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LIAM

I’ve been to bigger weddings, but not better ones. So far, my grandmother, aunt, mom, sister, and Dolly have outdone themselves. It’s phenomenal what they accomplished in only a few days.

Nothing short of a miracle, which tells me we’re doing the right thing even though I repeatedly wonder if that’s true.

Keep focused, Ellis.

Turns out Jessica is very distracting.

I don’t necessarily have an eye for detail. In fact, my sister commented that the chandeliers and disco balls hanging from the ceiling in the barn are going to be lost on me. I was in there for an hour, helping to set up and didn’t notice them. Everyone wants Jessica and me to have fun. After all, it’s our wedding day. Right now, all I see is her eyes.

My fiancée, even though I didn’t officially ask her to marry me, has let everyone assume I did and the ring is at the jeweler. She’s been the life of the party. The star of the show. She and KJ fit in with my family better than I do. They loved them both instantly.

And I love holding her in my arms. My life is ice, hockey, and cold temperatures. She’s warm, soft, and not a goal to reach or a prize to win.

She’s reliable, thoughtful, and beautiful. I don’t even mind her aggressive positivity so much. Life was kind of dim without it.

That’s not necessarily romantic, but it’s true.

Dad also had a talk with me last night and told me what makes a marriage last. Communication was at the top of his list. He also said the secret to a happy marriage is to make each other laugh.

Not my strong suit.

Little does he know this doesn’t need to last long. That notion splinters inside of me like ice cracking beneath my feet.

But maybe it could?

I brush it off, telling myself it’s a result of being out of my routine, eating too much of Grannie Bell’s fudge, and all the excited energy surrounding me.

The thing is, I’ve been around all the guys on the team when they got married and at some point, they all got jittery. They may not have said as much, but it came out in practice, at a game, or when Micah showed up at my house in the middle of the night begging me to go to the rink with him. He couldn’t sleep and knew I was the only one committed enough to shoot around at that late hour.

Now he has four kids. Worked out for him.

I have just the one kid and Jessica. Can I commit myself to them? Being faithful isn’t the issue. More like being a good husband and father.

While the groomsmen gather, the processional music plays, and my sister marches, er, waddles down the aisle, followed by Cara, ahead of my bride to be, what if in a reversal of being a jilted bride, she leaves me at the altar?

I snort. She wouldn’t. I’d like to say what we have is special. More like convenient. She needs me. I need her. It’s that simple.

But will Pamberlie show up? Rexlan? The image of them tag-teaming and crashing our wedding lands in my mind with a jolt.

My brother-in-law leans in and asks, “You okay?”

Hendrix elbows me. “Bro is fine. Just the normal jitters.” He nods knowingly.

Knowingly? Wait. Does he know that this is a fake wedding? Well, it’s real insofar as we’ll be exchanging vows, but it’s just a paper wedding for Jessica’s and my respective legal woes.

I keep asking myself if this is a mistake. Given the smiles on my family’s faces and the little guy’s general exuberance and pride at making it down the aisle with the pretzels—Hendrix hung onto the rings just in case—the answer is a resounding no. But guilt festers in my gut for not telling them the entire story. The truth.

“You look like you’re hunting down the forward on an opposing team,” Hendrix whispers.

My brother-in-law says, “Try smiling.”

Hendrix scoffs. “Liam doesn’t smile.”

I’m about to tell them to quit talking because I can’t hear my thoughts when the music changes.

As if from the mist, from the clouds of heaven, Jessica appears before me shrouded in white, an angel from above.

I suck in a breath.

A witch bride she is not.

The woman is … the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.

Beside me, Hendrix snickers or sniffles? I can’t tell. Is he laughing because for a second there I was smitten or is he as captivated as me by her beauty? Never mind the second one. He has Colette.

And Jessica is mine.

My entire body stiffens at the notion of anyone hurting a hair on her head, batting an eyelash at her, talking to her out of turn. If they do, they’ll have to deal with me.

Hendrix stage whispers, “That’s more like the Liam we know and fear.”

Is he reading my mind? I tell myself that he’s likely intuiting the normal stages of a groom’s experience.

However, my head hiccups and careens toward the thing that I did let happen to Frank, Marci, and Allison way back when in high school. The fateful night Jessica alluded to.

Before I lose myself in grief, I take control and train my eyes on her.

She approaches slowly, her smile growing because she can’t help herself. The woman doesn’t know how to be anything but cheerful. Even if she has no interest in actually being my wife, I’ll be her husband. I’ll protect her. I will honor her.

Walking toward me alone, with no father or family other than Dolly to speak of, when she said she’d fallen for mine, a secret part of me thought maybe she’d fallen for me too. But that’s silly. Stupid.

However, when we join hands, a familiar refrain echoes in my head.

Pivot , pivot, pivot .

It makes me wonder if I’m doing the right thing. It’s not that I have cold feet or the urge to call this off. More like what if we’re doing this for real? What if I’ve been lying to myself about how much I care about this woman, that the next few words I speak as we exchange rings are true?

Deep down, I know the answer. I’ve been telling myself a story to keep Jessica at arms’ length, to maintain distance because if I let anyone close, I could ruin everything.

Pivot , pivot, pivot .

When I speak her name as part of our vows, her gaze leaps to mine. Our eye contact doesn’t waver as if she’s aware of the transformation that’s occurring inside but will give me time to meet her as a husband.

I told myself that the first few times we kissed didn’t mean anything. She’s objectively attractive. Later, I justified it by telling myself we were just testing the waters, practicing. I told myself not to kiss her again. That will only distract me from the game. These last few days, we haven’t been able to keep our hands off each other.

Pivot , pivot, pivot .

However, not ten minutes later, when we’re pronounced man and wife, for a moment, with her mouth on mine, the connection feels solid like ice, but not cold. Like a win, but this isn’t a game. It’s real life. And I’m married to Jessica.

I had my rules. She had hers. We both broke them, but what about new rules? Just to be cheeky, I land my hand on the Bundt I know is there, buried under the fabric of her gown.

When we part, her cheeks rosy and her eyes shining, she says, “Maybe you do have a playful side after all.”

Hand in hand, we march down the aisle. It’s surreal as everyone greets us, but also very, very real. We just did something I never expected to—that I told Pamberlie I never would. She banked on that.

Yet here I am, and so far, I kind of like it.

The reception is outdoors with laughter and chatter spilling out of the barn and the big house’s porch onto the broad lawn and echoing across the water. I’m pulled in multiple directions but repeatedly land back by Jessica’s side. It’s like now that we’re officially married, an invisible magnet draws us together.

The lights strung overhead sparkle, the toasts made are thoughtful, and the edginess that I often feel when back here at home doesn’t show up until Franklin arrives with his cane in hand. Seems like Grannie Bell and my parents invited the whole town.

We exchange a nod and I make introductions.

Somehow, Jessica hasn’t run out of energy. She’s either been sneaking off to down pots of coffee or this kind of activity and excitement fuels her. Meanwhile, I need a nap.

Despite having a permanent injury from the accident, Franklin could be her long-lost cheerful soulmate. They exchange hugs like they’ve known each other since high school.

Frank shakes his head. “I didn’t expect The Beast to have it in him. Senior year, he got two superlatives. Best hockey jock and we voted him least likely to get married.”

I shake my head because the second one isn’t true. “He’s joking.”

“There’s always some truth in a joke.” Jessica winks.

I swallow thickly because she’s kept on script until now. We didn’t actually write lines to use when people say the usual cliches at weddings, nor did we come up with a backstory other than the semi-truth. Jessica was my assistant. She had a crush on me. I fell for her. It’s a well-used template.

However, what Jessica says next rocks me for some reason.

With a little lilt in her voice, she says, “I’m just that irresistible.” She smooths her hand down my lapel. “When Liam saw me, he thought to himself, ‘Now, that’s the woman I need in my life.’ I’m an expert laundry folder, great at meal prep, and have sophisticated logistical skills.” A certain sweet smile, the likes of which I’ve never seen before, blooms on her lips.

“Hard to say no to that,” Frank teases.

But Jessica isn’t done. “Then he realized it wasn’t just that he needed me. He wanted me because not only am I an exceptional assistant, I also listen to what he isn’t saying, let in just the right amount of light, and am his biggest fan.”

The DJ must’ve turned down the music and everyone must’ve fallen silent because my surroundings fade. Her amber eyes meet mine with a kind of intensity that’s hard to deny.

She lifts onto her toes. I lower my chin slightly.

Can’t lie. I like where this is going.

But then she leans into the crook of my arm and adds, “I also make sure he doesn’t leave the house with mismatched socks.”

Franklin hoots a laugh.

They’ve snapped me back to reality which didn’t change. Nothing did. “Don't Stop Believin’” by Journey still plays loudly, the kids still race around—hopped up on way too much Bundt cake—and the dancefloor is full.

But maybe something inside of me shifted.

Clearing my throat, I say, “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

But it’s also true. But does that mean I want Jessica?

Franklin’s wife appears with a sampler plate of mini Bundt cakes, exclaiming how Grannie Bell insisted they try each one. He kisses her on the cheek and she feeds him a bite. They rub noses and it’s the most sickeningly adorable thing I’ve ever seen. The look in his eyes is pure love. I cannot fathom how he found his way after being so broken, losing so much. All because of me.

The three of them strike up a lively conversation for a few minutes. I can’t help but wonder what Jessica thinks about me now that she knows that what happened back in high school is my fault. That I’m the reason Franklin can’t walk without assistance. I know what I think and I’ll never forgive myself for not insisting that I drive, for ruining Franklin’s chance for hockey greatness. He was always better than me … until he could no longer play. Then there was Marci, his girlfriend. I’ll punish myself for that for the rest of my life.

The past accelerates like tires skidding on ice. Anger builds inside. I brace myself for the inevitable crash. I’m done with this party. Done celebrating. I cannot fathom why anyone would want to be here around me. Awful, loathsome me.

Just then, Hendrix announces that Jessica and I missed our first dance. They chant until we hit the dancefloor set up in the middle of the yard. String lights surround it, casting an inviting glow. The only thing keeping me from tearing them down is how disappointed my mother would be along with Grannie Bell, Aunt Goldie, Grandma Dolly, and even Jessica.

I talk myself out of making a scene.

Hendrix hollers, “Be warned, Liam is a terrible dancer.”

A few people chuckle.

He’s not wrong. I was actively avoiding the dance floor, but the real truth is that I’m a terrible person.

Undaunted, Jessica leads me onto the makeshift parquet floor and we assume the proper position. “Endless Love,” by Diana Ross and Lionel Richie comes on.

“Is this our song?” she asks as bubbly as ever.

I shrug.

She searches my eyes and says, “Was it seeing Franklin?”

I know what she means but simply grunt in response.

“We don’t have to talk about it, but?—”

I prepare to hear her say everything that I’ve been told a hundred times, It wasn’t my fault . The same thing would’ve happened if I were driving . It’s time to move on .

But I never will. I can’t.

Jessica holds my gaze and says, “That’s how you got the scar on your lip, huh?”

I grunt.

“Sometimes bad things that happen cause hidden scars. Ones no one else sees. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Then I surprise myself by replying. “To talk to you?”

Her expression is soft. “To listen. I’m your wife. You can tell me anything.”

“You’d be the last person who’d forgive me. You were in foster care, right? Didn’t the people who were supposed to take care of you—your parents—fail?”

“Yes,” she says slowly.

“And you hate them. You’d never forgive them.”

She shakes her head, eyes somehow light inside the darkness of this truth. “No, Liam. The opposite. I don’t hate them and I do forgive them. I had to.”

“They forced you to?”

She laughs. The woman, while having an intense conversation, especially while listening to such a slow and romantic song and surrounded by a crowd, must’ve cracked.

“Liam, if I didn’t find a way to let it go, to forgive them, I would’ve remained stuck, hidden away in my shell, lost and lonely forever. Forgiving them was a matter of life and death when I realized the only person that was hurting, by holding onto all that pain, was me.”

The words break through the hardness in my chest, in my mind, and strike deep.

As if recognizing this, Jessica is quiet until the song ends and everyone is invited to dance with us along to the song, “Walking on Sunshine.”

In the last seconds of us being alone, she whispers, “They bought it. But we sold the kiss. How could they not?” She winks and then kisses me square on the lips.

My thoughts scramble and when we part, her wide eyes are on mine. I don’t need to hear her voice or see her hands, but there is a message for me.

Forgive .