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CAROLINE

Las Vegas, NV, USA

We did it.

We agreed to the deal. We completed the contract. We signed the NDA.

Now all that’s left is one final piece of paperwork—and somehow, the universe handed us the perfect setup.

The Storm’s next game was in Las Vegas.

So naturally, here we are. In a little wedding chapel at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday.

My mom is here. You’d figure she’d be just as up in arms over this situation as Dad is. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

In fact, she’s beaming. Over the moon.

She wouldn’t say it out loud to me, but I know it’s because she thinks this is the closest chance she has to witnessing something she never thought she’d see in her lifetime .

“ My Caroline just isn’t the marrying type, ” she’s always said. Not sure when she decided that for me, but I suppose I’ve never given her a reason to believe otherwise.

I’ve dated men. A few of them. But that’s all it’s ever been. A date here, a fun evening there. But never further than that. Not because I didn’t want it, but because it wasn’t my priority. It couldn’t be.

Linda was right. I love hockey. I always have. And I’ve yet to meet a man who makes my heart beat even a fraction as fast as that game does.

I know. Every mother’s dream daughter.

But it’s okay. My mom understands. Mostly.

“This is just such a special day,” she sighs as she fluffs the tulle of my off-white dress. “And this is such a gorgeous dress.”

“Well, it’s not real,” I remind her. “And the dress is from JC Penny’s.”

I turn away from her, looking in the mirror to put my earrings on.

Her lips purse as she watches me. “I talked with Rhett a little bit ago. Ran into him in the hotel lobby.”

“Yeah?” I say, adjusting my straps.

“He’s…sweet.”

I meet her eyes in the reflection. “So is every stray dog that follows you home. Doesn’t mean you let it inside.”

She tilts her head. “You might fall in love with it though. If you give it a chance.”

“Sure. And then it might give me rabies.”

She sniffs a laugh, looking at me in that way moms do. When they want to say more but don’t want to be overbearing. I spare her the decision.

“Could you help me with this, please?” I ask, motioning to the zipper on the back of my dress .

“Of course,” she smiles, reaching for it. But then her phone rings.

She stops. Pulling it out and looking down at it. “Sorry, sweetie. This is Alexis.”

My older brother Colton’s wife. The daughter-in-law of her dreams. She’s incredible. And she fills all the holes for Mom that I wasn't made to.

“Mom, can you just zip me up first?—?”

Too late. She’s gone. Out the door, already talking on the phone.

I groan and drop my hands to my sides.

A soft knock on the door cuts through my thoughts. I glance up.

And there he is.

Rhett stands in the doorway. He’s wearing a black suit I’ve seen him wear into the arena on game days. For some reason, it looks sharper today. Or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s about to get married in it.

To me.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I reply, offering him a tight smile that he returns.

It’s awkward. We’re awkward.

We haven’t acknowledged what we’re doing. Not since we agreed to it.

And I guess there’s no need. It’s just business.

But I don’t know where the air between us suddenly feels like it has electricity in it.

I twist slightly, showing him the open back of my dress. “Do you mind zipping me up?”

He nods, stepping behind me silently. His fingers brush my back, warm and deliberate. He takes his time pulling up the zipper, then keeps his fingers lingering on it when he’s done. I see his brows furrowed in the reflection of the mirror as he stares down at his hands.

Like he can sense me watching him, his gaze lifts to meet mine.

Before either of us can say anything, the officiant pops his head in.

“You kids about ready?”

“Yes, I think so.” I glance at my watch. I have a broadcast meeting at the arena in two hours. “About how long is this going to take?”

“Well, you paid for the full package, so about fifteen minutes. But I’ve also got a ten-minute and five-minute script?—”

“Five would be perfect.”

He grins. “What the bride says goes! So here’s the plan—we’ll have your guests take their seats. Were we waiting on anyone else to join us?”

Rhett shakes his head.

“Okay, then. You’ll stand at the front,” he tells Rhett. “Your bride will walk down the aisle—unless your father was planning to walk you?”

Now I shake my head.

Yeah, no.

“Then you’ll walk yourself down the aisle, you two will exchange some quick vows, slip on some rings, sign the certificate, and you’re done!”

“Sounds good—wait. Oh my God. We don’t have rings.”

“No worries! We’ve got some lovely placeholders for the ceremony and photos. You can use those until your real rings arrive.”

“Okay,” I nod. “That works, I guess.”

“Great! I’ll go get set up. Just come out when you’re ready. And oh—anything else I should know?”

“Yes. We’d like to skip the kiss. ”

His eyebrows shoot up.

“We’ve, um… been saving ourselves for marriage,” I say, somehow keeping a straight face. “So we’d like the first kiss to be in private.”

He blinks. “Well, alright then. Like I said, whatever the bride says goes!”

He disappears, leaving the door ajar.

I turn to Rhett, who’s now trying to suppress a smirk.

“So,” he asks, deadpan. “Are we consummating the marriage with our forbidden first kiss in your hotel room or mine?”

“Shut up.”

“Should I ask the front desk if they can lay down some tarps? Never kissed anyone before. Could get messy.”

“Oh my God. Would you stop? I panicked. I’m sure he gets dozens of weirdos getting married here a day. I just want to get this handled and get us out of here.”

“Oh, you handled it. Don’t worry. It was only kinda weird.”

I roll my eyes. “But seriously, speaking of handling things—how did Linda forget about rings? She’s the one who was so urgent about doing this before puck drop.

It won’t make sense if I’m on-air without one.

We’ll need to convince her to move the social media posts until later tonight or tomorrow morning.

We’re in Vegas—there have to be a million jewelry stores.

We can grab something after the game, or maybe before if there’s time. ”

I’m already pulling out my phone to search for stores when Rhett gently presses his hand over it.

“You don’t need to do that.”

I look up.

“You’re right. I’ll let Linda handle it?—”

“No, I mean…you don’t need to do that,” he repeats. “Because I have rings.”

My head tilts. “You…what? ”

He pulls a small white felt box from his jacket pocket and flips it open.

Inside are three rings.

My mouth falls open.

“We can exchange them if you don’t like them,” he mutters, “but these will probably be better to use in the ceremony than whatever they have here, and could get us through the evening… unless you think people will analyze the ring that closely. You know what—they probably will, won’t they? Maybe we should just wait?—”

“Oh my God.”

Rhett’s shoulders stiffen, his gaze flicking between me and the ring box.

“You hate them.”

“They’re white gold.”

“That’s what you wear, isn’t it?”

It is. It’s all I wear.

But how the hell did he notice that?

“Yeah,” I say softly. Then, pointing to the wedding band, “Are those…pearls?”

He scratches his neck. “Yeah. You wear a lot of white, so I thought it might match well. But if you hate it?—”

“And this—” I point at the engagement ring. “Is this a pear cut diamond?”

He squints. “No idea. I just thought it looked like the stone on that necklace you wear sometimes when you get dressed up.”

I keep staring.

It sure does. Exactly like it. I’m wearing the very necklace right now.

My chest tightens, and I sink my teeth into my lower lip.

“Oh God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even tried. We can use the placeholders. Or push the ceremony back an hour and find new ones?—”

“No!” I cut him off. “They’re… they’re absolutely perfect.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I nod, my voice raspy. “So perfect I don’t even think I can accept them?—”

“Well, too bad. Because you gotta.”

“Rhett, this is too much. I didn’t agree to you becoming my sugar daddy.”

“Do you like them? Yes or no?”

“I love them.”

“Then they’re yours. There’s nothing more to say, Baby Bear.”

I narrow my eyes. “But?—”

“Or should I say… Sugar Baby?”

I punch his arm, and just like that, the heaviness lifts.

Mom pokes her head back in, Dad in tow this time—looking less than thrilled to be here. “Everything’s ready! Let’s get you two married!”

“Okay, we’re coming,” I exhale. “Okay. Quickie ceremony. Say ‘I do.’ Sign some papers. Take a few pictures. Done.”

“It’s going to be fine,” Rhett says. “The ceremony is the least of our worries.”

“Great. But I’d really love to stress about one thing at a time, if that’s okay.” I grab my mini veil and start pacing. “This is fine. It’s going to be totally fine.”

I spin around and pin the veil in. “Okay. I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

I catch him looking at me.

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

I raise my brows.

“You look so goddamn pretty, Caroline.”

“Oh,” I mutter, blinking. “Thanks.”

There’s a pause. His throat bobs with a swallow .

“I’ll meet you at the altar,” he says, then slips out the door.

And a minute later, I’m doing the same.

The chapel is small and dimly lit, with a red velvet runner and silk flowers that somehow manage to look both over-the-top and half-done at the same time. The officiant stands under an arch of fake roses, holding a laminated script and grinning like he’s paid to do it.

“Alright, lovebirds,” he says, gesturing for us to begin. “Let’s do this thing.”

I make my way slowly down the aisle, my heels clicking too loud in the awkward hush. Rhett waits at the front, stiff in his suit, his hands clenched in front of him. His eyes flick up as I approach, but he doesn’t really look at me. I guess I don’t really look at him either.

When I reach them, the officiant claps his hands lightly. “If the two of you could please join hands.”

I turn slowly to face Rhett. His jaw is tight. We both hesitate, but eventually Rhett offers me his hands. I take them, trying to control my face as I do.

The officiant begins his speech—some recycled spiel about love being patient and kind and the journey of life—but I can barely hear it. I keep glancing up at Rhett, trying to gauge what he’s thinking. Because it keeps me from thinking.

He alternates between staring at our hands and just past me, as if he’s somewhere else entirely. When the vows portion begins, there’s a subtle twitch in his jaw as he swallows.

The officiant cues us to repeat-after-me him, and we push through the lines mechanically.

When we get to one vow in particular— “to love you and stand by you in good times and in bad” —I’m the first to speak, and Rhett’s hands tighten on mine as I say it.

I look up, and that’s the first time I find his gaze locked solid on mine.

When it comes time for the rings, we both shake a little as we slide them onto each other’s fingers. I think it’s the moment it finally hits us both.

We join hands again, and my eyes trail down to Rhett’s left one. Where the wedding band now sits. The one he picked out for himself—black, with a thin stripe of white gold running through its center. To match mine, I guess.

“And now,” the officiant says brightly, drawing my attention back to him, “by the power vested in me by the great state of Nevada and the Internet—I now pronounce you husband and wife!”

There’s a beat.

“And since you’ve requested to skip the kiss…” He gestures awkwardly. “Maybe a nice hug?”

We look at each other for a moment. Then we nod in agreement at the same time, like we’re being asked to do a trust exercise. In some ways, I guess we are. Maybe the biggest one of all.

Rhett steps forward. I move in too, slow and a little uneasy. And then suddenly his arms are around me.

It’s… jarring.

This is the first time I’ve ever hugged him. Not a shoulder bump. Not a drunken, forced half-hug after a party. An actual, full hug.

His chest is solid and warm against mine. His hand presses lightly between my shoulder blades. I’m suddenly hit with a strange wave of emotion I can’t quite name—something tight and breathless. Maybe a little terrifying.

I let myself hold on for one extra second before pulling away.

We both take a step back. I can feel Rhett’s eyes on me, but now it’s my turn to avoid his gaze.

The officiant claps his hands again. “And that’s a wrap! Congratulations to the happy couple! Let’s go sign some paperwork.”

We do .

And that evening, when the Storm game goes live, I make sure I’m holding my mic with my left hand. Rings—and the last shreds of my pride—on full display.

Linda posts the pictures to both our social accounts.

And just like that—there’s no going back.