Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
I’ve only felt that way one other time in my life.
When I said, “I do,” to Gigi in the courthouse.
We’ve chosen each other. And she’s right—I don’t expect it to be easy. Life never is. But she’s the one I want to face all the adversity with. She’s my partner, and no matter what happens, we’ll always have each other’s backs.
So I need to have her back now, even though I recognize that her father regrets every word he said in the locker room that day.
But man, those words cut her deep. She’s tried to please him her entire life, and he goes and tells her he’s disappointed in her? No, that he’s never been more disappointed in her?
It’s going to take a long time for her to forget that. Garrett knows, and that’s why he’s at the point of desperation where he’s turning to me. I know it must kill him. It’s obvious he disapproves of our marriage.
Oddly enough, someone who doesn’t disapprove—other than my mother-in-law—is my new brother-in-law. Wyatt texted me from the airport the morning he left Vegas.
WYATT:
Hurt my sister and I’ll hurt you. You feel me, Bill?
ME:
Bill?
WYATT:
Brother-in-law. Tried to write BIL but autocorrect didn’t like it. So you’re Bill now. Don’t hurt her and we’ll be good.
ME:
I won’t, and cool.
WYATT:
Welcome to the family. I figure we need to make an effort to get along. Now that we’re stuck with you forever.
ME:
Thanks, Bill.
Wyatt isn’t flying to Boston to watch me play in the Frozen Four tomorrow night, but Hannah and Garrett are coming. Garrett’s probably hoping Gigi will have no choice but to acknowledge his existence if they’re sitting together.
In another upset, Arizona beat out Notre Dame in their matchup two days ago, so we’re playing them in the National Championship. I don’t love it. I’m worried about playing with Michael Klein again. We didn’t face Arizona this season, so who knows how he’ll behave during play.
The entire team, including Jensen and the coaching staff, go out for dinner that night. Those of us who aren’t minors are even allowed to order one pint of beer—and only one—as Jensen so graciously informs us. Then he adds that anyone who takes him up on the offer needs to drink three glasses of water to combat the unwise choice. Still, more than a few of us order that pint.
News of my nuptials has traveled through the roster, and I notice Colson eyeing my wedding band on several different occasions during dinner. The one time our eyes meet, he mutters something under his breath and turns away in disgust. Next to him, Jordan Trager glares at me in solidarity. I reach for my pint glass in resignation.
We’ve just returned to the hotel and are striding into the lobby when my father-in-law texts to say he’s at the bar and do I have a minute.
“I’ll meet you upstairs,” I tell Shane, who nods and heads up to our room.
Some guys from the opposing team are milling in the lobby wearing their hockey jackets. Eyes widen and guys murmur in excitement when they catch sight of Garrett Graham striding across the lobby from the bar.
“Hey,” he says when he reaches me. He must feel the stares because he rubs the back of his neck and grimaces. “I was going to suggest we grab a drink at the bar, but what do you say we go elsewhere?”
I nod. “Good idea.”
We leave the hotel and give the street a quick scan. There’s a bookstore at the end of the block with an adjacent coffee shop, so we walk toward it.
“I have no right asking you for favors,” Garrett starts ruefully. “I know I haven’t been very welcoming to you. When you came home with Stan for the holidays. When you showed interest in my camp. I probably could’ve been…less dickish.”
I shrug. “All good. I don’t hold grudges.”
“I usually don’t either. But I will say”—he offers a pointed frown—“I don’t love that you didn’t ask for my blessing before you married her.”
I tip my head at him, curious. “Would you have given it?”
“No.”
A snort slips out. “Then, better ask forgiveness than permission, right? Because I would’ve married her either way. I—” My jaw drops. “Holy shit.”
“What is it—”
But I’m already venturing toward the partition between the café and bookstore. I stop near a table of nonfiction books in front of the easel that caught my attention. Displayed on it is a large poster print depicting a barren white landscape bisected by a rushing river. Block letters read:
HORIZONS: THE YUKON TERRITORY
Holy.
Shit.
“What are you doing?” Garrett comes up beside me.
I scan the interior of the store until I see it—the small line formed beside another easel holding the same poster. At the front of the line is a table with stacks of CDs sitting on one side and a pile of headshots on the other. Behind the table sits an elderly man in a red plaid shirt and corn husk–yellow suspenders. Rounding out his outfit are an old-timey cap and black-rimmed frames.