect me, and maybe it did, until it didn’t.
You’re the first person who ever knocked it down.
Not gently—” more laughter “—but you did. You gave me a family. You gave me Livy. And you give me the kind of courage I never thought I’d have.
“You are the wish I quietly breathed to the stars at night.”
She squeezes my hand, and for a split second her voice wobbles.
“I promise to always fight for you. And I promise to be your home, no matter where we are.”
We say the “I do’s,” and the rings go on. Livy hands me the rings with the care of someone defusing a bomb, but I don’t drop anything, so we’re golden.
Then, the officiant makes it official, “By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss—”
I don’t let him finish. Jenna meets me halfway, lips crushing mine, and the crowd loses it.
Somewhere behind me, Riley whoops, “Nailed it!” and I know my mother is the one who stands up and starts clapping before anyone else does. But I can’t see a thing because all I can see and feel is my wife.
To our happy beginning.