Page 304 of Wild Card 13

Bea’s voice wobbled only once.

Alois’s broke twice.

When the officiant pronounced them married, the room came apart in applause, laughter, tears, and the kind of joy that made even the candlelight seem louder.

Alois kissed his wife like he had been given a miracle and understood the instructions.

Bea laughed against his mouth.

Bobby immediately checked the ring box like he deserved credit for civilization continuing.

I caught Buzz’s eye again across the aisle.

This time he did not make a face.

The receptionat Talon Arena should have felt wrong.

It was the arena.

The place where my father held court. Where players became heroes or disasters depending on the night. Where I had spent entire seasons learning how to make chaos look organized. Where Buzzhad skated under bright lights while I pretended not to watch him too closely.

It should not have been able to become something else.

But when I walked inside, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Micah walked into my back. “Sorry,” she muttered, then looked around.

The ice was covered. The boards were hidden. The scale of the arena had been softened into something unreal by candlelight and hanging lights that shimmered overhead like captured stars. Tables spread across the floor in champagne and ivory, every setting precise, every glass catching gold. The center of the space held the dance floor, gleaming beneath layers of light.

But the flowers were what stole the room. Florals imported from Brazil spilled in lush arrangements that made the whole arena feel warmer, fuller, alive in a way I had not expected. Ivory blooms, soft greenery, and delicate touches that nodded toward Bea without announcing themselves. It was not themed.

For a moment, I could not quite make my brain accept it.

Talon had held playoff losses and overtime wins and charity skates and ugly press conferences and the kind of nights when everyone went home pretending their hearts had not been left somewhere under the seats.

Tonight it held candles.

Brazilian flowers.

Silver feather bookmarks at every place setting engraved with four words: Love Is Showing Up.

I ran my thumb over the favor at my seat until the edge pressed a faint line into my skin.

At the bridal party table, I sat between Lo and Micah, with a clear view of Bea and Alois and a dangerous partial view of Buzz two seats down on the other side of the arrangement. Close enough to notice. Far enough to pretend I was not noticing.

The reception moved in bright pieces.

The roar of applause when Bea and Alois came in, his hand low on her back, her veil gone now, her smile wide and unguarded.

Vivienne appearing near the kitchen doors with a headset and a smile so fixed it deserved structural support.

Bobby refusing sparkling juice at first because he was “on duty,”then accepting it after Oliver informed him hydrated best men performed better under pressure.

Players behaving themselves for approximately forty-two minutes, which felt like a league record.

Then my father stood near the head table in a dark suit, one hand around a glass, his expression composed in that way that made strangers think he was impossible to read and made me understand he was feeling too much.

He looked at Bea first.