What kills me is that I kind of already knew. When I ran into Tess on the beach, she told me Compton invited her and Doc to stay for the weekend to enjoy the beach. Yeah, she’s a sneaky little liar. Tess knew. Doc was already living there even then.
But that surprise was nothing compared to the final reveal: Kinnunen is with them too.
I won’t lie, Kinnunen intimidates the fuck outta me. The man rarely ever speaks unless he’s barking out orders on the ice. I don’t think he’s exchanged even a full sentence with me since I joined the team. So, to watch him stand up in the middle of a crowded locker room and declare himself engaged to our team doctor…the doctor we only just learned was living with Compton and Sanny…yeah, all our heads pretty much exploded.
Oh, and then they all declared they were changing their names to Price.
How many times can a person’s head metaphorically explode?
They’ve all been tight-lipped about the details, but I get the feeling maybe he’s only with her. Like, that’s a thing, right? He’s marrying her…and they’re marrying her…and each other…but he’s not marrying them? I think that’s what we’re here to witness tonight. Again, details are fuzzy.
I take a sip of my Old Fashioned, dropping into the empty chair next to Davidson. The room buzzes with energy as hockey players mingle with Hollywood elites. I don’t often get starstruck, but I swear to God, if Al Pacino walks into this wedding tonight, I’m gonna pass the fuck out.
Novy slides into our row and sits in the empty chair next to me, a sly grin on his face. “Guys, I just touched a Grammy.”
“What?”
“Hal’s Grammy,” he replies with a jerk of his head. “It’s just over there on the shelf behind the piano. I touched it.”
“You didn’t,” I huff.
Next to me, Davidson cranes his neck, looking to the corner of the room.
“I did,” Novy replies.
“He did,” Morrow adds, dropping into the empty seat next to him. “He made me take a picture.”
Novy grins, flashing me his phone screen.
I gasp. The asshole didn’t just touch Hal Price’s Grammy, he picked it up off the shelf. He’s holding it, smirking like a total douche. “Nov, you can’t just take people’s trophies off the shelf,” I hiss.
“Why not?” He shrugs, slipping his phone in the inside pocket of his suit. “Coley held it too.”
“Asshole,” Morrow grunts, jabbing him with his elbow. “I told you not to tell.”
I just huff again. “You two are idiots.”
They squabble under their breaths, arguing over whose idea it was to pick it up.
“Guys, this is weird, right?” Davidson repeats, leaning across me to loudly whisper at them. “No one else is gonna say it? I’m the only one?”
Novy and Morrow go still, slow turning to look at Davidson. They’re both defensemen, so they each have a few inches on me and, like, thirty pounds of muscle. Novy’s got a jagged pink scar zigzagging up his cheek. It’s still healing from when he took a skate to the face and had to get one hundred and thirty stitches. The man had already perfected the art of the scowl. He’s Russian so they’re born with that, right? It’s like a factory setting. But now when he scowls, he looks like he’s gonna murder you and your dog and uproot your house plants just to be a dick.
“You got a problem with all this, Dave-O?” he says, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
I go still, feeling trapped between them.
“Yeah, if you’ve got a problem being here, there’s the door,” Morrow echoes, his tone just as hard. It’s an odd look for him because, off the ice, Cole Morrow is a super-nice guy. The puck bunnies go crazy for him. His usual charming smile has been replaced with a glare as he waits for Davidson to speak.
“No, I’m cool,” Davidson says at last, sinking back into his chair. “This is totally fine.”
“Damn right it is,” Morrow replies.
“Why don’t you just not speak again tonight, Dave-O,” says Novy, dismissing him.
Davidson bristles but stays silent. He’s only a backup goalie, and he’s having a shitty season so far. He can’t talk back to a starting defenseman, and he knows it. Not unless he wants Novy to make his life hell whenever he gets in the net.
Novy’s an asshole on the best of days, but his defense of our teammates is oddly touching to see. Who would have ever pegged him as such an ally?
“Oh my god,” Morrow gasps. He grips Novy by the shoulder, and then they’re both turning. They morph into a pair of excited squirrels whispering to each other and shoving.
“Langers, look,” Novy hisses, slapping my shoulder.
I turn my head, following their gaze to the corner of the room where Hal Price is standing there laughing, his hand on the shoulder of none other than Al Fucking Pacino.
4
“I think Langers is about to piss himself,” Morrow laughs.
“Shut up.” I tear my gaze away from the vision of Hal Price laughing with Al Pacino.
Our captain, Sully, drops into the row behind us wearing a wide smile like a kid at Disneyland. “Guys, Slash is here.”
We all turn, following his point to the other side of the room where Slash is most definitely standing next to Alice Cooper.
Yeah, this is fine.
“And to think I was gonna skip this to stay and soak in the hot tub,” Sully adds, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Ladies and gents, if you could all start finding your seats,” calls a deep voice from the front of the room. “I think we’re ready to get this party started.”
We all turn. The guy talking is Doc’s brother, I think. Rumor is she’s a twin like Compton. His sister is here somewhere too. I met her during pregame warmups. No wonder he keeps quiet about her around us. She’s a total ten. Apparently, she’s a rocket scientist or something cool like that.
“Johnny Depp is here,” Poppy squeals, dropping into the last empty seat by Morrow. “Oh, my good gracious, I’m gonna faint.” She presses a manicured hand dramatically against her chest.
“Pop, did you see Slash?” says Sully, leaning between the seats.
“No,” she gasps, her head turning on a swivel.
“And Al Pacino,” Morrow adds.
“Ohmygod,” she whines, gripping tight to his arm. “This is just so exciting. I can’t believe they said no pictures. I’m dyin’ over here.”
Of course, our public relations manager wants pictures of the Rays rubbing shoulders with Hollywood and rock royalty. But the goons at the door were clear: no pictures, no video.
“You know, we’re all kind of big deals too,” Novy mutters, arms crossed. “Hockey’s only a multibillion dollar a year industry—”
“Hush,” she says, eyes wide as she looks all around.
I chuckle, clicking my phone into silent mode. Doc and the guys are never gonna live this night down. This is already the coolest wedding ever and it hasn’t even started.
It only takes a few minutes for everyone to settle. Over half this room is Rays. I don’t think anyone opted to stay at the hotel. Even the coaches are here. Head Coach Johnson is sitting in the back, three seats down from Slash.
Suddenly, some of the guys all start to whoop and cheer. I turn, eyes wide, as I take in Kinnunen walking down the makeshift aisle between the chairs. He’s easily one of the best-dressed guys on the team. Tonight, he’s rocking a moss green suit and no tie. If I wore that color, I’d look like an idiot. On him, it’s effortlessly cool.
“Go, Bear!”
“There he is!”
“Get it done, Mars!”
Morrow leans across Poppy, patting his arm as he passes.
Compton and Sanny walk in right behind him, big smiles on their faces. Compton catches my eye, grinning like a lovestruck idiot.
“Yeah, Sanny,” Novy shouts. “Lock him down quick, or I will!”
The guys all laugh as Sanford gives Novy a death glare. He may not have the scar to match Novikov, but it’s still intimidating as hell. The guys shuffle around at the front of the room, Kinnunen stepping back to let Compton and Sanford claim the middle spots.
“Aren’t we supposed to hold hands?” asks Compton.
“Shut up,” Sanford says and we all laugh.
“Come on, asshole. Hold my hand or something,” he replies, holding out a hand towards our equipment manager.
“Hold his hand or I will,” Novy shouts to more laughter.