Shea

Five shot glasses clink together, and then we're tossing them back.

Me, Jayden, KJ, Noah, and Hunter.

The whisky burns my throat and causes a warm feeling to spread through my chest. I set my shot glass down on the table, watching as KJ pours another.

"No way, man," I say. My body feels too warm after that single shot. "I'm not getting drunk before exchanging vows with Brenna."

KJ snorts, pushing the shot glass towards me. "Two shots won't get you drunk."

"They will on an empty stomach."

I haven't eaten all day. My stomach is tied in a tight knot of nerves, which is ironic considering I'm a professional hockey player who deals with the media all the time. Although I dislike it, it's easy. Walking down an aisle, then expressing my love for Brenna in front of people I know? Yeah, that's different.

Plus, drinking on an empty stomach causes the worst of drunken escapades and hangovers. Which is not something I want. Not yet, anyway. I'm sure Brenna and I will both be drunk by the end of the night, but that's okay. We'll be married at that point. As soon as we exchange vows, we're free of any responsibilities for the evening.

"You need to drink it."

The argumentative tone in KJ's voice irks me. It's true I'm overreacting a little. Being nervous makes me snippy—especially when I know I shouldn't be nervous. Whatever happens up there, while we're exchanging our vows, won't matter. All that matters is the love we share. But I don't want to be drunk. Not yet at least. 

"No," I say. "I'm not drinking it. I don't want to be fucking drunk for my vows. Lay off, Jones."

He wrinkles his nose. "Who pissed in your cereal this morning?"

I run a hand through my hair, disheveling it.

Wish I could wear a ball cap walking down the aisle. My ball cap is like Brenna's different shades of lipstick: armour, comfort, familiarity.

Taking a deep breath, I try to remain calm. "No one pissed in my cereal. I'm nervous, okay? And you don't know what it's like because you don't have the balls to propose to Melody."

KJ narrows his eyes. "That was a low-blow."

My face cracks and I loosen a shaky laugh. "Yes, it was. But it's the truth. When are you proposing to her?"

The shot glass gets pushed in my direction again. "Drink now, Smith. That comment harmed my ego."

"Jesus Fuck."

Hunter pushes past me, picks up the shot glass, and downs the contents. He coughs a few times, then sets the shot glass down with a loud slam. "There! Problem solved. We have consumed the whisky. Nothing went to waste. And now you two can stop bickering like a married couple."

"Yeah," Jayden snorts. "Who's getting married here? Because in case you didn't remember, KJ, I have first dibs on Shea if they don't work out."

Smiling, I stare at the flowers pinned to my suit. They match Brenna's bouquet. I like that Jayden's joking around; it's distracting me. Plus, his joke is a lie. He doesn't have a thing for me anymore. He's happy with his current boyfriend, Atlas. They met in Nova Scotia while attending university, and they've never looked back.

KJ shoots Tucker an annoyed glare, but doesn't say another word. He collects the shot glasses and the bottle of whisky, then heads over to the bar. It's on the far side of the room, decorated with crystal bottles of amber liquid and matching glasses. Orange rinds and fancy bitters are there, too. 

While he's rummaging around, trying to find another liquor, I turn to Hunter Tucker.

"Thank you," I murmur.

"You're welcome," he replies. "The last thing we need is you fucking up the wedding for Brenna."

"Yeah," Noah laughs. "Imagine you dropping the wedding ring or something. Or stuttering. Maybe you'll forget your vows."

I snort. Although Brenna's excited for the wedding, she couldn't care less about the outcome or the staging. While we both played equal parts in the planning, all Brenna wants is to be married. The rest is bonus content (the cake, flowers, food, dancing, etc.).

"Just give me this one, Smith," Tucker sighs. "I know she doesn't care. But let's just not fuck up a wedding, okay?"

Noah shakes his head. "Love the optimism, Hunter. But this is Shea we're talking about. He always fucks things up. Most fuck-ups have been good, but there are always first-time opportunities."

"Cheers to that," I reply. Sarcasm drips from my voice, and I give Noah a passive-aggressive shrug. "Fucking asshole."

"You can't say that kind of shit without a drink!" KJ shouts over his shoulder.

"Be specific, Jones," Hunter calls out. "He said two different things."

KJ glances over his shoulder, looking irritated. "Don't be fucking stupid, Tucker."

Noah, Jayden, and I laugh. Laugh until the point at which our stomachs are aching. It feels good because it eases away some of the insecurity I'm feeling. Not towards our upcoming marriage, but just the overall self-doubt. Somehow, someway, I know I'll fuck this up.

Jayden gives me a clap on the back. "Watch your drinks tonight. Jones may be out for some revenge."

Noah side-eyes KJ. "Is there a word stronger than revenge?"

KJ returns with five more shot glasses. They're filled with a yellowish murky liquid. We each take one, despite my alcohol-intake limit. I bring the shot glass to my nose, smelling it. My nose wrinkles.

"Is this lemon juice?" I ask.

KJ rolls his eyes. "Yes. Because you're that fucking pathetic, bro. Can't handle the alcohol intake, so we're shooting back a glass of lemon juice. Won't have the same effect as alcohol, but it should wake everyone up."

Hunter sets his shot glass down. "Nope. I'm opting out of this one. I took an extra shot of whisky. Lemon juice is not being shot by me. At least whisky has a purpose. Lemon juice will make me pucker."

Jayden and I exchange a glance, biting back smiles.

"What is puckering, Tucker?" Jayden drawls.

Hunter's face drops, and he sputters out nonsense while Jayden and I kill ourselves laughing.

"The only time I use the word 'puckering,'" Jayden wheezes, "is when I'm driving down an icy hill and all my muscles tense because I'm scared I'll veer off of the road."

Hunter's brows furrow in confusion. "How does that even relate? What puckers?"

"His asshole," Noah snorts. "Y'know? Every muscle tightens?" 

While Jayden, Noah, and I continue to laugh, Hunter and KJ glare at us. Their faces are stone cold, and they're not impressed. Maybe we're acting immature, but it's for the best. It's getting my mind off of the upcoming intensity of this wedding. I know I'm putting pressure on myself, but I can't help myself. This is a day I've been waiting for since...

Since forever.

"Just take the fucking shot, Smith," KJ sighs. "For the sake of my sanity."

For the sake of KJ's sanity, I take the shot of lemon juice.

* * *

My palms are sweaty as I walk down the aisle. Cameras flash, and I can hear the murmur of voices in the crowd. I keep my eyes focused ahead on the bridesmaids and groomsmen. On the fiery willow trees, swaying in the wind behind them. Water lapping against the shore below the tree line. The grass beneath my polished dress shoes. The clear blue sky above, and the cool October breeze.

What I ignore—or at least try to ignore—are the people sitting in the grassy field, their chairs decorated with burlap bows and sprigs of lavender. My sweaty palms. The looming intimidation I'll feel when Brenna walks down the aisle in her stunning wedding dress while holding a stunning bouquet. Brenna is a master at intimidation, and I love it. How she makes me feel and how much I crave her whenever I'm on the road for hockey.

With each step I take, the wooden platform ahead gets closer. Everyone of significance is standing on that platform. The people I love. Chelsea, Noah, Hunter, Jayden, KJ, Ella, Melody, Catina.

Each one of them plays a significant role in my past. In Brenna and I's relationship. The memories I share with everyone... There's an overwhelming sense of happiness. One that makes my chest and heart feel like they're about to explode. People play roles in your life; the ones who pass you on the streets or run into at the grocery store. That's expected.

Friends and family?

They possess a different level. No matter what happens in life, there will always be a road that connects you to them. Physically or mentally.

Brenna, the most of them all.

And I can't fucking wait to see her.

Climbing the three steps, I take my place, turning to the crowd before me. Although we sent out five hundred invitations for our wedding, only four hundred showed up. Brenna and I have a lot of connections. Her team from the Olympics is here, including their partners and children. Family members. Current teammates. Friends from work and university. Hell, we even have a few other friends from high school here. The two I can see without effort are Drew and Nick; they're sitting in the second row with their wives.

I do everything in my power to distract myself. The more I think about what's coming, the more nervous I become. Noah's words are echoing in my head. So are Tucker's. And while I want to confirm I won't fuck the wedding up, part of me feels like it's inevitable. My hands are shaky and sweaty. How am I supposed to cope with that?

Getting married to Brenna has my stomach knotted and my blood buzzing with excitement. Weddings give off a strange feeling. You're torn between wanting it to be over, but to also never end. I'm craving a sense of relief, despite feeling—

Brenna steps around the corner, and my breath catches in my throat. My nose burns at the sight of her. Everything around and within me stops functioning.

At the beginning of my senior year in high school, I would've labelled anyone predicting Brenna and me getting married crazy. We were rivalries, and where there's now love and respect, there was hatred and disrespect. We both contributed to the toxic fire, but the responsibility sits heavier on my shoulders. The behaviour I displayed has no excuse. I could blame it on my father's condescending comments. Or their terrible parenting.

In the end, I have to take responsibility for what was done.

My behaviour was horrible, and being held accountable was the best thing that ever happened to me. I'm a better person because of Brenna Harrison and my willingness to change.

Thank god for that.

Because I can't imagine a life without Brenna Fucking Harrison.

Her eyes meet mine across the space. Blush fills her cheeks and she looks down at her bouquet as she walks, which gives me the opportune moment to really look at her.

Brenna's dress isn't a surprise. I was there when she picked it out. The deep plunge between her breasts... the pattern along her sleeves... how it fits around her body like a second skin... It's gorgeous. Her hair and makeup are done to perfection, giving her a nice glow but nothing too overwhelming. Not that heavier makeup would've been overwhelming. Make up is an art; a way that people present themselves. Brenna looks good with any level of makeup. But the simplicity... it makes me feel like she's a figment of my imagination. 

As she walks, people admire her and the dress. It's difficult not to admire her. She's walking down the aisle alone with her chin held high and a smile on her face. Her shoulders are thrown back and her steps are in pace with the soft music trickling into the background. And every time she tilts her face in a certain direction, her diamond earrings sparkle.

She's nothing borrowed, new, blue, or old. She isn't an object being passed from her father to another man.

Instead, she's herself. Slamming the patriarchy while looking hot in a wedding dress.

And you know what's my favourite part? Brenna's red Converse shoes. She despises heels unless they have viable support. Plus, they match her striking red lipstick. It's bright, like the petals of a rose against snow.

At the bottom of the steps, I meet Brenna.

We exchange a soft, nervous smile as she takes my hand. Her skin is warm against mine, and I hope she can't tell how sweaty my hands are. 

Together, we walk up the stairs and take our place in front of the officiant.

The podium he stands behind is decorated with baby's breath and lavender. Burlap fastens the flowers spilling over the edge and encompassing the structure. When Brenna and I are facing each other, the officiant begins the ceremony. His voice is loud and clear through the now-silent air.

"Friends and family," he says. "We have gathered here today to share with Brenna Harrison and Shea Smith an important moment in their lives. Through their time together, their love and understanding of each other has grown and blossomed. It is through these experiences they have decided to live out the rest of their lives as one. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

The officiant surveys the crowd from behind his large circular glasses. Everyone stays silent.

Nodding in approval, he turns back to his binder. From it, he recites a poem by Randy Mascorro. Brenna and I found it on Pinterest. We're not religious, so we wanted nothing read aloud from the bible. We wanted something that depicted us and our relationship.

After he's finished reading it, there's a moment of sheer silence. Then there are echoes of people sniffling, clearing their throats, and trying not to get emotional.

"Weddings," the officiant continues. "Are representations of true love. A couple that will bind their love in every aspect is a couple that is destined for greatness, but also the hardships of life. While there is balance, the scale can be tipped. Sometimes, one must give more than they take. Or take more than they can give. It is evident that, through marriage, this can be achieved. Because where there is disruption, there is also peace. A balance that enraptures the heart and soul, the very essence of a relationship. These two,"—he gestures to Brenna and I— "have found that. A love so strong and binding that time and space have no effect. And we are lucky to join them in the exchange of their vows."

All the attention shifts back to Brenna and I. The vows are the easy part. I already know what I want to say. I have since the moment I proposed to her.

Across from me, Brenna clears her throat.

"Smith."

Small chuckles radiate through the crowd. People are aware of our history, but they don't understand the full context like KJ and Tucker and the rest of the gang do. The underlying meaning that Brenna saying my last name has.

"Harrison," I respond.

A smile splits Brenna's face. Then she hands her bouquet over to Ella and takes my hands, giving them a good squeeze. Her brown hair is styled in an elegant up-do, and they laced the braid with baby's breath.

I clear my throat. "Brenna. I'm shitty at speeches. Remember the proposal?"

A chuckle reverberates through the crowd, Brenna included.

"Yes," Brenna replies.

"Don't expect too much of me," I joke. Another wave of chuckles fills the air. "You're everything, Brenna. I feel lucky and proud to be standing beside you today. Thank you for loving me through all my flaws and mistakes, for helping me become a better person. I vow to love you without reservation or conditions."

I pause, clearing my throat again. It feels tight; clogged with raw emotions.

"I-I vow to always do my best; to give more than I take and not to keep score. To hold us on the same platform, as equals, and fight to keep it that way. I vow to continuously work on myself, and to be the husband you want and deserve. I love you, Brenna. You are my always. And my everything."

My throat is thick with emotion, making it difficult to breathe as I stare into Brenna's blue-violet eyes. Wedding vows usually make me cringe. If I'm reading them or hearing them, but saying them aloud, expressing your love to your partner... any of that cheesiness melts away. The words are powerful and emotional.

A single tear slips down Brenna's cheek before she clears her throat. Her hands squeeze mine as she smiles. I squeeze them back and give her a supportive nod. Weddings are an emotional rollercoaster. It's okay if she cries. If she has difficulty expressing the words because of this emotional overload.

I sure as fuck am.

"Shea."

My hands tighten around hers as the sun eclipses her face. The golden light streaming through the autumn leaves is golden and beautiful, adding extra depth to her soft features. It causes her earrings to sparkle, too.

"For the record, the proposal was not shitty. Before I realized there was a ring on my finger, I was this close to punching you." She lifts her hand and shows little space between her thumb and pointer finger. "I thought you were being a cocky asshole."

The crowd laughs, and I grin.

Yeah, I'm a little cocky.

"And while you may be cocky, you have the purest and warmest heart. You fell in love with reckless abandon and acted upon that passion without a second thought. Your heart guides you more than your head, and for that, I am grateful. I'm looking forward to what the future holds. Exploring national parks, playing games of hockey and still kicking your ass, finding the best bottle of gin—everything. We're taking these steps together, creating new memories, and I vow to continue that. To hold you and love you. To honour you, respect you, and encourage you. Cherish you. In health and sickness, through sorrow and success, for all the days of my life. And I will prove that to you over and over again. Every day."

"Good thing we've always loved a little competition," I comment. "Because I plan on doing the same."

"Game on, Smith," she says.

There's an alluring twinkle in her eyes when she says this, and it makes me smile. Brenna made the decision to take my last name. I was willing to take hers (Shea Harrison has a nice ring to it), but that's where equality comes in. No one forced Brenna to take my last name. She made the decision. So there's more meaning when she says "Game on, Smith." A depth my heart and mind   can't appreciate enough. 

Chelsea steps forward, handing us the rings. My sister sniffles. There are tears leaking down her cheeks, but she's smiling. They're the same rings we've been wearing since I proposed. Brenna takes mine first, and I hold up my left hand. While it's suspended in the air, Brenna slides the ring on.

Not wearing my ring for a few hours has felt strange. Its weight is comforting, like pulling on a pair of old shoes where the sole is moulded to your feet. This ring belongs on my finger. 

Once the ring is on my finger, Chelsea hands me Brenna's. It sparkles in the sunlight, which makes me smile. Her ring is delicate, with a gold band and a small diamond bracketed by two smaller rubies. People say they stand for wealth and prosperity. At least, that's what every store that sold them told me.

I picked them because Brenna's favourite colour is red.

Casting my gaze downward, I take Brenna's hand, ready to slide the ring onto her finger.

And then the worst happens.

The ring slips from my hand, clinking against the wooden surface and rolling off of the edge into the grass. All I can do is stare helplessly at Brenna while my cheeks turn pink. A wave of murmured chuckles echoes through the crowd. From the corner of my eye, I see KJ jump down from the platform, stumbling a little when he lands. Then he falls to his knees and starts searching for it.

There's a moment of shock between Brenna and me, as well as our remaining friends. This wasn't supposed to happen. We made it very clear I wouldn't fuck this up.

Now look what I've done.

Smiling, Brenna leans over to Ella, who is holding her bouquet. To my left, I hear KJ curse. Which makes Jayden join him in the grass. Both of them are kneeling, running their hands through the grass and searching.

Meanwhile, I'm dying of mortification.

I dropped the fucking ring.

The. Fucking. Ring.

I rub the heel of my hand against my forehead and expel a deep sigh. My cheeks are hot and red, and I'm sure someone's filming this. My team will never let me live this down. Nor will the NHL. I can already see them sharing it on national television.

Fuck me.

My gaze flicks to Brenna. She's not focusing on me, which gives me an ounce of relief. She's working with Ella to remove something from the bouquet. I watch with intense concentration. Paying attention to the humilation isn't a good idea.

From the burlap, she removes a... a ring?

A crease forms between my brows.

She turns to me and takes my hand, flipping it so my palm is facing up.

Then she places the ring in my palm, and my throat tightens. The ring is plastic and the colours are fading, but the memory still sits in my mind. I remember when Brenna traded her tickets in at Scandia for the arcade ring. When she gave it to me. I kept it because she helped me. She never gave up on me, despite my inexcusable behaviour. I'm a better person because of Brenna.

That's what the plastic ring symbolizes. 

I flatten my free hand over my mouth, willing myself to regain my composure. Then I slide my palm across my chin. "You found it. You weren't supposed to find it."

Her smile is soft, almost shy. "But I did, and there's a bare ring finger here. I'm missing the weight and promise of my ring, Shea." She lifts her hand, leaving it suspended in the air.

Chuckling, I slide the ring onto her finger.

Then I wrap my arms around her and pull her in for a kiss.

"You weren't supposed to kiss the bride ye—"

"I don't fucking care," I say, cutting the officiant off. "Just say it."

Brenna giggles, and I deepen the kiss. Her arms snake around my neck and she tangles her fingers in my hair. My hand presses against her lower back, bringing our bodies together. 

Sighing, the officiant says, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

His words are lost to me.

I'm too busy tasting Brenna's mango chapstick beneath her lipstick.

"Don't worry," Brenna murmurs between kisses. "I'll make you forget what happened. Tonight. When we're alone."

My hand presses harder against her lower back, and anticipation fills my blood.

Brenna Smith isn't someone who goes back on her promises.

"Fuck yes!" KJ shouts. "I found the ring!"

Brenna smiles against my mouth, and I feel the promise of the future in it. Of happiness and chances. Of memories and experiences.

Together.