Page 48 of Huge Pucking Play

I start the car and pull out of the parking garage. Traffic is light for a Saturday in Chicago, and I arrive earlier than I expected.

I pull up to the valet at the Palmer House Hilton where the wedding is being held. Before I hand over my keys, I check my phone one more time. No new messages from Cyn and I feel unexpected disappointment creep in.

I enter the historic Chicago hotel and it’s buzzing with activity – hotel staff arranging chairs in neat rows, florists making last-minute adjustments to elaborate arrangements of white roses and greenery.

"Coach Hughes!" A booming voice calls from across the lobby. Ryan Sorensen, one of the Blades' defensemen, waves me over. "Didn't expect to see you flying solo today."

I shrug as I approach the small group of players. "Just me."

"No flavor of the month?" asked Marcus Webb, the team's center, with a grin that suggests he'd already had a drink or two.

"Not today." I keep my tone light. My dating life had become something of a running joke among the team – the retired player sampling Chicago's eligible women. If they only knew I hadn't so much as looked at another woman since meeting Cyn.

I quickly change the subject. "How's the knee, Ryan?"

As Sorensen launches into a detailed update of his recovery from a minor injury, I scan the room, looking for Cyn. She’s nowhere in sight and I assume she’s in a room with Sophie somewhere, trying to keep her calm.

I continue to talk with Sorenson and Webb until it’s time to take out seats.

I find a seat up near the front on the groom's side and settle in. The string quartet in the corner begins playing Bach, a gentle backdrop to the quiet murmur of conversation.

"Is this seat taken?"

I look up to find an older woman gesturing to the space beside me.

"It’s not," I reply, shifting to make room.

"You must be one of Evan's hockey friends," she said as she sat. "I'm Margaret, Sophie's aunt."

"Garrett Hughes. I coach with the team."

"So lovely to meet you," she pats my arm. "Are you here with anyone?"

"Just me today."

Margaret looked scandalized. "A handsome man like you? Alone at a wedding? We'll have to remedy that. Sophie's cousin Janice is single and?—"

The music changes, cutting off what promised to be an awkward conversation. The bridesmaids begin their processiondown the aisle, each dressed in the same steel gray silk dresses. My breath catches when Cyn appears.

She walks with natural grace, her eyes fixed ahead, shoulders back. The dress hugs her figure perfectly, the color bringing out the green of her eyes. Her blonde hair is styled in loose waves that fall past her shoulders, different from her usual practical ponytail. She looks elegant, sophisticated, and utterly captivating.

As she passes my row, her eyes flick briefly in my direction.

The rest of the ceremony proceeded with traditional solemnity. Sophie appears in a classic white gown that makes her look like she'd stepped out of a fairytale, her face radiant as she moves toward Evan. I watch as Evan’s expression transforms at the sight of his bride – awe, joy, and a gentleness that few people ever see from the gruff goaltender.

The ceremony concludes with a kiss that prompts cheers and applause from the assembled guests. As the newly married couple makes their way back down the aisle, followed by the wedding party, I catch Cyn's eye again. This time, she allows herself a real smile – warm and private despite the public setting.

During the cocktail hour, I make small talk with team management, all while maintaining peripheral awareness of Cyn's location. She’s busy with maid of honor duties – organizing the receiving line, conferring with the photographer, making sure Sophie's dress remains pristine for photos.

"Quite the maid of honor, isn't she?" Coach Martinez says, following my gaze to where Cyn is directing the wedding party for a group photo.

I school my features into professional neutrality. "She's efficient."

"One of the reasons I hired her." Martinez sips his drink. "Good to see her enjoying herself outside of work. Girl works too hard."

"Yes," I agree carefully. "The whole medical staff does."

As the cocktail hour winds down, guests begin drifting toward the reception hall, an elegant wonderland of white and silver, with twinkling lights draped from the ceiling like stars.

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