Gracie, who owns a bookstore called Once Upon a Romance and runs our book club, casually explains, “Your ‘no way’ moment is when you resist romance and have a small breakdown about it.”
“I am not having a breakdown,” I say automatically.
I totally am.
“You married a hockey player,” Bree points out gently.
And there it is. The full weight of what I’ve done hits me like a freight train loaded with coal, late for arrival on Christmas morning.
I married a hockey player.
Papa made me promise never to date one. It’s the one boundary I’ve maintained my entire adult life—even, somehow, while living in “Hockey Town.” It’s the line I swore I’d never cross because hockey players are unreliable and self-centered and they break hearts as easily as they break sticks.
At least, that’s the story I’ve been told.
Then again, looking around at my gleeful friends, many of whom are married to the aforementioned athletes, they can’t all be bad, can they?
Actually, this is a nightmare. I just need to wake up. I gaze toward the ceiling and am about to pinch myself when reality speeds up.
“Oh no,” My breathing comes short and I press my free hand to my mouth. “Oh no, oh no, oh no. Dad is going to?—”
“Nina.” Lane’s voice is gentle, concerned as he steps into my line of sight. “Hey, look at me.”
I do, and those green eyes are warm with something that might be understanding. Or pity. I’m not sure which is worse.
“We’ll figure this out,” he says quietly. “It’s going to be okay.”
He must read the absolute terror on my face and my quickly spiraling panic—available for the public to see as perspiration dots my hairline and burning cheeks.
“But I promised,” I whisper, and the words sound pathetic even to me. “I promised my father I’d never date a hockey player, and I didn’t just date one, I married one.”
“Your father?” Lane asks.
Before I can answer, the countdown to midnight begins. Everything is happening so fast. I should be at home in Cobbiton, where life is normal, predictable, and I’m not about to greet the new year, having just been married in Las Vegas!
“Ten!” the crowd shouts, and suddenly everyone is looking at their watches and phones.
“Nine!”
Can someone please press pause and let me catch up on the plot of this horror movie?! Only, it’s Lane and me on the screen, on repeat, as we prepared to be declared husband and wife mere minutes ago.
“Eight!”
I could make a run for it, but I hardly know where I am. Vegas is a big city.
“Seven!”
The crowd is getting louder, more excited. Someone shouts something about a midnight kiss, and my stomach flips.
“Six!”
My friends nudge Lane and me together. I gentlypress my first two fingers to my lips. They’re warm. It’s almost like I can feel the soft brushstroke of his mouth against mine.
“Five!”
He’s looking at me with an expression I can’t read, but his fingers still grip mine and he hasn’t run screaming from the stage yet. I’m not sure if this is good or if the hypnotist also somehow glued our hands together.
“Four!”
