Page 81 of From Ice to Grace
Or maybe it’s because when I really think about it, it doesn’t stray that far away from God’s design for marriage. Because this is not about lust or blind infatuation.
No, it’s a choice. An agreement between a man and a woman.
And this is what this will be.
As the final papers are stamped, the strange peace settles deeper. There’s no dread or a flashing warning in my spirit. For the first time in two weeks, I have the sense that things will be okay.
And there’s no denying that it’s because of Declan.
He’s given me a way to fix this. It might not be an ideal fix…but it will work. In all the ways that matter, it will work.
17
DECLAN
I’m a married man.
The situation might be staged, the lines drawn, the rules written down on a page torn from my new wife’s family cookbook, but the bottom line is the same.
I married Avah Johansson…who is now Avah Murphy.
“So,” Avah whispers, leaning in slightly as we walk out of the private ceremony room. “Can I call you Dawson?”
Absolute horror ripples through me. I’ve managed to make it through most of my life without people bringing up my middle name. Nobody in the NHL even knows about the obvious obsession my mother had with nineties television.
“Don’t,” I grind out.
Light laughter bubbles from her, and I can’t help but look at her face lighting up. It’s contagious, and without meaning too, I smile down at her.
“You’ll have to tell me about it,” she says, looking up at me with her blue eyes sparking with amusement. “I’m guessing there’s a story behind it.”
“Sharing secrets now that we’re married?” I ask, my eyes dipping to her mouth too quickly. Kissing her was unexpected. And it felt way too good.
“I’d say at least one,” she says, her shoulder brushing against my own.
“Well, I guess that means you owe me one,” I say, smirking.
“Hold up, lovebirds.” Brady’s voice cuts through the moment as he comes walking toward us. “You’ve got somewhere you need to be in thirty minutes.”
“What?” I snap, irritation flaring up at me. EJ is behind Brady, a crease between his brows.
“I thought this wedding was the whole point?” EJ says, folding his arms. “What else do they have to do?”
Brady chuckles, shaking his head. “There’s a private reception for you and your teammates. Well, not too private—someone will be there to take photos that we can send out to the press. After that, you have home viewings. The NHL is sending one of their reporters. They want to cover the story of you buying your first house together.”
Avah quietly sucks in a breath beside me and Brady catches it. “You remember that married people live together right?” he asks.
“Of course I remember,” she says, stepping closer to me. Whether or not she meant to, I’m not sure. “Do we have to pick a house today?”
Brady nods. “The sooner, the better. We don’t want the press to dig up another scandal. The moment anyone thinks this isn’t real, it’s over. You do get that?” he asks, turning to Avah. “This isn’t just busywork. This will prove, not only to the media but to immigration, that this is the real deal.”
His tone is sharper than I like, but it’s a reminder of why we’re doing this. Things might be difficult and more than complicated, but we made this decision and we have to do everything it takes. Not only for my own reputation, but for Avah’s documentation.
Brady sighs and softens, running his hand over his face. “This is the ideal photo-op. It will show that your teammates are in support of your new marriage and not worrying about the new PTO arriving later today.” Brady looks between us. “So you need to smile and act like this is the happiest day of your life.”
“We couldn’t even get a private minute?” I mutter.
Brady huffs before sliding his aviators into place. “Not when you’re trying to make lemonade with burnt biscuits, brother. Then it’s recovery mode.” He scrolls on his phone before adding, “Tonight, you have the honeymoon suite at the Waldorf, courtesy of your newest sponsor.”
