Page 103 of Slots & Sticks
“It doesn’t even have to be me. But Bowen’s new!”
“It would have been Geo, but he was willing to get ordained. And Bowen’s a good friend. He’s part of the team. I don’t see the problem.”
“But—”
Knight lays a hand on Viktor’s elbow. “Vik, buddy, you know I love you like a brother-in-law…”
“By definition, yes,” Viktor sniffs.
“But have you considered that the day of the wedding is the wrong time to take issue with these plans? Bowen was pretty much locked in by the end of the rehearsal.”
Viktor crosses his arms, looks around my childhood bedroom, and sighs. “I guess.”
Unlike my friends’ childhood rooms, mine was cleaned out a long time ago. My friends’ old bedrooms are shrines—trophies, medals, framed jerseys. Mine’s the opposite. Mom boxed up mychildhood years ago, like she knew I wouldn’t come back often. It’s sterile, impersonal—exactly what I needed to stay calm. No ghosts, no clutter, just me and the people who got me here.
Mom and Dad travel so often that I rarely come home to visit, and instead tend to meet them abroad or wherever Mom’s projects take her. Even without the nostalgic clutter of childhood, my room doesn’t leave a lot of space for six guys to get ready. Bowen is already downstairs coordinating with Violet to keep things running smoothly, which has at least bought us a little breathing room. Tristan and Owen make up the rest of my groomsmen.
Viktor sighs. “I suppose this isn’t a hill I want to die on all that badly. Alright, boys, are we ready? Let’s get out of here.”
The door opens a crack, and my dad peeks into the room. “Hey, fellas. Mind if I borrow the groom for a minute?”
His voice carries that easy authority that can clear a locker room or make me feel twelve again. Everyone perks up like we’re about to get a pep talk from a hall of famer. Which he is.
The other four leave, making room for Dad to join me in my old bedroom. He makes sure the door is latched, then crosses the room to sit down on the old twin bed.
“So, the time has come.”
“You mean the wedding?” I can’t help the grin. “Pretty sure that’s been on the calendar for a while now.”
He rolls his eyes, but I can see how proud he is. His whole face softens in a way I’ve never seen on the ice—or anywhere that isn’t home.
“Don’t get smart,” Dad grumbles, then leans in like he’s about to share state secrets. “You and Dot. Finally. Which means it’s time for The Talk. I skipped the PowerPoint this time, but the message stands—don’t make me a grandpa before the honeymoon’s over.”
“I don’t think I’ve left her disappointed so far,” I say.
Dad holds out his hands. “What the fuck? You waited this long, and then you caved?”
“Dad, come on.” I reach for my blazer. “You’re making this weird. I wasn’t waiting for marriage. I was waiting forher.”
“Got it.” Dad slaps a hand to his chest and exhales. “Tell you the truth, you let me off the hook here. Telling you about the birds and the bees when you were a teenager was awkward enough. I can’t believe people put off this conversation until the wedding night back in medieval times or what have you.”
“I think people got married as teenagers back then, didn’t they?”
“Ah, good point.” Dad gets to his feet. “I actually got a tattoo representing your mother before we were married. Well, enough of that. Come on, Cam, let’s get you hitched.”
I was more than willing to arrange any kind of wedding Dot wanted, but I wasn’t surprised when she chose something small and simple. Violet’s mom, Layla, arranged the decorations and catering. Kingsley’s in charge of the music, Geo’s waiting under the simple trellis arch, and our friends and family are gathered in a small group as witnesses.
The air outside hums with that golden pre-evening heat. The scent of lilacs, laughter floating from the garden, the soft thump of music testing over speakers—it all presses against me, grounding me. For once, I don’t feel scattered. Just… ready.
“Nervous?” Bowen whispers as I take my place.
“Nope.” And it’s true. When I think about the future, my brain goes a hundred different ways, but I’m not scared or anxious. I’m thrilled. All those noisy buzzing thoughts go quiet.
He places a hand on my shoulder. “Good. This marriage gig is the best damn thing that ever happened to me.”
The stone path beneath my shoes radiates leftover heat from the day, rooting me even more than the vows we’re about to say.
Everyone takes their seats, and Kingsley starts playing the song Delilah wrote to celebrate this day.
