Page 144 of Player Misconduct
Niko shifts under Aleksi’s hand this time and I can feel Aleksi smile at the connection.
"He's strong," he says.
"He's stubborn," I counter.
"He's ours."
And just like that, the last knot of fear I've been carrying—fear that this wouldn't work, that we'd mess it up, that the world would take this away from us—finally loosens.
Chapter Thirty
Kendall
The locker room smells like hairspray and champagne. Not the typical odor I’m used to.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror someone dragged in from God knows where, staring at a version of myself I barely recognize. The dress is soft ivory, simple and elegant, with lace sleeves that end just above my elbows and a neckline that dips low enough to be interesting without being scandalous. The fabric drapes over my belly in gentle folds, making no attempt to hide the curve of Niko beneath it.
I look pregnant.
I look beautiful.
I lookterrified.
"Stop fidgeting," Vivi says, appearing behind me with a curling iron in one hand and a champagne flute in the other. "You're going to mess up Isla's work."
"I'm not fidgeting," I protest, even though my hands are definitely fidgeting with the hem of my dress.
"You are," Isla confirms from her spot on the bench, where she's organizing bobby pins with the precision of a surgeon. "You've been messing with that dress for five minutes."
"That's because I'm about to get married on center ice in front of eighteen thousand people," I say, my voice rising slightly. "I think I'm entitled to a little fidgeting."
Peyton appears at my elbow, makeup brush in hand, eyes sharp. "You're not getting cold feet, are you?"
"No," I say quickly. Too quickly. There are no cold feet when it comes to marrying Aleksi. I would have gone straight to the courthouse after the hearing with the board, but I’m glad we’re doing it this way.
Leena and Saara will be able to watch and the fans get to be a part of our story, like they always have been… the whole team is standing up with us as witnesses.
Cammy arches a brow. "Because if you are, we'll have to explain to Aleksi why his bride ran away in figure skates."
I laugh despite myself, the sound breaking through the tightness in my chest. "I'm not running. I'm just… processing. And besides, the red carpets they are laying out means I can wear heels without a problem.”
"Processing what?" Vivi asks, setting the curling iron down and turning me to face her. "That you're about to marry the man who literally proposed to you in front of the medical board? The man who bought you a house before you even admitted youloved him? The man who's been waiting for this moment since the day you met?"
My throat tightens. "When you put it like that…"
"You’d be crazy if you're not out there in five minutes," Peyton finishes, grinning.
The door swings open and Juliet Haynes, Coach Haynes' wife, sweeps in, clipboard in hand, ear piece in perfect placement, eyes sharp with the kind of organizational efficiency that makes an entire last minute celebrity wedding bow to her will. And now she’s doing ours… on ice.
"Ladies," she says, clapping her hands together. "We've got nine minutes before the second intermission. Let's make this count."
She surveys the room with the practiced eye of a general inspecting troops, then nods approvingly. "Vivi, finish her hair. Isla, get the veil. Peyton, fix her lashes—she's been crying. Cammy, you're on champagne duty. Everyone else, clear the staging area."
The room erupts into controlled chaos, the girls moving with synchronized precision. Vivi attacks my hair with the curling iron, creating soft waves that cascade over my shoulders. Isla pins the veil—a simple cathedral-length tulle that catches the light like starlight—into place with gentle hands. Peyton dabs at my eyes with a tissue, muttering something about waterproof mascara being a lie.
"You look perfect," Vivi says softly, stepping back to admire her work. "He's going to lose his mind."
I turn back to the mirror, and for a second, I don't see the scared woman who spent months running from this moment. I see a bride. A mother-to-be. A woman who's about to marry the man who made her believe in second chances.
