A Groom of One’s Own: A Sweet Hockey RomCom

Bailey

“Oh, no you don’t.” Shannon’s fingers curl around my shoulders and shuttle me away from the window.

The one I was trying to climb out of. Or, at least, I was trying the locks. I’m pretty sure it’s painted shut. Though this house is way too fancy to paint windows shut. Maybe there’s a special key or something? They’re rich-people windows. Something I know nothing about.

“Parker’s family is loaded,” I grumble.

Shannon sits me down on the sofa I was on before I tried to escape. “They sure are, though I’m not sure what that has to do with you trying to climb out a window. Wanna talk about why you’re trying to escape, Houdini?”

“It’s hot in here. This dress is … itchy.”

The dress Zella made for me is in no way itchy. It’s perfect. From the fit to the fabric to the design. I’m not sure how she gathered anything from our conversation at her house, where I mostly fan-girled and babbled, but somehow, she managed to create something better than I ever could have dreamed up for myself.

Soft and romantic in the skirt and the sleeves—which I requested because of the cold—and fitted in the bodice without being too modest or too low-cut. When I walk, I look like I’m floating, the gauzy top layer of the skirt trailing me like romantic wispy smoke. I want to wear it forever. I also want to lock it in a standing safe so nothing can ever hurt it.

So, no—the dress isn’t the problem.

What’s itchy, I suspect, is the guilt. And the mild panic that’s been clawing at me for days.

“Your dress is gorgeous. And probably worth more than your car so I’m not letting you rip it while trying to shimmy out a window.” Shannon gives me a look. “For real—let’s discuss, and quickly. Considering there’s only half an hour before Parker returns and tells us it’s time to start.”

Parker has been acting as the unofficial wedding planner for the day, making sure everyone has everything they need, watching the schedule, and keeping Eli out of sight. His one request for the wedding was not to see me before I walk down the aisle.

Though I’d really like to talk through this panic with him—the only other person who could possibly know what it feels like to enter into a marriage under these circumstances—I couldn’t deny Eli this one thing. It’s … sweet. Further proving my suspicions that he’s a romantic.

But why does he want to be romantic when this isn’t about romance? Wouldn’t he want to save this for a real wedding? The one that could happen once we split up. Which is … still not a thing we’ve talked about.

I rub my arms, the soft fabric on my palms soothing me ever so slightly.

Shannon snaps her fingers. “You. The window. Talk.”

I open and close my mouth. If there are thoughts, they’re not making their way into words. They’re a log-jammed in my brain, stacking up high, the pressure I’ve felt all morning mounting to an almost unbearable level.

Shannon sighs and sits down at my feet, adjusting her emerald-green dress so it won’t wrinkle before pulling a handful of Twizzlers out of exactly nowhere. Maybe from her cleavage? She holds one out, and I start to shake my head, then change my mind and snatch two.

“How about I make guesses, and you tell me hot or cold.” Shannon doesn’t wait for a response before firing off the first question. “Second thoughts?”

Shockingly, no. I still want to marry Eli. It’s just … maybe not for the same reasons I agreed to do so.

“Cold,” I croak, my voice squeaking like an old screen door.

“Worry about all the legal stuff?”

“Warmer.”

Shannon bites off the end of a Twizzler, chewing thoughtfully. “Scared?”

I shrug and fold a whole rope of candy into my mouth. The answer is, of course, hot. Pizza oven-hot. Earth’s core-hot. Shannon might say Hemsworth-hot, which is the highest heat level on her personal rating scale.

“Ah. There it is.”

“Where what is?” Jenny bursts through the door, breathless in a cloud of pink chiffon, returning from a Gran-check.

I decided maybe against better judgment, to have Gran attend the wedding even if she doesn’t remember who I am. Eli promised that Felix, the team’s goaltender, will be her date-slash-caretaker. His girlfriend, Gracie, is playing cello in the string quartet, so Felix offered to help with Gran. Which is super sweet. According to Eli, Felix had a special relationship with his grandmother and was looking forward to this job.

Even after being warned about some of Gran’s escapades.

“Your gran is totally fine. Felix watching her is about the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen, and now I need to find a guy who loves grandmas.” Jenny pauses, touching the pink flower tucked into her braids. “Uh-oh. What’d I miss? I see you brought out the big guns.”

She gestures to the Twizzlers, then pulls two out of the fistful Shannon still has. They seem to be multiplying. Is magical cleavage licorice a thing?

“Bailey tried to climb out the window,” Shannon reports, sounding every bit like a toddler tattling.

Pushing her glasses up her nose, Jenny blinks owlishly as she takes a seat next to me on the couch. “But your dress!”

“I know, right?” Shannon shakes her head.

“I’m glad everyone’s first concern is the dress,” I say.

Jenny nibbles on a Twizzler. “Obviously, we’re more concerned about you.”

“But you don’t want to talk,” Shannon adds. “This is how we wear you down.”

I drop my head in my hands, wishing this were a fainting couch, not just the regular kind in one of many living rooms inside Parker’s parents’ house. I could use a good faint. Maybe a nap. Or a coma. I could wake up, already be married, and then carry on from there. If Eli and I had a totally normal relationship first, I could see marrying him. Not in a two-week period of time like this. Probably not. Then again, maybe.

I’m shocked at how my original crush has grown and deepened into something else at rapid speed. And it’s only getting worse. Every look from Eli, every touch, every kiss makes a swell of emotion balloon in my chest, tightening and expanding until I feel ready to burst.

Every kindness too.

There was last night before he left, when Eli gave me a single, soft kiss while cupping my face so tenderly, I actually felt breakable. Like his care with me meant I’m made of the thinnest blown glass. Every brush of the whiskers in his neatly trimmed beard felt like a distinct electric current, jolting my system with tiny shocks.

Then he said, “See you tomorrow, Leelee,” picked up his bags, and left to stay the night with one of the guys.

Not even a little piece of that felt like it was fake.

Then, when I showed up today, I realized that somehow, Eli managed to put together a whole wedding in the span of a week. All because I didn’t like the idea of getting married in a courthouse. Shannon wasted no time telling me how he’s been hounding her for information—what flowers I like, what I’d like to eat for the reception, the kind of cake I want, what music I like. It’s all about me.

When I then peeked inside the tent and saw big flower arrangements and candles and gauzy fabric stretched across the top of the tent, transforming it into a beautiful kind of dream, black dots filled my vision and I had to grab onto a chair so as not to topple over.

It’s all too much. Too real. Too perfect.

And Eli did all this for me.

The same knot that’s been in my throat tightens until I wonder how it’s possible for me to swallow. Or breathe.

“You okay, B?” Jenny slides an arm around my shoulders, being careful of the dress and my hair, which she painstakingly curled into soft waves earlier.

“She looks like she’s about five seconds away from passing out,” Shannon says. “Maybe you should put your head between your knees? Never mind—you might get makeup on the dress.”

“I could put a pillow there to keep the makeup from⁠—”

“Will you both shut up about the dress?”

These words come out of me in a wheezy whispered hiss. I sound like some kind of harpy, straight from the pages of a fantasy novel and ready to drop some curses.

Jenny gives my shoulder a squeeze. “What can we do? Talk to us, Bailey. Tell us how we can help.”

“Or tell us how you’re feeling,” Shannon says. “Jenny and I will come up with a plan. Even if that’s running away. Just … not through a window.”

“Why didn’t y’all try to talk me out of this?” I ask, looking between them. It’s not an answer to either of their questions. But it’s where I need to start. “When I first told you I was going to marry Eli essentially for money, neither of you protested. Not really.”

The night I asked them to come over, I drank a very full glass of wine out of a coffee mug before blurting out the way Eli’s offhanded joke about marriage (and my subsequent choking) turned into something I seriously considered … and then agreed to while sleep- (and a little Eli-) drunk. Rather than freak out—okay, Jenny did do this high-pitched scream thing that made my ears ring—my two besties asked a few questions and then calmly told me I should go for it.

Almost totally in sync too, which was mildly creepy.

They gave none of the arguments I’d expected, none of the ones I’ve been arguing with myself. They didn’t laugh. They didn’t tell me I was selfish or ridiculous for even thinking about an arrangement like this.

Shannon and Jenny give me too much time to worry while they exchange a glance as though trying to silently make sure their stories line up.

I expect Shannon to be their spokesperson, but it’s Jenny who says, “We like Eli. And you like Eli. Maybe we just thought …”

I swallow. “You thought what?”

Jenny doesn’t answer, just presses her lips together in a forced smile that looks more like she’s trying to hold in a really big burp. Shannon presses up on her knees, taking both my hands in hers. The pleading look she gives could rival the cutest begging dogs ever. It would beat a begging baby goat, even.

“We thought maybe … it would just sort of work itself out. Like, over time it would become less of an arranged marriage and more of a real one. You know, how they do.”

“How they do?” I’m back to the harpy’s hiss. “I don’t know that people really have this kind of thing in real life. And if they did, it wouldn’t just—poof!—become a real marriage.”

“Not poof,” Jenny says. “But over time. Like a friendship becoming more.”

I groan, pressing my hands over my eyes. But lightly, because I’m not about to mess up the makeup Shannon took forever to do. I barely sat still the first time. If she comes at me again with a mascara wand, I might punch her.

I’m on the cusp of arguing, but I can’t. Because I’ve had the same thought. More like … a hope. That maybe over time, Eli might start to see me as something more. More like the way I see him. He certainly acts like I’m something special, whether that’s in the way he looks at me, the tenderness in his voice when he calls me Leelee, or the way he steps in to do things like help me find a new job at a veterinarian’s office.

Turns out, one of Maggie’s book club friends didn’t just work at a vet, her husband is a vet. And he offered me a full-time position, saying he had no doubts he could write a recommendation once I had a few weeks under my belt. This is my dream, and it means I don’t have to work with Dr. Evil anymore.

So, yeah. Eli has gone above and beyond for me in big and small ways. And he definitely doesn’t seem to mind kissing me.

But then, I’ve done way too much unhealthy late-night googling related to hockey player dating habits and spent far too long over-analyzing any photos of Eli ever with another woman on his social media. There’s also the unhelpful memory of my birthday, finding Eli in the bar with a woman attached to either side like a pair of hot leeches. A hard mental image to uproot, that’s for sure.

My conclusion: kissing may or may not mean much to Eli. The kind things he does may or may not be just part of his personality.

Right now … I’m not brave enough to ask him directly. Even if I’m allowing a warm hope to unfurl and bloom inside me.

If Eli does have or develops feelings for me, this marriage thing could be a sort of head start. A putting of the cart before the horse. Cutting the line to get into the club. The marriage club.

I peek through my fingers, looking between them and ask, “You know I like him. A lot. And you think I should still marry him and then hope it becomes more—like a real marriage with real feelings?”

“That’s exactly what we think,” Jenny says. She pats the top of my head, and I half-expect her to follow up by offering me a dog treat.

Close—she grabs one of Shannon’s Twizzlers and hands it to me.

“Worst case scenario: you’re shacking up in a cute little house with the kind of guy who would do all this for you, plus his adorable mom, and you’re having vet school paid for. Everybody wins.”

Unless I lose my heart. Which I may have already done.

“It’s almost time,” Shannon says, and suddenly my throat is tightening up again. “Let’s get you out there. And when you say your vows, say them for real. Then blow out your candles and make a wish that Eli’s doing the same thing.”

I don’t bother reminding Shannon that wedding cakes don’t have candles for wish-making.

“Everything is perfect,” Parker gushes.

She’s wearing a huge smile, hugging a clipboard to her chest, and wearing an earpiece I’m pretty sure she doesn’t need for a wedding this small. To Parker, wedding planning is a serious business. Even one I know she knows is more about visas and avoiding student debt and less about love. We’re standing just inside the back door of her parents’ house—one of the many back doors, I should say—and everyone else is in the tent. Ready. Waiting.

While I’m rethinking the whole escape-out-the-window plan and debating about whether I’m going to vomit halfway down the aisle.

“You look gorgeous,” Parker says. “Eli is going to lose it. I predict tears.”

“Oh, I highly doubt—” I start to argue, but Parker boops me on the nose, a move that surprises me into silence.

“Trust me,” she says through clenched teeth, in the kind of tone a kidnapper might use to threaten their victim into compliance.

It works. Or, at least, I’m prepared to walk through the door. But before we can, a figure in a suit jogs out of the tent, up the back steps, and inside. It’s Van. Gone is his usual smirk. His face is a study in fierce intensity, instantly making me want to panic.

“Is Eli okay? Did he …”

I can’t quite make myself form the words, Did he change his mind? But they’re right there on the tip of my tongue.

Van’s brows dip and he shakes his head. “Everything’s fine. Except the big dummy failed to mention you didn’t have anyone to walk you down the aisle.”

“Oh. I was just planning to walk myself.”

Shannon and Jenny both offered, but I decided in addition to not having a traditional wedding party, I didn’t need to have an escort. After all, I’m giving myself away.

Van runs a big hand through his hair, glancing away with a quick nod. “Right. Sure. Good. You can do whatever. I just didn’t want you to not have the choice of someone standing beside you.”

He starts to turn away, but I grab his arm and link mine through it, ignoring the burning in my eyes and nose and the tightness in my throat. Parker tries to hide a tiny sniffle.

“I’d love to have you walk me down the aisle, Van.”

“Yeah?” he asks, his dark eyes regaining a little of their usual swagger.

I nod, and Parker steps in front of us both, opening the door and grinning, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “It’s time.”

As Van and I step through the door, he slows the pace and looks down, catching my eye. “You good, B?”

Something about him using the nickname my friends call me makes my chest cinch tight. “I think so? Ask me tomorrow.”