Page 59 of Playing for Keeps

I pull her close, breathing in the scent of her hair. When my season ends, we'll have another wedding - this time surrounded by everyone who loves us. But watching her now, I realize we never needed papers to prove what we are.

We're partners. We're family.

We're exactly where we're meant to be.

EPILOGUE

GUNNAR: SIX MONTHS LATER

The spring aircarries the sounds of laughter as I adjust my bowtie, watching boats drift down the Allegheny. It will be fun to get out there this summer, now that hockey is over.

The second round of playoffs wasn't bad for a rookie season, even if we had to lose to Montreal. Grentley and I made the rotation work – it turns out we're both better goalies when we're not exhausted. But today isn't about hockey.

Today is about forever.

Strands of lights cover our apartment building’s riverside patio, and glass bulbs catch the late afternoon light. Simple wooden tables dot the grass in the back, laden with comfort food - my dad’s pierogies, Alice's mac and cheese…all the things that make Pittsburgh feel like home. Wildflowers spill from mason jars on the tables, while kayaks from the rec room bob gently at the dock below. Cam has already threatened to throw Banksy in the river if he doesn't dance later.

"Looking good, G Stag." Tucker adjusts my rolled sleeves, fussing like he hasn't been wearing the exact same outfit all afternoon. "Though I still say jeans at your wedding is a power move."

I grin. "Salty picked them." And the blue bowtie that matches her dress - which I haven't seen yet, but apparently matches my eyes. She fussed about breaking the "no seeing the bride" rule since we're already mentally married, but I wanted to give her this moment. Sure, we signed paperwork at the courthouse. But we both wanted an actual wedding, and I wanted to show Emerson off to my family and friends.

The Scale Up string ensemble tunes up near the water, their small faces serious with concentration. They insisted on playing for their teacher, even though Emerson worried it was asking too much. These kids would do anything for her. Just last week, they performed at the children's hospital - my wife's idea to bridge our worlds. All those kids who are admitted and missing their school performances absolutely loved a change in the routine of their day, even if Emerson says the acoustics are lousy in a hospital.

Tucker finishes adjusting my outfit, and I chase him off to sit with Odin—freshly back from his stint in the UK—and Alder. Alder especially needs a boost after his personal life exploded in the media. I wish I could make it easier for him to be a bisexual pro hockey player, but nobody could have anticipated the blowup at the arena. The twins are still reeling from it, but today isn't meant for dwelling on darkness.

Today is for light, for joy, for choosing each other all over again.

Brian hovers near the bar in - miracle of miracles - actual jeans, probably calculating the PR value of this intimate gathering. But even he tears up when the kids start playing - a sweet, slightly squeaky Canon in D.

“Got the ring, son?” Dad appears at my side to walk me to my place up front.

I nod and smile. “We never actually took the other bands off,” I confess. Dad pats my hand. I tilt my head to look at him, fine lines around his eyes from years of smiling. “Do you think it’s nuts that I knew Emerson was the one right away?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. It was like that with your mother. One look at her and I knew.” He pulls me close and kisses me on the cheek. “You’re like me, Gun. We love hard, and we love quick.” Dad moves to ruffle my hair, and I duck away from him. “Sorry, kiddo. Don’t want to mess up your look for your lady.” He clears his throat and walks to his seat beside Mom, who hands him a tissue.

The kids pause in their playing and start the song over again. I look up to the building, waiting for Emerson to emerge—and my heart stops.

She appears in the doorway, radiant in flowing blue silk that clings to her curves before cascading around her legs. Her dark curls are crowned with wildflowers, and her smile outshines the rare Pittsburgh sun. And she’s about to be all mine, legally and publicly this time.

The String Fury trio, now Emerson’s regular collaborators, begins to play alongside her students. Sarah's purple hair matches the sunset. They have been incredible mentors, demonstrating to Emerson that classical training does not equate to classical limitations.

Mom offered to officiate, but we opted to say brief vows to each other and get to the part where everyone eats. Plus, we wanted her just to be Mom today, crying happy tears between Dad and Tim as Emerson walks toward me. Even her brother Edwin showed up. His dour presence in the back row is an awkward peace offering that means more than he knows.

When Emerson reaches me, I can't help but touch her face. Her skin is warm from the June heat, and her cheeks are flushed with joy. "Hi, Salty." She decided to change her last name to Stagto feel connected to my family. She also says I can call her Salty as much as I want.

"Hi yourself." Her eyes sparkle with mischief and love. "Ready to make this official?"

"Been ready since Vegas."

We speak our vows—simple promises to choose each other every day, fight like wolves for our love, never stop making music together, support dreams and challenge limits, and always, always come home to each other.

Then we exchange rings—metal this time, though we’re keeping the silicone ones for game days. Finally, I turn to the crowd and say, “That’s it! We’re married!” The kids hit a slightly off note, and I pull Emerson in for a somewhat indecent kiss as everyone cheers. Perfect imperfection.

“I love you,” Emerson says, a little teary, gazing into my eyes.

“I love you so much.” I kiss her forehead. “I can’t wait to be with you every day.”

She laughs and pokes me with her bouquet. “You already get that, Gunny. It’s just more of the same from here on out.”

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