EPILOGUE
Thirteen months later . . .
“Nervous, mon frère?”
Bren squinted at Remy, wondering if he’d made a mistake in giving him this incredibly important job.
“I wasn’t until you brought it up.” After all, he’d done this before, not that his previous experience set a good precedent. For his first wedding, he’d thrown up in the bathroom beforehand when he saw that four hundred people had filled the church in Brentwood, California, most of them guests of his then-fiancée’s family.
He looked out over today’s more intimate gathering on the grounds of Chase Manor on the shores of Lake Michigan. The floral-covered bower was set in a semishaded spot halfway between the cedar-and-stone mansion and the cottage where he’d made love to Violet as much as his raging libido allowed. His teammates, their wives, and a few close friends gazed back at him. Kevin, his sponsor, had actually brought a date, and while she looked great, he still looked like shit. Even Kendra was here, still with Drew, who’d had a good enough season on the gridiron to keep her interest. The girls would spend a month with them after the wedding so he and his bride could have a little time to themselves to christen all the surfaces of the house.
“Thanks for standing up with me,” Bren said to Remy, meaning more than just today.
“Figured I owe you after you did the same for me. Besides, what else have I got to do now that I’m retired?” He thought for a second. “S’pose I could open a business planning bachelor parties in my hometown.”
The New Orleans stag party had been a pretty righteous blowout, even for a man who didn’t touch a drop. “Think you have your hands full at home.”
“Yeah, I do,” Remy said with great feeling as his eyes zeroed in on Amelie and Giselle, his twins, now close to eight months old and currently in a double bassinet under the care of one of Remy’s sisters—Josette? Martine? The man had four, and Bren still couldn’t keep track of who was whom, even after he had spent last Thanksgiving in New Orleans with them. Remy’d kept his promise to Harper to retire when the Rebels won the Cup last year, though there was no missing that envious look in his eye when the team made it all the way to the finals for the second year running, this past month gone. They’d fallen to the New York Spartans in a heartbreaker of a game seven, a loss that wasn’t made easier by the fact that they were the defending champions.
Winning the Cup just once wouldn’t be enough, but the Chase sisters had proved that their first two years of leadership weren’t a fluke. They had more championships in them.
Vadim stood on Bren’s other side, pulling at his collar. “Perhaps we should text them. There is a good chance I will melt before we get to the vows.”
“I know covering up is tough for you, Petrov, so I’m very grateful you’ve made the sacrifice.”
“Anything for my captain,” Vadim added with a salute and another tug of his collar.
The final member of Bren’s wedding party walked their way. Dante had become a good friend in the last year, and now he placed a hand on Bren’s shoulder. “I have to warn you that if you had ovaries they would probably be exploding in approximately three, two, one . . .”
“Sweet, wonderful you . . .”
The opening strains of Fleetwood Mac’s “You Make Loving Fun” started, chosen by both Bren and Violet in lieu of something more traditional. All eyes shot to the end of the aisle, and Bren’s man ovaries went kaboom! at the sight of Franky and Caitriona walking toward them in pretty blue dresses, bearing small bouquets. They looked so grown up, and his heart tripped at the sight of their beautiful, incredible, unique selves grinning broadly at him. He’d given his blessing to a (temporary) streak of pink in their hair to honor the woman of the day, and somehow that one concession had made him dad of the year.
Next came Harper and Isobel, polar opposites in appearance and personality, but united by something stronger than sisterhood. Survival. Harper was pregnant again and going through a less traumatic time than her first go-around. Smiling at their men, they took their place on the other side of the celebrant.
Gretzky trotted a couple of feet behind them, his black coat groomed to a blinding shine, the most obedient Bren had ever seen him—and he spoke too soon, because the dumb mutt spotted Bren and charged him with mucky paws.
“Down, boy.”
“Which is what Violet will be saying later on tonight,” Vadim commented as he took charge of the dog with a few commands in Russian.
About to growl his displeasure at Vadim’s cheap shot, Bren halted, because it appeared that Petrov might be onto something.
Here comes the smokin’ bride.
She’d gone with white, but that was about as traditional as Violet “Va-Va-Voom” Vasquez would ever get on her wedding day. In the July sun, her vibrant tattoos and cocoa skin gleamed above her strapless gown, the jewels on its bodice winking in the sun. The dress fell to midcalf, giving everyone an excellent view of her navy-green tartan cowboy boots.
St. James tartan, that is, which matched the kilt worn by Cade, who was giving her away, and which was also worn by every man in the wedding party, including the groom. Apparently, he’d lost a bet, the details of which were hazy. Whatever. Violet’s wish was Bren’s command.
Last summer after they won the Cup, he had taken his family to Scotland, and on the shores of Loch Ness, fell to one knee and asked this woman to allow him to love, cherish, and sing to her tunelessly for all the days he had left on this earth. On her screech of “Yes!” the calm surface of the lake broke, the resulting ripple caught by an early morning ray of sun.
Nessie approved. Both of them.
Today, she didn’t dawdle, but then that was Violet, a woman born to march in, mix up, and make the world her own. Only this time she wouldn’t be pulling a Mary Poppins and going poof! with her flying umbrella. No, Violet Vasquez would remain earthbound with Bren, giving him heaven in every moment.
Cade left her off with a kiss on her cheek and a wink at Bren—was it too late to punch him?—before taking his spot beside Harper and Isobel.
Bren’s woman studied him from head to toe, taking in his argyle jacket, full-dress sporran, knee socks, and gillie brogues. The kilt pin, usually shaped like a sword, had been custom made in the form of a hockey stick—a gift from Harper for the entire wedding party.
Violet sighed her approval. “Looking good, Nessie.”
“Looking better, Vi.”
Their stupid grins rivaled the sun above their heads. Her happiness was his, and with his career winding down and hers starting up, he figured they had a good balance that would bode well for marital harmony and his daughters’ teen years. Don’t get him wrong—he was dreading the moment one of his girls brought a guy home on a date. But Violet would have her early childhood education degree from Loyola University in Chicago by then and would likely have advice on how to handle it. He suspected he wouldn’t be allowed to deck any potential suitors or chase them off the property with a blade. More’s the pity.
The music faded. The celebrant opened his mouth. Violet held up a hand.
“I’m sorry, but could I say a couple of words before we get into the nitty-gritty?”
Bren rubbed his jaw. “Will these words leave me crying and/or jilted by the end of them?”
“Jilted? Oh no, you’re not getting out of it that easily, St. James. But I can’t guarantee tear-free.” She waved in front of her face, her eyes already misting over. “I’ll make it quick, I promise.”
She clasped his hand, squeezing it for strength, and faced their guests.
“I just wanted to thank you all for being here and say a few words to the people who made me their person. Rebels, every single one of you are champions and I love you all.” She pivoted to the wedding party. “Cade, you’re the brother I never knew I wanted, and those months as your fake girlfriend while becoming your actual best friend will stay forever in my heart.”
Cade winked and mouthed I love you.
She went on. “Dante, you’re undoubtedly the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in real life.” To the groomsmen, she added, “Sorry, boys, we all agree.” A quick visual survey of the women present confirmed the general consensus on this. Even his Cat nodded! “But you’re not just a pretty face. You’ve also been an amazing friend to me, all the more special because I wasn’t always such an amazing friend to you.”
Dante kissed his fingertips Italian-style and gestured with his hand toward her.
“Mami,” she said, turning to her mom in the first row, seated with two of Violet’s aunts. “You worked so hard to raise me, making sure I never went without even when you did. I’m so glad you’re here. Te quiero mucho.” I love you.
Her mother sniffed loudly, which set off the aunts and most of the guests. Louisa clutched at her chest and nodded her love right back.
“Girls!” Violet reached for Cat and Franky, who wrapped themselves around her. “Thank you for sharing your dad with me. What you’re giving me is the most awesome gift imaginable.”
“We don’t mind,” Franky said.
“Yeah, it gets him out of our hair,” Cat deadpanned, drawing laughs from the crowd.
“Uh, what did we say about propping up your dad’s ego?” She kissed the tops of their precious heads. “Just pretend it’s tough to have to share.”
Her gaze fell on her sisters, and words seemed to fail her—but this was Violet, so not for long. “Harper’s usually the one for big speeches, and no one can harangue, guilt, or manipulate like she can with a few words. I can’t possibly do justice to my feelings for you two amazing women, but I’m going to try. You had no reason to accept me into this family, a million reasons why it would be easier to ignore me. I’ve been looking for something, a life with purpose, and you gave it to me, no questions asked. There’ve been times when I wanted to strangle you both. I expect that instinct won’t disappear because you’re incredibly stubborn and a pain in my ass. But the love is there wrapped up in this holy trinity of power and awesomeness. Yes, I stole that one from Iz. I love you guys.” She swiped at her eyes and raised a fist to the sky. “Not yet, god of happy tears!”
At last, she turned her attention to Bren with a splay of her fingers over his chest, soothing the th-thunk of the heart that beat madly for her.
“My beautiful, grumpy Scot, thank you for being patient. Then, today, and for the rest of our lives.” She didn’t explain the then, though they both knew what she meant. Nine months, one week, three days, and seven hours, give or take a few minutes, from the moment he first saw her in the Empty Net to the moment his body found peace inside hers. “Thank you for loving every part of me. For seeing who I am and who I want to be. For turning the Year of the V into a lifetime of love.”
She leaned up on the toes of her cowboy boots and he met her halfway to accept her kiss. He should be thanking her, but he had no words, only his mouth and arms and body to worship her with. When their lips parted, he tried to tell her with his eyes how grateful he was that she had found him and hooked him.
“I know, Nessie.” She understood, but then this woman knew the rocky contours of his heart better than anyone. Eyes bright with joyful tears, she turned to the more-than-patient celebrant.
“Okay, Padre. Let’s do this.”