Page 54 of Pucked In Vegas

The lights are blinding. The noise deafening.

Every NHL Draft I've ever watched on TV has prepared me for this moment. The handshake with the commissioner, the jersey presentation with Big Mike, the photo op of us smiling that will be replayed for years.

I go through the motions. Shake hands. Smile. Accept the green and gray Iron Ridge jersey with my name already emblazoned across the back.

"Congratulations, son," Big Mike says, slapping me on the back.

Son? If only he knew.

When the cameras stop clicking and Big Mike and the commissioner steps back, gesturing toward the microphone for my prepared statement, something inside me shifts.

I adjust the height of the microphone, and when I look up, in the wings… right at the back of the room, right below the neon green exit sign… I spot her.

Cassie.

Her arms are crossed over her chest, face unreadable—except for the glint of a tear sliding down her cheek.

I grip the edge of the microphone, steadying my voice even as my pulse slams against my ribs.

“I had a speech,” I start, eyes locked on hers. “A good one, apparently. Practiced it all week.”

There’s a soft ripple of laughter from the audience.

“But I’m not reading it. Before I can be Iron Ridge's future, I need to fix my past."

At the side of the stage, Madison shifts on her feet, probably already halfway to a coronary. Big Mike tilts his head behind me, confusion flickering across his face.

I feel every perfectly placed camera in the room zoom in on my face, like the entire world just sat up and started paying attention.

“A week ago, I came to Vegas to celebrate the draft,” I say, “and ended up in a chapel at three a.m., marrying a woman who looked at me like she saw through every layer I’ve ever tried to hide behind.”

The laughter cuts out.

“She was stubborn. Sharp as hell. Wore this tiny dress like she knew exactly what kind of trouble she was about to cause.”

I see Cassie’s lips part with a slight chuckle. Her hands fall away from her chest.

“And yeah, we were drunk. We were reckless. But you know what…" I pause, letting the silence of the room surround me. "I’d do it all over again. Every minute of it. Because that night gave meher.”

I raise my arm, pointing straight at Cassie's tear-streaked face at the back of the room.

"That woman right there—Cassie Hawthorne—is my wife. My accidental wife. Myperfectlyaccidental wife."

A collective gasp ripples through the crowd. Camera flashes explode like lightning. Behind me, I hear what sounds like Big Mike choking on air.

"I know what you're thinking. This kid's throwing away everything he's worked for. And maybe I am." I pull the unsigned annulment papers from my jacket pocket and hold them up. "These have been burning a hole in my pocket all day."

The entire ballroom has gone silent except for the frantic clicking of cameras.

"Cassie thinks we're a mistake. That what happened in Vegas should stay there." I crumple the papers in my fist. "But the best moments of my life have been with her. Even if it was just for one night."

I turn slightly, looking directly at Big Mike, whose face has cycled through at least five different shades of red.

"So, Mr. Hawthorne…does this void that fancy new contract you were about to offer me?" I flash him a smile that's equal parts terrified and defiant. "Because I need to be clear about something: I love your daughter. And that means more to me than any deal, any signing bonus, any jersey."

I turn back to Cassie, who hasn't moved an inch, frozen under the exit sign's green glow.

"I've spent my entire life proving people wrong. Proving I was good enough. Worthy enough." My voice cracks. "But with you, Cassie, I didn't have to prove anything. You saw me. Just me. Not the prospect, not the draft pick. Just Jax."

---