Page 25

25

JAMIE

It still hasn’t hit me.

The reporters are outside, stalking the venue for a chance to slip inside. Security is tight, and with the few members of the team, Graham, and Coach here, it should probably be even tighter.

Mom insisted on tying my tie, and as she stands in the back room with me, rolling her lips and sighing, I prepare for the words that I know are coming.

“If you’re going to tell me to pull a runaway groom, I’ll have to tell you not to waste your time, Ma.”

“I’m not going to say that.”

“Then what’s brewing up in your head? You’ve rubbed your lips together so many times your lipstick is gone.”

She finishes looping the tie and presses it against my chest. “I just want to make sure you still don’t want to tell me the truth before going out there.”

“I’ve already told you the truth.”

“Don’t play me for an idiot, Jamieson. I’m more perceptive than you think I am. And I know that you wouldn’t have allowed Graham Wells to be at your wedding unless you were forced to. Those reporters outside are here for a reason, and it isn’t to wish you good luck with your marriage.”

Heaving a sigh, I step backward and focus on cuffing my shirt sleeves.

Mom follows, too stubborn to leave it alone. “Why aren’t you telling me? If you’re in trouble, I’m here to help you.”

“I’m not in trouble. Please, let it go. I wouldn’t be getting married if I didn’t want to.”

“I don’t believe you.”

I grab her shoulders, gently keeping her in place as I speak, voice strained. “Drop it, Mom. I’m getting married any minute now. There’s no changing my mind or convincing me to tell you what you want to hear. I need you to support me right now.”

“You’re a good man, Jamieson,” she whispers, finally relenting. “Maybe too good.”

Will she still be saying that in two months when I have to tell everyone that I’m getting divorced?

It doesn’t matter. Right now, I need to get out there and make good on my promise to the team. Things will get easier after that. When it’s just me, Blakely, and Nate.

And a mountain of public responsibilities to make good on and events to attend. Photos to post and affection to display.

Our engagement photos were posted on Kye’s website and within a few hours were shown on the TV broadcast of our last game. They’re really good-looking photos, even with Blakely staring at me like she wanted to skin me alive.

“I love you, Ma,” I say.

She hugs me tightly, squishing her face into my chest. “I love you, my sweet boy.”

“Can we let everyone else back in here now?”

“I suppose,” she says, palming the doorknob.

The moment she has the door open, Dad’s stepping into the room and smiling at me. It doesn’t reach his eyes, but instead of fighting me the way Mom tried, he keeps his worries and questions to himself .

When he moves close, it’s to pull me into a tight embrace and speak low words of encouragement.

“If this marriage is real and important to you, Jamie, I need you to listen because you’re going to go through shit with Blakely that is going to test you both every day. When I married your mom, I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing, and I wish someone would have given me some advice. So, listen.

“You have to be patient and not cut each other off in the middle of an argument. Apologize the moment you realize you’ve done something wrong, and don’t give excuses. Don’t keep score. It’s not about who’s right or wrong—it’s about finding a way forward together. Laugh with one another. Go on dates and buy her flowers on random Tuesdays. Living in the spotlight is hard, and your schedule as a professional athlete will keep you busy. You’ll need to prioritize time together because life will always try to get in the way. When she’s hurting, you shut up and offer her both words and comfort. And remember that love isn’t just a feeling; it’s a choice you make every single day.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

I clutch his shoulders, gritting my teeth through the waves of emotion.

He’s never given me advice like that. The fucker has been keeping it stored up for today, for my wedding, and I’ve gone and used it on something that won’t last.

After a final squeeze, I release him and sniff, pretending I’m not burning to ash behind my ribs.

Oliver’s lingering, and I point at him. “What did he say to you on your wedding day?”

“From your dripping eyes, I’d say pretty much what he told you,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes on me.

Dad huffs. “I mixed it up a bit.”

“As long as I got more advice than Oliver did.”

“Why would you want to have more advice? Because you need it and I don’t?” my brother asks, smug as all hell .

“We should get out there, honey,” Mom cuts in before we can get really into it, touching my arm.

I tip my chin, making an “I’m watching you” gesture to Oliver before letting Mom guide me out of the room and into the hallway.

Jaxon, Chase, and Zach are already in their seats in the church with Graham and Coach. My cousins, aunts, and uncles aren’t here, and that doesn’t sit well with me. It’s what had to happen, though.

My teammates being here over my family was just another piece of the puzzle Graham wanted clicked into place. He’s the one who runs this show, even if Blakely and I were given the small part of being the ones to choose a few aesthetic aspects of today.

I wish I could talk to her right now. If I’m this tense, I can’t imagine how she’s feeling. Nate being there with her must be helping, even a little.

Oliver’s wedding was similar yet completely different than mine. It’s the same walk and wait, but instead of a full bridal party at my back, it’s me and Mom with my brother trickling in behind us. Nova and Avery are already sitting, and I know Nate’s with Blakely, being the one to walk her down to me.

To the outside eye, this is as real of a wedding ceremony as any.

“Ready?” Mom asks, curling her arm around mine.

I nod, and the music starts on cue, a slow orchestral song filling the church. My feet move on their own, carrying me down the aisle toward where the minister waits. Nerves tingle beneath my skin, and I focus too much on pretending they’re not there.

Once Mom kisses my cheek and takes her seat beside Dad in the audience, I zone out. There are so many things going on at once, each one too noticeable. The change of song, shifting of guests, and flashes from where Kye kneels off to the side of the first row.

My heart lurches into my throat, thumping offbeat when I realize everyone’s standing for Blakely. Forgoing a rehearsal was a stupid move that I make note not to repeat the next time I’m here.

That thought poofs into thin air. They all do.

One look at Blakely and my knees grow wobbly. I have half a mind to wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs and gawk unabashedly.

She’s elegant, a regal goddess in a long, silky, sleeved white gown. Her hair is twisted into a braided updo, and the pale nude colour of her lips is so unlike the usual peachy shade I’m used to. I can make out every curve of her waist and hips, and the way the fabric bunches beneath her chest draws my eyes there and refuses to let them go for seconds too long.

My throat’s gone dry and tight. It’s impossible to cough to clear it.

She’s gripping Nate’s hand where it rests on her forearm, and those deep, panicked green eyes are on me, begging for help. I release a puff of air and smile, extending my hand long before she’s reached the altar.

Her dress swishes on the ground and trails behind her as she closes the rest of the distance between us and grabs my hand like it’s the only lifeline she has. Nate watches me for a few moments, hiding the threat in his gaze well. I don’t back down from it and tip my chin in silent agreement.

Blakely moves to stand across from me and takes my other hand, gripping them both.

“You’re gorgeous, Bandit,” I murmur.

Her eyelids lower, a tiny smile curving her pale lips. “Thank you. Your suit isn’t pink.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

Some of the fear in her expression drifts just enough to be replaced with her signature annoyance.

“If I tell you how good you look, we won’t get out of the church door with your inflated head,” she mutters quietly .

By the choking noise coming from where my family is sitting, it seems she wasn’t quiet enough.

I let loose a breathy laugh. “Do I at least look good enough to be up here with you?”

“Better than.”

“Works for me, baby.”

The minister clears his throat and starts to speak, welcoming everyone to the ceremony. It’s hard to concentrate on the specific words when I’ve got Blakely in front of me. Shit, it’s hard to do anything but think of how beautiful she looks in all white.

Time moves fast. Words are spoken from beside me as I lose myself in the flecks of gold and brown in her green eyes and the tiny hairs above the arch of her brow. Her lashes move up and down, so black against the dark makeup smudged across her eyelid.

I lean forward, curious how many more lashes will appear with less distance. She releases my hand and circles my wrist, tugging lightly enough to appear nonchalant about it.

It’s dead silent as I look to the minister, then the crowd, and finally at my bride. She’s rolling her lips, the corners of her eyes crinkled.

“You’re supposed to be repeating our vows,” she whispers.

Seeing her amused is more than worth making a fool out of myself.

With a glance at the minister, I ask, “Can you give me a do-over?”

He doesn’t share the same sense of humour as we do, clearly. With a straight face, he repeats his words, and I don’t miss a beat before saying them to Blakely.

She does the same, and then we’re saying I do.

The two syllables melt off my tongue like butter. Maybe it’s the nerves or the excitement that’s building up inside of me out of nowhere, but I’m practically buzzing.

“You may now kiss the bride. ”

It’s my wife who I seek approval from. And I get it when she takes a confident step into my arms.

Without another moment of hesitation, I have her face in my hands and our mouths a breath apart. She shuts her eyes softly, and I delve a hand into her hair, taking one final look at her like this before finally kissing her.

My thoughts jumble before becoming clearer than they’ve ever been. Kissing Blakely is a mix of all my favourite things. It fills me with excitement and adrenaline yet carries the ability to steady me before I get too carried away. Like a parachute on your back while diving out of a plane.

A safe danger.

The perfect paradox.

I trap a moan in my chest and coax her lips apart just enough to steal a small taste of her before forcing myself back. She plants a hand on my chest and releases a shuddered breath, keeping her eyes closed.

Everyone’s clapping, but it’s quiet where I’ve gotten lost in my mind. My dad’s advice is right there, repeating lowly. And . . . and I think I could be content with following every piece of it with Blakely.