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CONNOR

I have never been so nervous in my life .

Not at the NHL draft.

Not during my first playoff game.

Not even during the shootout that sent us to the finals.

This is different.

Allison Payne—my menace, my chaos, my heart—is about to walk down the aisle and become my wife.

And I swear to God, if she turns and runs, I’ll chase her.

I’ll throw her over my shoulder and marry her upside down if I have to.

I fidget with my cufflinks, standing at the altar of a ridiculously over-the-top Vegas chapel. There’s a velvet aisle runner, fake roses exploding from every surface, and I think there’s a neon Elvis in the corner.

The second the music shifts and she appears at the end of the aisle, nothing else exists.

Holy. Shit.

She’s fucking stunning in the dress. The one I stalked her Pinterest boards to find. The one I sent to Harper in a desperate email titled Operation Destroy Connor . The one we had overnighted from a boutique in Chicago.

She’s glowing like sin and heaven had a baby and she walked out of the wreckage looking like a damn dream designed to ruin me.

Her hair. Her lips. The look in her eyes when they find mine.

I stop breathing.

She hesitates at the back of the aisle, like she’s still debating this whole thing.

And then… she smiles.

Not just any smile. That soft, knowing smile that says everything I dreamed of. I see you. I’m still here. I want this, too.

My heart fuckin’ detonates.

As she walks toward me, it’s like every step syncs with the beat of my heart. I suck in breath after breath just to stay upright.

I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.

Somehow, impossibly, she’s choosing me .

When she reaches me, I take her hand without hesitation.

Her fingers tremble. So do mine.

“You ready, wife?” I whisper, voice low and rough from the weight of everything I feel.

“Yeah, baby. I’m ready.”

Fuck. Me.

We face the officiant, who starts talking about rings, vows, and eternal commitment, but I don’t hear a single word.

All I see is her .

Lips parted.

Chest rising too fast.

Expression fierce and soft all at once.

Then it’s my turn to say my vows.

“I don’t have anything traditional to say,” I rasp. “I just know one thing. You’re mine, Allie. You’ve always been mine. You just took your sweet time figuring it out.”

Her breath catches. Tears gather in her eyes.

Then she whispers, “I hate you,” with a megawatt smile on her face.

I grin. “Love you too, baby.”

Harper cheers, and Jake and Cole whoop.

Just when I think we’ve hit peak emotional wreckage, a loud yell shatters the moment.

“STOP!”

Everyone jumps and turns in unison.

It’s Gram.

Of course, it’s Gram.

She marches up the velvet runner, bedazzled from head to toe, holding something in her hands like she’s about to bestow divine gifts.

“You can’t break tradition,” she says, deadly serious. “I got you something new and blue.”

I glance at what she’s holding. Matching embroidered hoodies.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Mine says “Mr. Puckin’ Menace” in sparkling blue rhinestones.

Allie’s hoodie says “Mrs. Puckin’ Byrns” in pink rhinestones.

Harper’s laughing so hard she’s crying.

Jake is filming the moment.

Cole looks like he’s about to pass out from laughing so hard.

Daltyn mutters something about needing a drink.

Ford’s glaring at me like I better not fuck this up or he’s gonna run me over with a Zamboni.

Allie takes her hoodie, biting her lip to fight the smile I know means she’s done for.

“Told you I’d make you mine,” I murmur.

“Still hate you.”

“Still love you.”

The officiant, completely unfazed by Gram’s chaos, finishes the ceremony.

I slide the ring on her finger. She slides one on mine.

Then she whispers the words I’ve waited for all my life. “I love you, Connor Byrns.”

My heart explodes.

“I love you, Allison Byrns.” I wink at her, barely holding it together.

The officiant says my second favorite phrase I’ve been waiting to hear. “You may now kiss the bride.”

I don’t hesitate.

I pull her in and kiss her deep and slow, bending her backward with the kind of drama that says this woman wrecked me and I’ll never be the same.

Her hand curls in my jacket, clinging like she never plans to let go.

“THAT IS NOT A PG-RATED KISS!” Jake yells.

I don’t give a shit.

She’s mine now.

Legally.

Emotionally.

Completely.

This is our beginning.

And my wife has no idea just how unhinged I’m about to become.