Page 84 of Their Greatest Strength

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 Irealize 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.

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