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Forget turning out like my dad, a measly professional athlete. Or my mother, a mere award-winning songwriter. I was going to be Stanley Cup and rule the fucking world. I can’t remember who burst my bubble. Probably my twin brother, Wyatt. He’s an unrepentant bubble burster.
The first thing I notice about him is the scowl. The second thing I notice is that he’s still astoundingly good-looking despite the scowl.
Just like that, I snap out of it. Oh, okay. This guy’s a dick.
I narrow my eyes. Scratch that—this guy’s a huge dick.
He thinks I don’t belong here? And he’s calling me prom queen? Yeah… kindly screw yourself in the butt, dickface.
Now if you’ll excuse me, this prom queen really needs to get back to it.” He scowls again. “I only called you that because I don’t know your name.” “Ever consider just asking my name then?” “Fine.” He grumbles out a noise. “What’s your name?” “None of your business.”
Let me guess. Short for something girlie and whimsical like…Georgia. No. Gisele.” “It’s not short for anything,” I reply coolly. “Seriously? It’s just Gigi?”
“Better skedaddle, Gisele, before you piss off Garrett Graham.” I skate over to Ryder, playing dumb. “Garrett who?” “Are you shitting me right now? You don’t know who Garrett Graham is?” “Is he famous or something?” Ryder
“Dad?” he growls under his breath. “You’re Garrett Graham’s kid?” I can’t help laughing at his indignation. “Not only that, but I’m helping with your shooting drills today.” His eyes narrow. “You play hockey?” I reach over to pat his arm. “Don’t worry, prom king, I’ll go easy on you.”
Does your father-in-law pay you to be his hype man? Or you do it for free to score approval points?
But like you said, if they manage to make it work? Come together as one team? We could be seeing some magic happen. Graham: Either that, or these guys are going to kill each other. Connelly: Guess we’re about to find out.
He’s still as attractive as I remember. Only he’s not a lanky fifteen-year-old anymore. He’s a grown man, filled out and muscular. Sheer power drips off him.
“Do you feel like coming to Vegas with me?” “Are you asking me to marry you?” I inquire politely.
“I don’t want anybody else. You know that, right?” Gigi blinks. “Where did that come from?” “I don’t know. I just need you to know I don’t want to be with anyone else. Ever.” A soft smile tugs on her lips. “Me too.”
I need to put something in my belly.” “I’ll give you something to put in your belly.” “I don’t know what that means, Ryder. Are you talking about a baby, or is it a semen swallowing thing?”
“She looks feral,” Wyatt remarks. “You guys raised a feral child.” I snicker. “Hey, blame him,” Hannah says, jerking a thumb at her husband. “He’s the one with the hockey gene.”
At one point Garrett jumps to his feet, shouting at the refs. “The hell are you doing down there! Use your eyes! That was clearly checking!” His outburst draws attention. Several pairs of eyes widen in recognition. Hannah yanks him back to his seat. “Garrett, sit down. I didn’t bring your fake beard and glasses.” Wyatt laughs.
“Like hell I can’t,” I growl. And then I give him another firm shove, forcibly moving him out of my way. “That’s my wife out there.”
“So. Um. Yeah. We got married.”
“G, I love you. You’re my sister. But that’s the most cliché thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I got married in Vegas. That’s so generic I wouldn’t even write a song about it.” “Wyatt,” Mom warns.
Ryder made it better that night. He makes it better every night. And day. And minute. We make each other better.
But we’re choosing to do life together. We went into this with our eyes wide open.”
Ragged me about it for hours. Shane spent a full day referring to me as Mr. Graham. Beckett gave me honeymoon tips and some Viagra pills.
I just remember walking hand in hand down the Strip that first night in Vegas and thinking there’s nobody else I want to hold hands with for the rest of my life.
I said I’d try. Because one, he’s my idol. And two, he’s now my father-in-law. But…she’s my wife. Wife. It still feels surreal to say that.
“Dude, that’s Dan Grebbs,” I tell Gigi’s dad. “Who?” “The nature sounds guy your daughter is obsessed with. Come on, we need to get in line.” He’s dumbfounded. “Why?” “Because Gigi loves him, and I want to get her a signed photo.
I’m in front of Gigi’s aural idol, feeling out of place and, frankly, stupid. But Garrett nudges me, and I step forward. “Uh. Hi. Mr. Grebbs. Huge fan.” From the corner of my eye, I see Garrett pressing his lips together to stop a laugh. “Well, really, it’s my wife who’s the fan. She has all your…soundscapes.” Garrett coughs into his hand. “Seriously, she listens to you religiously. In the car, on her runs, when she’s meditating.”
Garrett continues to watch me. “Quit looking at me like that,” I grumble. “I know it’s stupid.” He just sighs, shaking his head to himself. “You really love her.” “Till the day I die,” I say simply.
“Because I knew in that moment that I lost her. She doesn’t belong to me anymore.” My head jerks in surprise. “I don’t mean belonging like property,” he says gruffly. “No, I know what you mean.” “She’s my little girl. You’ll understand what that means one day, if you two ever have kids. If you have a daughter.”
