Page 89 of Power Pucking Play

For a former bad boy of the NHL, I've come a long way.

Not bad, De Luca. Not bad at all.

"Nervous, kid?"

I turn to see Sal Carmine, hockey legend and my personal hero, grinning at me. Even after a year of knowing him, it's still surreal to have him here, at my wedding.

"Me? Nervous?" I scoff, aiming for nonchalance. "Please. I eat pressure for breakfast."

Sal chuckles, clapping me on the shoulder. "Sure, sure. That's why you're sweating through your tux, right?"

I glance down, horrified, but my suit is perfectly dry. Sal's laughter echoes through the room.

"Got you," he winks. "Relax, Gio. You've already won the hardest game of your life—getting that talented beautiful woman of yours to agree to marry you. The rest is just a victory lap."

I grin, releasing a short breath.

He's right, of course. I've already got the girl.

Everything else is just icing on the cake.

But as another camera flashes in my face, I feel a familiar restlessness creep in. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled to be marrying Lexi.

But all this pomp and circumstance? The constant scrutiny? It's not really our style.

What I wouldn't give for just five minutes alone with my soon-to-be wife...

And then, like she's read my mind—which, let's be honest, she probably has—my phone buzzes with a text from Lexi.

"Meet me in the east wing, third door on the left. Bring that cute butt of yours. ;)"

I grin, already heading for the door. "Sorry, Sal," I call over my shoulder. "Groom duties. See you in a bit.”

I hear him chuckle as I slip out, dodging well-wishers and cameras alike.

The east wing is quieter, the sounds of the wedding preparations fading as I make my way down the corridor.

And there it is.

Third door on the left.

I take a deep breath, straighten my jacket, and knock.

"Password?" Lexi's voice calls out, laughter evident in her tone.

"Seriously, Brookes? We're doing this now?"

"Hey, security is important. There could be paparazzi everywhere. Now come on. Password or no entry."

I rack my brain, trying to think of what she might have chosen. "Uh...slapshot?"

"Weak, De Luca. Try again."

"Pulitzer?"

"Now you're just guessing."

I lean my forehead against the door, chuckling. "All right, I give up. What's the password?"

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