We got married
“So. Um. Yeah. We got married.”
You can hear a pin drop in the women’s locker room. The team doctor and EMTs just left, satisfied I’m in no danger of a concussion. Despite what it looked like to the crowd, I didn’t actually hit my head out there—the helmet came off after I already landed on the ice. But the wind was completely knocked out of me. Lying face down, ears ringing and lungs seized, I forgot how to breathe for a moment there.
Now, Ryder sits beside me on the bench, while my parents and brother stand in front of us. Speechless. Now that the doctors are gone, the bomb Ryder dropped before I went down can finally be addressed. There’s no defusing it—that thing went boom the moment he broke the news to my parents. But I’m hoping the fallout of the explosion won’t be too devastating.
I bite my lip in trepidation, waiting for someone to speak.
“G, I love you. You’re my sister. But that’s the most cliché thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I got married in Vegas. That’s so generic I wouldn’t even write a song about it.”
“Wyatt,” Mom warns.
Dad still hasn’t uttered a single word. He’s completely expressionless. Not even anger on his face. Nothing. It’s like staring at a brick wall, a cardboard box, some inanimate object that’s incapable of telling you how it feels.
“Look, I know this is unexpected,” I tell them. Because it was. Totally and undeniably unexpected.
But not thoughtless.
Despite what my brother thinks, we didn’t do the predictably tacky Vegas elopement. We weren’t married by a jovial Elvis, spurred by alcohol in our veins. We were stone-cold sober. We applied for an after-hours license because, well, that’s possible in Vegas. And then we had an entire night to think about it. To change our minds. We didn’t have to go back to the courthouse the next morning, but we did.
Ryder’s still hovering over me, running an agitated hand over my forehead because he doesn’t believe I didn’t hit my head. It’s cute. I touch his cheek in reassurance, and the moment my fingers connect with his skin, the anxiety leaves his eyes. I have that power over him, and he has the same power over me.
Like the night I sobbed in his arms after Fairlee shot down my dreams like a well-trained sniper and left me bleeding from a bullet to the heart. Bang. Dream dead. Ryder made it better that night. He makes it better every night. And day. And minute.
We make each other better.
“I know everything you’re going to say.” I keep talking when it’s obvious my parents won’t. “You think we’re too young. It’s too fast. But you’re wrong. And yes, I can imagine thousands of stupid, idealistic girls before me saying those exact same words after running off with their boyfriends. Wyatt’s right, it sounds cliché. But Ryder and I aren’t stupid.” I shrug. “And in case you’re just joining the party, neither of us has an idealistic bone between us.”
My brother snorts softly.
“We know exactly what we’re getting into. It’s not going to be perfect. We’re going to run into issues. Life’s going to hit us hard from all directions, all the time. But we’re choosing to do life together. We went into this with our eyes wide open.”
I notice a sheen of tears clinging to Mom’s eyelashes, and for a moment I revert into a little kid.
“Please don’t be mad at me,” I beg her, but deep down I know even if she stays mad forever, that’s just something I will have to deal with.
I’ve made my choice. He’s it.
Mom walks over and sits on my other side, putting her arm around me. “No, I’m not mad. I’m glad you recognize it’s not going to be all rainbows.” She touches my cheek reassuringly. “But this probably isn’t the time or place to discuss…this…in any further detail.” She stands up. “Are you sure I can’t take you to the hospital?”
I shake my head. “I really don’t want to. The paramedic said I didn’t even need to go into concussion protocol.”
I can’t play the rest of the game, though, which is fucking brutal. But the team doctor wouldn’t sign off on it, despite the EMTs saying it would probably be okay. It was the word probably that made Dr. Parminder frown. So now I’m benched. There’s half a period left, and I should be out there, skating with my team. Or at least sitting on the bench, cheering them on. But Coach Adley made me change out of my uniform, so I’m not even dressed for that.
“I’m going back out there,” I say firmly, rising to my feet. “Even if I can’t be on the ice with them, I can still scream my lungs out.”
Ryder takes my hand. “It’s gonna be loud out there.”
“My head doesn’t hurt,” I grumble. “I swear. It only took me a while to get up because I was winded.”
I glance at my family again. At the brick wall that used to be my father. His prolonged silence finally triggers something in me. Impatience. Annoyance. Maybe a bit of anger too.
“Are you going to say something?” I move to stand directly in front of him, trying to force eye contact. “Anything at all? Because you’re starting to scare me a little.”
His gray eyes lock with mine. And finally, he speaks.
“This is, truly, the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.” I flinch as if I’ve been struck.
“And I’ve never been more disappointed in you.” “Garrett,” Mom says sharply.
But it’s too late. The bullet that took me down when Fairlee kept me off Team USA finds its mark again.
This time, courtesy of my father.
