A Groom of One’s Own: A Sweet Hockey RomCom

Eli

“You can’t just climb into a stranger’s bed, Annie!”

I press my palms over my eyes, wishing when I opened them again, my sister won’t still be sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table, hands circled loosely around a mug of tea.

Like she didn’t just drop-kick the idea of boundaries and personal space to the curb by climbing into bed with Bailey.

I don’t really wish Annie would disappear. It’s good to see my sister. I can’t remember how long it’s been. Long enough for her to bleach her hair lighter, chop it shorter than mine in a pixie cut, and get a few new tattoos, one of which is peeking out of her shirtsleeve as she lifts the mug to her lips. She and Van could have quite the showdown.

“It wasn’t a stranger’s bed.” Annie’s placating tone only ratchets up my frustration. “It was your bed. In your guest room.”

She lifts a shoulder in an innocent shrug as though to say, See? Totally normal and not in the least inappropriate or leaping over any personal boundaries. Bailey, who was locked in the upstairs bathroom when I dragged Annie downstairs by the collar of her t-shirt, might disagree.

Are we too old for the kind of knock-down-drag-out fights we had when I hit middle school and got tired of Annie picking on me? Probably. Still, it’s tempting as my sister takes a casual sip of tea.

The only reason I’m not yelling is because Mom hasn’t woken up yet. And I’d rather not have Bailey overhear me losing it on my sister. I’m still trying to make a good impression, and pummeling Annie probably wouldn’t do me any favors.

“Aren’t you glad I’m here, large little brother?”

I drag my hands through my hair, stopping just short of pulling it all out. “Annie—yes. So glad. But that doesn’t mean⁠—”

“Because,” she says, raising her voice to steamroll right over me, “I really wasn’t sure, what with all the avoided calls about your engagement you didn’t bother to tell me about.”

Dropping into a chair, I cross my arms over my chest and heave a sigh. “I should have called to tell you.”

“You should have called beforehand,” Annie says, finally setting down her tea and looking serious. “We could have discussed rings and stuff. And I would have talked you out of doing a cliche hockey proposal and given you some truly sweet original ideas. I want to be part of your life, Eli. Even if you defected to the states. You’re getting married, dude.”

Though her words made my chest tighten, the grin she gives as she delivers that last sentence has me grinning back. “I know, dude.” She leans forward and smacks me on the shoulder. Hard. “You’re getting married!”

Guilt chooses this moment to remind me it’s still here, hanging out like that friend who crashes every party. I choose to ignore it.

“I’m getting married,” I repeat, grinning.

“I like her,” Annie says, and I shake my head. “What? You can get a good sense about someone watching them sleep.”

I cover my face with my hands and groan. “Annie.”

She only laughs, pressing on my bare foot under the table with hers. Despite the chasm of differences between my free-spirit sister and me, we share some common traits: specifically a sunny personality soaked in optimism and a serious leaning toward all things tactile. Mom’s the same way. We are happy, hands-on sort of folks.

“Why are you sleeping in separate bedrooms, anyway? You know Mom wouldn’t care.”

I go completely still, my hands still covering my face. Thankfully—I wouldn’t want Annie to see whatever expression I’m wearing now. Because I just had a realization I maybe should have had the moment I learned Annie was here.

Staying in separate rooms upstairs worked. When we weren’t worried about another person noticing. The only guys I asked to help move were ones who agreed to the vow of violence. I told Mom we were putting some of Bailey’s stuff in the guest room so she wouldn’t wonder why she heard people moving around up there rather than my room.

Now, my guest room solution has totally blown open with Annie here, all up in our space.

“Oh,” she says slyly. “You’re waiting for the wedding night? That’s so sweet. My little romantic of a brother.”

One thing Annie and I don’t have in common is her need to overshare. More than once, I’ve had to run from the room, hands over my ears, when she starts getting into too much detail about things I don’t want to know about my sister and the guys she dates.

I drop my hands to my lap. “How long are you staying, by the way?”

“Trying to get rid of me so soon? And changing the subject at the same time?”

“I’m not trying to get rid of you. I just wondered how long I’m going to be sharing a bathroom with two women.”

Annie cackles at this. “Good thing I helped normalize periods for you years ago. If you’re lucky, we’ll all sync up in a period trifecta.”

“Annie, please.” I may not freak out at the sight of a tampon, but I also don’t want to chitchat about periods. Especially not with the unanswered question of how long Annie will be here. “I need to know how long you’re staying so we can talk about logistics. Namely, which couch you’re going to sleep on since I’m not moving Bailey out of the guest room for you.”

“You’re going to relegate me to the couch after not talking to me in forever and not telling me about your engagement yourself? Really?”

“Laying it on just a little thick with the guilt there, Annie.”

“Or maybe I’m letting you off easy. Have you ever tried to sleep on a couch?”

“I haven’t fit on a couch since I had a growth spurt at sixteen,” I say, and Annie presses her foot a little harder into mine under the table, opening her mouth to clap back when Bailey speaks from the doorway.

“I don’t mind sharing.”

I tilt my head back, looking at Bailey upside down. She’s just as adorable this way—hair sleep-messy and a little makeup smudged under her eyes. I like her short sleep shorts just a little too much.

“See?” Annie says. “Your almost-wife and my soon-to-be BFF doesn’t mind also being my bedfellow.”

“Bailey, you don’t have to⁠—”

“It’s fine,” she says with a little wave of her hand. As she takes the chair next to mine, Bailey drags soft fingers across my shoulders. A little shiver rolls over me, and I capture her hand, holding it on the table with my fingers loosely curved around her wrist where I can feel her pulse. She gives me a soft smile.

Annie holds up three fingers. “I hereby solemnly swear not to snore too loudly and only to steal the covers a little bit. Just enough to prepare you to share a bed with this brute.” She nods to me. “Think of it like spring training. You’ve got to be forewarned and fully ready to deal with an unrepentant sheet-stealer who has a deviated septum. Unless you’ve gotten that fixed since we last talked and it’s one more thing you didn’t feel like telling me?”

“I don’t snore.”

“He snores,” Annie says to Bailey, who’s biting back a smile, her teeth digging into her lip. “But he wouldn’t if he got his nose fixed. Maybe you can convince him.”

“You have a deviated septum?” Bailey asks, looking concerned. I like that look on her face. Makes my heart pick up into a hearty jog.

“I’ve had my nose broken a few times,” I tell her. “It’s fine.”

“Doesn’t sound fine when you’re sleeping, bro.”

“I think he’d actually do it if you asked, Bailey.” That’s Mom, who is now awake and turning this into a very clear three-against-one battle as she sits down in the last empty chair. “He’s a lovesick puppy and would do anything for you.”

“Awwww,” Annie says, a wicked grin stretching across her mouth. “Wittle Ewi in wuv.”

Bailey laughs, and my cheeks flame hot. “Is this how it’s gonna be?” I ask, looking at the three women.

And I’m somewhere between terrified and all kinds of sentimental when my mom, my sister, and my fiancée all respond as one: “Yes.”

I’m dragging the next morning at practice after so little sleep, and so of course, the guys bring the Speed Bump moniker back. Along with a lot of extra hits and comments, which I think have more to do with the fact that I’m refusing to have a stag night, aka a bachelor party.

For one—I’m not in the least interested in the typical things guys do for those events. I’ve never understood how getting wasted at strip clubs is considered a celebration of marriage. And while Felix offered to plan something more like just a guy hangout night, which I would be okay with, there simply isn’t time. As it is, I barely managed to throw together a non-courthouse wedding and am still not entirely sure something won’t fall through in the next two days. Mom delegated some tasks to her book club friends, but my teammates are handling the lion’s share.

In the locker room after practice, I pull up my checklist and start barking out questions. “Logan—you’re picking up the flowers?”

“For the seventh time, yes.”

“I’m a go on food,” Nathan offers before I can ask. He doesn’t sound happy about it but I also know he’ll do it if he says so.

“Camden—drinks?” When he nods, I point my pen at Wyatt, who’s only wearing a towel. “You’re still good picking up the cake?”

“On it. And I watched both videos on how to correctly transport a wedding cake in a vehicle, so thanks for sending those,” he says drily.

I ignore his tone. I’m not taking any chances after I read about how many cakes get damaged in transit.

“Gracie’s string quartet is all set for the ceremony,” Felix says, cutting me off before I can ask. “And I’ll be on duty with Bailey’s grandmother.”

“Perfect.” Bailey warned me that her gran is cantankerous (her word), but I decide not to warn Felix. He can handle one grumpy grandma.

“Why don’t we have jobs?” Tucker whines, rubbing a towel over his reddish-brown hair.

“Yeah,” Dumbo echoes.

“You do. You’ll be valets the day of.”

“Sweet,” Tucker says, leaning over to high-five Dumbo. “The Fast and the Furious, baby.”

Trusting them with vehicles might be a mistake, but it was easier to give what I consider the main jobs to the guys who know the reality of the situation. We’ve got our own group chat and everything.

“More like: protect the Douglas’s landscaping so I don’t get blamed,” Logan says, narrowing his eyes at them.

Parker strong-armed her dad into letting us have the wedding at his fancy house, and since Logan is still not his favorite person, it would probably come back on him if we mess things up. Parker’s mom, on the other hand, was on board in an instant. With all the charity functions she hosts, she already has a tent, chairs and tables, and outdoor heaters since it will be cold all week. She even offered to pay for one of the companies she often uses to help set things up, decorate the tent, and serve the food.

“I think she’s considering this a trial run for me,” Parker whispered, clearly not wanting Logan to hear and feel pressured. She doesn’t need to worry. He told me he’s already picked out a ring.

Fast? Yes.

But not as fast as me, so maybe this helped move Logan along.

“Then I think we’re all good,” I say, scanning the sheet one last time.

“Forgetting something?” Van asks, rolling up a towel and whipping it toward my bare chest. “Don’t worry; I’ve got a perfect playlist for the reception.”

I am worried. But honestly, I didn’t trust Van with anything else but music. Do I think there will be a lot of inappropriate songs geared toward getting people freaky on the dance floor? Yes. Is that my biggest concern right now? No.

My biggest concern isn’t the wedding at all. It’s the reality that I don’t know how Bailey really feels about me, and I’m still on the Parker plan of wife-ing, then wooing her. Even as backwards as it seems.

“Also, why didn’t you tell me your hot sister’s in town?” Van asks. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be one of those overprotective brothers.”

I laugh. “No. Have at it. Annie will chew you up and spit you out. We’ll find your remains scattered over three states.”

The guys laugh at this, but I’m only half kidding. Annie has needed a protective brother exactly zero times in her life. I won’t tell them how, a time or two, she played the overprotective role for me. My nickname would probably change from Speed Bump to something worse.

“Cool,” Van says with a smile, and I make a mental note to tell Annie how much I’d like to keep my best friend in one piece.

“And I,” Alec says with a flourish, “am ready to be your officiant.”

I still can’t believe Alec is legally ordained in the state of North Carolina, but it did save me a couple hundred bucks and the headache of finding an officiant. I’ll worry about why and how he got ordained later.

“Nothing weird, right? You’re going to keep it short and simple?”

“What do I look like?” he asks.

“The kind of guy who’d enjoy having a little fun messing with Eli on his wedding day,” Felix says. “And I highly suggest you don’t.”

“So, Eli,” Alec says, and if he hoped I wouldn’t notice the subject change and his lack of an answer, he’s going to be disappointed. “After seeing how organized and focused you can be, I thought maybe I, as official team captain, would ask you to be team secretary. I can get you a little plaque, a pretty pink pen, and⁠—”

“Shut up.” I toss the clipboard in my bag.

“Whatever you say, Madame Secretary.” Alec salutes me, and I think I’ve just earned another nickname.

If we had more time before the Appies head out for our long time on the road, I’d do more. As it stands, I feel pretty good about everything I’ve done. Shannon probably wishes she’d never given me her number because I’ve blown up her phone on a daily basis to make sure I know everything Bailey would want, from the number of people (not many) to the kind of flowers (calla lilies) to the flavor of icing (chocolate buttercream). I wasn’t about to have this be like the proposal, when I surprised her with the exact opposite of what she would have wanted.

Now, I just need all the things to come together.

And what I really don’t need is to get called into a meeting with Larry right as I’m about to leave the Summit. Especially when I see Malik slumped in a chair looking apologetic and Grant leaning against the wall looking ticked.

“If it isn’t our groom!” Larry says as I walk into the office, his smile as false as his celebratory tone of voice. “When will I be getting my invitation?”

I hadn’t planned on giving him one, honestly. I sit down in one of the hard chairs across the desk after giving Malik a quick nod and avoiding Grant’s face altogether. “We’re having a very small ceremony.”

“I don’t mind small,” Larry says.

Yeah, but I do. The last person I want at my wedding is our team owner, whom I like less the more time I spend with him. The only people invited are the team, Mom’s book club, and a handful of people Bailey asked me to invite.

I decide that keeping my mouth shut is the best option. I’m choosing to ask forgiveness rather than permission.

“Interesting timing for your wedding,” Grant says, peeling himself off the wall to stand next to Larry’s chair. “Very … fortuitous and some might say coincidental timing.”

“Give it a rest,” Malik says. “We talked about this—there’s nothing wrong with pushing up a timeline. It’s fine.”

“We did talk about it.” Grant glares down at me, looking like an angry vulture with his beady eyes and sharp nose. “And I was very clear that I couldn’t stand by while you committed fraud.”

Malik groans. “It’s not fraud.”

“Sure, it’s not,” Grant says.

Larry waves a dismissive hand toward the team lawyer, who looks about two seconds shy of steam coming out of his ears. “Eli, let me be frank. I’m thrilled with the whole proposal thing. I love it. Fans love it. Everyone loves it.” He pauses, leaning forward to steeple his fingers on the desk. “No one will love it if you’re lying and marrying someone just to stay in the country. But that’s not what you’re doing, is it?”

“No.”

The single syllable is sharp and solid as a punch. I hope Grant can feel it—right in the solar plexus.

I hope he also feels the truth behind the word. It is true. Maybe this all started as something else. It may only still be an arrangement for Bailey. But it’s become something else to me.

“You’re making a big gamble, son,” Grant says, shaking his head as he storms out of the office.

I am. But the biggest gamble, the one I’m most concerned about, isn’t immigration. It’s whether my marriage has a chance of becoming something real.