At six o’clock, we’re all waiting for the newlyweds to enter the ballroom of the boutique hotel where the reception is being held. The private ceremony ended a while ago, but Tucker’s mom had popped in afterward with the update that they were taking some pictures up on the hotel roof and would come down shortly
The ballroom currently holds about two hundred guests, many of whom are current or former hockey players all stuffed like sausages in ill-fitted suits. Not me, obviously. I rock a suit like nobody’s business. Allie’s wearing a sky-blue dress that matches her eyes and silver stilettos that give her some height and make her legs look endless. Her blonde hair is pulled back in an elegant twist, revealing the diamond studs in her ears, last year’s anniversary gift courtesy of yours truly.
“Is this from the new Tom Ford collection?” my sister asks, running her grubby hands over the front of my very expensive suit jacket. Well, fine, her manicure probably cost more than this suit, but you can’t go around pawing at a man’s tailored wool, cotton, and silk blend.
“Yes,” I answer smugly. “Jealous?”
“Yes, Dicky, I’m so jealous,” Summer replies, dramatically rolling her eyes. Then she sighs. “Actually, yeah, I kind of am. You look better than me tonight.”
“Thank you for acknowledging that,” I say solemnly.
Fitz shakes his head. “You two are insane.”
“Ignore him,” Summer tells me. “He doesn’t understand clothes the way we do.”
She’s right. Fitz would be happy wearing ripped jeans and old tees for the rest of his life. He has no use for designer clothes. But it’s one of the many things Summer and I have in common, along with our lust for life. It’ll be nice having her back in New York this summer. After she graduates from Briar next month, she and Fitz are moving to Manhattan.
“I can’t wait till we’re both in the city together again,” Summer says as if reading my mind. “Actually, not just both of us—all of us!” she corrects, her expression shining brighter. “I’m excited to drop by Nicky’s office for surprise lunches and shopping trips and watch him make up excuses why he can’t go.”
Summer gets a kick out of tormenting our workaholic older brother. And tormenting me. And her boyfriend. Basically, she’s a holy terror. But we all love her.
A murmur ripples through the crowd.
“They’re here,” someone says.
All gazes focus on the double doors in the arched doorway. A moment later they fling open, and Jamie Tucker glides into the ballroom looking like an angel princess in a white tulle dress with a full skirt. There’s a silver tiara tucked into her auburn hair, and a beaming smile on her cherub face.
Tucker’s mother, Gail, scurries after the toddler, chiding, “Jamie! You were supposed to wait for the signal.”
Laughter breaks out, which turns into gasps when Sabrina and Tucker appear.
“Oh my God,” Allie breathes. “I know she probably hates everyone staring at her, but look at her.”
She’s right. Sabrina is exquisite in a simple white satin gown with a scooped neckline that reveals some pretty delectable cleavage. Her dark hair cascades over one bare shoulder, a section of it clipped to the side with a diamond pin. Even though she’s wearing impossibly high heels, Tuck stands at well over six feet and still towers over her. They’re holding hands as they enter the ballroom. Sabrina’s blushing and Tucker’s beaming, and I deeply envy him in that moment.
I squeeze Allie’s hand, and when she squeezes back and slants her head toward me with a smile, my heart clenches tight. How did I get this lucky?
“That’ll be us someday.” I don’t want to give away the surprise, but I can’t help whispering the teasing words in her ear.
She laughs softly. “One day,” she agrees. “Well into the future, though.”
I falter for a second. I want to ask her to define “well into the future” but that would tip my hand, so I maintain my light tone. “I don’t know… I wouldn’t be against seeing you in a wedding dress sooner rather than later. You’d look smoking hot.”
“Obviously,” she replies, and I grin. Her self-confidence rivals mine. It’s one of the reasons I love her.
“Want me to call Vera Wang?” I offer graciously. I’m only half-joking. With my family connections, I could easily get Vera on the line.
Allie’s expression grows thoughtful as she studies my face. I don’t know what she glimpses there, but whatever it is brings another laugh to her lips. “You might want to hold off on that. I mean, it’ll probably take you a while to convince my dad.”
Her dad?
She notes my blank look. “Oh, sweetie,” she tsks, blue eyes dancing. “You know you’d have to ask for his blessing.”
My stomach sinks. Oh sweet baby Jesus. I have to ask for his blessing?
Don’t get me wrong—Joe Hayes and I have developed a tentative friendship over the years. I mean, he still calls me “pretty boy,” but I know he likes me.
Enough to marry his little girl, though? His only child?
Oh, fuck.
Taking pity on me, Allie laces her fingers through mine and tugs me forward. “Come on, let’s go congratulate the happy couple.”
And here I thought that skating in TD Garden with my old team was the greatest night of all time. This wedding reception? Fucking tops that. After a mouth-watering dinner and some of the most hilarious speeches in wedding history, the live band takes the stage and the dance floor comes alive. After a few songs, though, I abandon Allie and she dances with her girlfriends while I try to catch up with as many old friends as I can. Because who knows when or if I’ll see them again after tonight.
When college graduation had been looming, I’d worried we’d all drift apart. And some of us have. Birdie and his longtime girlfriend Natalie got married and moved to Oklahoma. Traynor lives in LA and plays for the Kings. Pierre returned to Canada.
Losing touch with college friends is simply one of those depressing inevitabilities of life, but I’ve also been lucky that many of these guys are still in my life. I see Fitzy frequently because he’s dating my sister. Hunter and I still text all the time, so I’m up-to-date on his life. I’ve met his girlfriend Demi, who couldn’t make it tonight, and I know they’re moving in together, sharing a house with his teammate Conor and Conor’s girlfriend. I talk to Garrett and Logan and Tuck and see them far more often than I thought I would.
There’s really only one close friend I can’t see, can’t speak to, and that’s Beau Maxwell, because he’s gone. I think Beau would’ve had fun tonight if he’d been here.
A lump of grief rises in my throat, so I gulp down the rum and Coke I’d been nursing to try to dislodge the heavy emotion.
Luckily, I’m provided a distraction when Coach Jensen interrupts our little hockey reunion by stalking up to the group.
“Hey, Coach,” drawls Tucker, beaming at the man who’d challenged and berated us for four years. “I’m glad you could make it. You too, Iris,” he adds, smiling at the gorgeous woman at Coach’s side.
I can’t lie—I was surprised when Coach showed up to the reception with his new girlfriend. It boggles my mind that anyone would choose to date someone as surly and perpetually annoyed as Coach. But Iris March seems cool, and she’s definitely a stunner. That part isn’t a surprise, though. Chad Jensen’s hot for a dude in his forties. Of course he’s killing it with the ladies.
“Thanks for having us,” Coach says brusquely.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then he nods. “All right. Carry on.” He rests one big hand on the small of Iris’s back, trying to lead her away.
Logan bursts out laughing. “Seriously? You’re just gonna walk off without giving a speech? Without congratulating the groom?”
“What kind of sociopath does that?” Nate Rhodes pipes up.
“Despicable,” Garrett agrees, nodding gravely.
Coach rubs the bridge of his nose as if warding off a migraine. It’s a gesture I’ve seen thousands of times over the years.
Next to him, Iris laughs softly. “Oh, come on, Chad. Say a few words.”
He huffs out a breath. “Fine.” But then he doesn’t continue.
Still laughing, Iris kicks it off for him. “Let’s raise our glasses to Tucker…”
We all raise our glasses or beer bottles.
Finally, Coach Jensen clears his throat. “Well,” he says, his shuttered eyes sweeping over the group. “As you know, I don’t have any sons. And after coaching all you boys for so many years, I’ve come to realize I’m glad I don’t.”
Mike Hollis hoots loudly. I muffle my laughter against my palm.
Coach glares at us.
“With that said,” he continues, “out of all the players I’ve coached, John, you’re the one who’s given me the least amount of grief. So thanks for that. Congratulations on everything. The lawyer wife. The cute rug rat. I’m proud of you, kid.”
Tucker’s eyes are a bit shiny. He blinks a couple of times, then says, “Thanks, Coach.”
They share a macho side hug. Coach steps back and tugs at his tie in discomfort. “I need another drink,” he mutters before taking Iris’s arm and making his escape.
We watch him go. “I miss his pep talks,” Garrett says glumly.
“They’ve gotten shorter and drastically less peppy,” Hunter tells us.
Logan snickers. “I’m going to grab another drink and find Grace. BRB.”
My gaze remains trained on Coach and Iris, who’d just reached the bar. They make a good-looking couple. Coach’s muscular body was built for a suit, and Iris’s ass looks damn good in her black cocktail dress.
“I can’t believe Coach has a girlfriend.” Then another thought occurs to me. I go quiet and squint in their direction.
“Are you having a stroke?” Hunter asks politely.
I shake my head. “Nah, I was trying to picture Coach having sex.”
Guffaws break out all around me. Hollis, however, is nodding vigorously. “I think about that all the time,” he says.
“All the time?” Fitzy echoes.
Hollis ignores his best friend. “Oh yeah. I’ve spent years trying to solve the mystery.”
“Years?” Fitz again.
“What mystery?” Hunter looks amused.
“The mystery of how he fucks,” Hollis explains. “Because here’s the thing—Coach is like this big burly man’s man, you know? So you’d think he’d be a power fucker, right?” Hollis grows more and more animated. “Like, he’s going to drill fast and hard.”
“I don’t like this conversation,” Garrett says frankly.
“But maybe that’s too obvious,” Hollis continues.
“So what are we thinking?” a fascinated Nate asks.
“Submissive,” I supply immediately. This might not be appropriate wedding subject matter, but now I’m invested. “I bet he lets her tie him up and have her way with him.”
“No way,” Hunter argues. “He’d need to be in control.”
“Agreed,” Hollis says, giving a firm nod. “But here’s what I envision: tender.”
“Nah,” Hunter says.
“Tender,” Hollis insists. “He’s all about the foreplay. He spends hours pleasing his lady. But he’s in full control, right? Then, after he’s made her come like four times, he slowly enters her—”
“Enters her?” Nate hoots.
Fitz sighs.
“—and they make love,” Hollis finishes. “Lovemaking all the way.”
I purse my lips. Honestly, I can see it. Coach’s exterior is so rough, I bet he throws curveballs in bed.
“Nah,” Hunter repeats. “I still vote for power fucker.”
“Coach doesn’t fuck,” Hollis argues. “He makes love.”
Someone clears their throat. “Gentlemen.”
We jump in surprise when Iris Marsh appears behind us. Biting her lip like she’s trying not to bust into laughter, she casually leans past Tucker to grab the silver clutch on the table he’s leaning against.
“Left my purse,” she says in a light tone.
To Hollis’s credit, he’s not the least bit abashed. I don’t think that dude is capable of feeling shame.
“Uh, enjoying the band?” Garrett asks her, as if we don’t all know she’d overheard us dissecting her sex life with Coach.
“They’re excellent,” she replies. “I loved that Arcade Fire cover.” She tucks the purse under her arm and takes a step back. “Anyway. Sorry to interrupt.”
Just before she goes, however, she leans closer to Hollis and murmurs something. So quietly I think I imagined it at first.
“He definitely fucks.”
Hollis’s jaw drops.
“But you didn’t hear that from me,” Iris calls over her shoulder, waltzing off in Coach’s direction.
“Told you,” Hunter says smugly.
