Page 18 of Heartfelt Goals

“And your bride?”

“Huh?”

“It’s not just you now – the team will pay for language classes for your bride, and, I guess, anyone else you need. If her family is relocating with her, then we’ll ask for an allotment to cover everyone. They are being very generous with their offer, and I think you did the right thing. You’lllovethe Wolverines.”

The words echoed in Dustin’s head, over and over, like a bell tolling in the distance—final, inescapable. He stood in the sterile, impersonal office of the Justice of the Peace, his voice steady as he repeated vows he’d never once imagined saying.

Not like this.

Not toher.

Laurel Evans… was nowLafreniére.

She had been off-limits in every possible way. From the moment he turned sixteen, he had avoided her like his life depended on it. The way she looked at him back then—soft, searching, expectant—had made something inside him uneasy. He hadn’t understood it, hadn’t wanted to. So, he stayed away, dodging every lingering glance, every invitation to linger in her orbit, until the day he packed up and left for college.

Distance had been his safety net.But now, there was no escaping her. She was standing beside him, silent, stiff, her hand limp in his - clammy.

Dustin turned his head, searching her face, and a frown pulled at his lips. Where was the girl he remembered? The one with those big hazel eyes full of light, the one who laughed too easily, who had been so devoted to his sister, Madeline, that she had practically become family?

The woman next to him now looked like a shadow of that girl. She wasn’t glowing—she was pale. She wasn’t smiling—her lips were pressed into a tight, worried line. And her eyes? They held no warmth, no spark, just a glassy, dazed sort of detachment as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down at something dark and bottomless.

He had seen players who lost a championship with that same devastated expression that screamed, ‘Why did we even bother?’.

“Mr. Lafreniére, you may kiss your bride.”

The words blindsided him.

Dustin jerked slightly as if someone had slapped him across the face. His stomach twisted. The idea of kissing Laurel—it shouldn’t have rattled him. He had no problem with what they were doing, but somehow, this felt...wrong. Like he was stealing something from her, something sacred.

Laurel must have sensed his hesitation because she let out a breath—one that sounded more like an empty surrender than obvious relief.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, her voice flat, drained. If she had muttered an “oh, bother,” she could have been the living embodiment of Eeyore.

He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off before he could speak.

“I’ve got the… I’msick.”

The lie was so obvious it nearly made him flinch.

“Oh,” Dustin murmured, glancing at the magistrate, who looked just as perplexed as he felt. He nodded, clearing his throat. “She’s not feeling well. Thank you for this.”

The older woman behind the desk peered at Laurel with concern. “You should get her home—some tea or chicken broth might help, dear. You look like you’re about to drop.”

“I feel that way,” Laurel admitted softly.

That wasn’t a lie.

She was swaying slightly, and instinct took over. Dustin reached for her, his hand curling gently around her arm, steadying her as they stepped outside.

“You should have told me you were sick,” he murmured, keeping his voice low, calm. “I wouldn’t have?—”

“I’m not.”

She pulled her arm from his grasp, the movement small but decisive. Cold air filled the space between them, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from feeling the weight of what she said next.

“And you’re welcome.”

Dustin blinked. “For what?”

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