Her response is breezy. “Why does anyone love weddings?”
I shoot her a give me more look. “I don’t know why anyone else loves them. But I want to know why you do,” I say, and I’m driven by the need to know her more, to understand her. “That’s why I asked.”
I expect her to say the dress, or the vows, or the way they make her feel.
She turns her face to me, taking a beat, the cogs in her brain whirring, I can tell. “I love rituals. I kind of can’t get enough of them.”
“Why is that?” I’m intrigued by her answer. Once upon a time, she was simply a funny girl, and I liked that about her. She was free and easy, a hoot to play games with. In this last week, she’s peeled back new layers, shown me other sides, and those sides draw me in just as much as her humor does.
“I think we need them desperately as a society. The before, the after, the way rituals mark a new phase in our lives. Weddings, of course, do that. They’re not only a declaration in words but in deeds too. You’re leaving one stage behind and stepping into a new future. I think celebrations to mark those changes are so necessary for our hearts”—she slides a hand briefly over her chest then taps her temple—“and our heads.”
I noodle on that as we near the other guests, letting her observations sink in. “I expected you to say something else. But that makes beautiful sense. I get it. I get it completely.”
She meets my gaze, her blue eyes etched with intensity. “Right? I think we need the acknowledgment to see us through both good times and bad.”
“To guide us through the insanity around us.” I wave toward the city behind me to indicate the topsy-turvy madness of the world today.
“Yes. Life is only uncertain. Life is only unpredictable.”
Hell, she’s the expert. She knows this better than any of us, losing her family the way she did.
She goes on as we reach the friends and relatives here for Fitz and Dean. “Birthdays, celebrations, weddings, graduations, funerals. All of it helps us to process the unpredictable unknowns around us.”
Unknowns.
That’s exactly what Logan was getting at earlier. I think about my own fears—the great, big unknown that is everything that might happen if I step over the line with Teagan.
What it would do to our friendship.
What it would do to our friends.
What it would do to me.
I don’t have those answers. No one does—until they invent time travel, I suppose. But maybe I’m ready to face that uncertainty because the woman I want to spend the next several hours with—and a whole lot longer—is so damn brave.
Braver than I am.
Knowing that, feeling that, makes my heart beat a little faster for her.
This is the moment. I take a step closer, reach for her hand, and hold it as the grooms walk to the justice of the peace.
She squeezes my fingers back, and like that, we watch our friends get married.
As they say their vows, I understand why Teagan loves rituals. There’s something intensely powerful about witnessing this moment.
Plus, it’s pretty fucking cool to see one of the toughest defensemen in the NHL, a guy who has my back on the ice in every damn game, pledging to be with one person for the rest of his life.
It’s a before and an after.
And most of all, it’s a choice.
When they say I do, a kernel of something bitter that had staked a claim inside me since Edie left cracks further, halves down the middle, and maybe, finally, it crumbles to nothing.
Or perhaps it’s that I’ve finally decided it’s time to let go of that line I was holding.
To say goodbye to the past and not look back.
Maybe that’s my private ritual. One I didn’t even know I needed until I watched this public one.
This vibrant and powerful celebration of love.
15
Ransom
Normally, when it comes to weddings, I’m a take-it-or-leave-it kind of person.
Weddings are . . . fine.
They’re full of people milling about, talking, eating.
They’re perfectly acceptable.
Not my first choice for a weekend activity. Not when there are things like pickup basketball, comedy clubs, concerts, barbecues, soccer, and any other type of reasonably organized sports as options.
But this wedding is cool as hell.
It’s relaxed. It’s easy. It’s just two people getting hitched, having a meal, and sharing it with their friends.
I indulge in some fantastic appetizers, like stuffed mushrooms and sushi rolls, along with a couple of glasses of champagne. Most of the time, I’m a beer guy, but when there’s champagne, I can’t resist.
And this shit is just so damn good.
I raise my third glass of bubbly to Teagan as we lean against the bar. Before I can offer up a third toast—our prior toasts were to playlists from teen-centric TV shows (her idea) and to comedy albums from sarcastic, offbeat comedians (my idea)—a booming voice lands on my ears.
