“I don’t dance,” I joked, and took her hands. She knew I would for her. And only her.
She grinned and pulled me out there.
We’d had our first dance earlier to “King of My Heart,” which she had picked for us and which I had listened to approximatelyforty-seven times in the three weeks before the wedding because she’d mentioned offhandedly that it reminded her of us and then I couldn’t stop thinking about the lyrics. I had not told her this. She probably knew anyway. She usually did.
This was different. This was just swaying, really, her arms around my neck and my hands at her waist and the two of us in the middle of our own reception existing in a slight bubble outside of all of it. Around us my family was in full form.
Hayes and Willa teaching the correct form of some line dance to Kelsey’s dad, who was executing it with enormous enthusiasm and no instinct whatsoever. Gryff and Artie holding court at the bar. Nana and Coach at a table looking at something on his phone that he kept trying to show her and she kept waving away. The normal chaos of people I loved in a room together.
“I think this is the best night of my life,” Kelsey said into my shoulder.
“I’ve had a few good ones,” I said.
“Name one better.”
I thought about it seriously, which she appreciated. “The day you told me you loved me.”
She lifted her head to look at me. “Did I make fun of you for crying? Because I meant to if I didn’t.”
“You did. It was still the best day.” I paused. “This one is better.”
She made a soft sound and put her head back on my shoulder.
“I have one more thing,” I said.
“Declan.”
“Just one.”
She pulled back enough to look at me with the expression she reserved for when she was genuinely uncertain what was about to happen. I liked that I could still do that. I had a feeling I wasalways going to be able to do that, and I meant to keep it that way.
“I need to make a small announcement,” I said. “Then we cut the cake.”
I borrowed a microphone from the DJ and waited while the crowd settled into a general attention-paying shape. Outside on the patio, the mountain air had gone cool and dark, and someone had strung additional lights along the railing at some point, which I was choosing to attribute to Jules even though she was already across the terrace giving me the look that meant she had no idea what I was about to do and this represented a significant security failure on her part.
“I want to thank everyone for being here today,” I said. “If you’re in this room, you’re someone who means the world to Kelsey and me. Tonight was just for us.”
Applause. A few Kingman whistles from the back that I was pretty sure were Flynn and Gryff working in coordination.
“I’ll keep this brief because I know you’re all waiting for the cake.” Knowing laughter from my brothers, who understood the role of everyone’s favorite bakery in the Kingman emotional ecosystem. “As you may have noticed, there are currently five Kingmans on the Denver Mustangs roster. Which is a lot of Kingmans.” I looked at Levi. He raised his glass. “And the press has been very interested in the question of whether Kelsey would be changing her name.” I paused. “They never seemed to consider the alternative.”
Complete silence.
I reached into the bag Ciara had been holding with the long-suffering patience of a woman who had seen a lot at weddings and was prepared to see more, and I pulled out the jersey.
Blue. Number 98. And across the back, in the official block letters of the Denver Mustangs:
BEST KINGMAN.
I held it up.
The silence lasted exactly one second.
“No way.” That was Everett, somewhere to my left.
“That’s illegal,” Chris said. The absolute authority in his voice suggested he had opinions about name-based jersey strategy that he had never previously aired.
“Flag on the play,” Hayes called from the back, delighted.
