A Groom of One’s Own: A Sweet Hockey RomCom
Chapter 21

Eli

I glance around the big tent in Parker’s backyard and realize I wouldn’t change a thing. Except maybe one: groomsmen.

Because as I stand up here alone, waiting for Bailey to appear, I desperately need someone beside me. Felix telling me it’s going to be fine or Van whispering insults under his breath—either one. Both.

Or someone to catch me if I happen to pass out, which feels at this moment like a very real possibility.

“For a fake wedding, you sure do seem to have a lot of feelings, bro.”

Oh, right. I do have someone standing up here with me. Alec.

Perhaps the last person I might want, who just chose this moment to remind me of the thing I want to forget—that this isn’t a typical wedding. Without turning away from the back of the tent, where Van just jogged off for what’s probably the worst timed bathroom break I can imagine, I give Alec a healthy dose of side eye. Only to see him smirking back.

I speak quietly, moving my lips as little as possible. “You know, as someone officiating a fraudulent wedding, I’m pretty sure you’d be on the hook for some hefty fines too, bro.”

I’m making this up. Though it seems legit.

Alec leans in closer, putting a hand on my back as he says, “But that’s the thing, Hop. Nothing about this seems fraudulent to me. Especially not the lovesick look in your eyes.” He pauses just as there’s movement at the back of the tent, unseen people outside pulling apart the flaps. “And not the look in hers either.”

His voice fades as the small group of guests gets to their feet, turning. I suck in a breath.

Bailey steps into the tent, clutching Van’s arm like she’s in as much need of support as I feel. Her eyes are only on mine, but I can’t hold her gaze. I need to look everywhere.

Beautiful, beautiful Bailey. How did I ever think she was just pretty? Not even that, but the kind of pretty I didn’t react to but noticed like I might appreciate a waterfall or a nice sunset.

Now, her beauty hits me like a solid punch. It knocks the breath clean out of me, just as sure as if someone really did hit me right in the diaphragm. Long brown hair in waves cascading over her shoulders, a dress that floats around her like she’s the princess in a fantasy movie—almost magical. If a team of birds suddenly appeared, carrying the train of Bailey’s dress in their beaks, I wouldn’t bat an eye.

Seeing Van escorting Bailey is not what I expected when he ran from the tent a few minutes ago. The expression he’s wearing is also surprising. At most, he’s been tolerant of this idea and only because it means I get to stay. He’s bitten his tongue about the whole marriage aspect, but I happen to know how he feels about monogamy and long-term commitment—not great.

But right now, his smile is a little wobbly at the edges, and though he’s trying hard not to show it, the set of his jaw and the way he can’t stop blinking tells me he’s fighting off some pretty big emotions.

Ones which echo in my chest as my heart kicks up. Today is about Bailey and me. But the teammates in my close circle have never felt as much like brothers as they have this week when they were all busting their butts to help me throw this wedding together. Van walking Bailey down the aisle—something I should have thought about but didn’t—means the world.

I give him a quick nod, my jaw clenching, then I focus my attention back on Bailey.

As she moves closer, her smile gets bigger. Her grip on Van’s arm loosens, and her pace picks up, like she can’t wait to get to me. I have half a mind to jog down the aisle and meet her in the middle.

We’re doing a lot of other things differently—why not have the ceremony right in the middle of the room?

I might have done it too, had my feet not cemented themselves to the floor.

Alec’s hand never left my back, and now, he slides it around to my shoulder, giving me a little shake. “Breathe, Hop,” he says with a little huff of laughter. “Breathe.”

I draw in a shaky breath. I don’t think I’ve been breathing since Bailey stepped inside the tent. Not good if I want to avoid passing out. I focus on slow, steady breaths and not locking my knees as Bailey nears. There’s the slightest tremor in my fingertips, and I close my hands into fists, needing the bite of my fingernails in my palms to ground me. I want to be completely present in this moment, and the tiny bite of pain helps me focus.

“Hi,” Bailey whispers as she and Van stop.

I’m grinning, but I swear, I just felt the slide of a tear on my cheek. “Hi,” I murmur back. “You look beautiful, Leelee. Perfect. Radiant. Am⁠—”

“We got the point, Mr. Thesaurus,” Alec mutters. Then, louder, in his captain voice, he says, “Welcome! Close friends, family, teammates, and book club.”

This earns him laughs and a few wolf whistles I’m sure come straight from the book club ladies, but my eyes don’t leave Bailey’s face.

Not until Alec goes off-script.

“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” he asks.

I do turn away from Bailey then, trying not to show the full extent of my frustration. I made it clear to Alec we weren’t doing the giving-away part of the ceremony. Bailey and I planned to leave it off, considering her father isn’t here. When we talked about it, I saw the sad look in her eyes, the one she tried to hide. I don’t want her to have to think about too many sad memories today. More than she already is. I know there’s no way she hasn’t thought about her parents missing this day. I barely remember my dad, and even I felt the tiniest twinge of something when I thought about him not being here.

In addition to all that, Van doesn’t get the right to give Bailey away just because he happened to escort her down the aisle.

But Alec just winks at me as Van clears his throat. And then there’s a chorus of male voices joining Van as they say as one, “We do.”

It takes effort to swallow past the lump in my throat. The whole row of my closest teammates spoke up. Every single one.

And as I’m processing this, blinking back embarrassing tears, Van leans close and presses a quick kiss to Bailey’s cheek, making the whole emotional thing worse.

“You’re just what he needs,” Van says quietly to Bailey. Then loud enough for the whole tent to hear, he adds, “If this guy gives you any trouble at all, let us know. We’ll make him suffer.”

Bailey giggles at this, and a blush rises in her cheeks, painting them a perfect pink as Van, who has recovered from his overly emotional moment earlier, hams up the act of placing Bailey’s hand in mine before giving me a half-hug and then murmuring something about prima nocta in my ear that has me laughing and shoving him back toward the rows of seats.

The moment Bailey and I turn to each other and I clasp both of her small hands in mine, something shifts and settles inside me. A sense of place I’ve never had before, a peaceful confidence about what we’re doing here.

It’s more than what we said it would be. This isn’t what we agreed to between us. I know I’m not imagining the emotion in her face, the earnestness in her trembling voice as she recites her vows, the piercing way she holds my gaze. The way she squeezes my fingers as she slides the wedding band in place on my finger.

And when the blur of the quick ceremony ends with Alec telling me to kiss the bride as the whole tent erupts in cheers, Bailey’s lips on mine feel like forever, not fraud.

“You don’t have to carry me,” Bailey murmurs into my neck while snuggling even closer to my chest and tightening her arms around me. I think at this point, if I let her go, she might stay attached. A Bailey barnacle.

“Of course I do,” I tell her, tightening my hold with one arm as I fumble with the hotel key. “It’s tradition.”

“But this isn’t a threshold,” she says through a yawn. “It’s a hotel room.”

“A threshold is a threshold. And if I need to carry you into our house tomorrow, I will.”

She giggles, her breath ghosting over my skin and creating a cascade of goosebumps. I drop the key card.

“Hang on, Leelee.” I crouch, keeping her cradled to my chest as I fumble for the card, finally coming up with it.

“Just like when we were dancing,” she says sleepily, and I notice her eyes are closed now.

I dipped her more than once tonight when we were dancing to the surprisingly appropriate playlist Van made. Every time I tilted Bailey back, her cheeks flushed and her grin grew. I wanted to keep that look on her face all night, and I did—up until she got sleepy after hours of dancing and a glass of champagne that hit her hard. It was right after Van’s dance-off with—shocker of the night—Wyatt. Bailey and I held hands and ran to the limo through two lines of our guests, all waving sparklers. I’m pretty sure Bailey’s gran tried to burn me with one.

“That’s right,” I say. “You’re quite the tiny dancer.”

“I’m only tiny because you’re a giant,” she argues, poking me in the chest.

“Sure,” I say agreeably, finally getting the card positioned just right to see the green light flash on the door of the suite. Bailey gives a soft sigh as I walk us through the door, her weight settling more fully against me.

Is she asleep?

I tilt my head, peeking down at the dark lashes resting against her cheeks, still wearing the flush they’ve held all night. Totally asleep. And it’s no wonder.

The emotional exhaustion of the day is starting to catch up to me. I feel it seeping outward from my bones. We did a big thing today. Maybe not traditional in the typical sense of the word, today carried the same weight as any other wedding. Maybe more, considering the underlying duplicity.

Or … lack of duplicity?

Today didn’t feel like an act. It didn’t feel like an arrangement. I know on my part, it was all sincere. But it seemed to be the same for Bailey. From the way she looked at me during our vows to the firm press of her mouth and the smile she wore when Alec announced us as Mr. and Mrs. Eli Hopkins.

And then there were all the other emotions, ones tied to my mom and sister, who definitely believed it all. Annie, who never cries, even got teary when she hugged Bailey after the ceremony. I think she also squeezed all the oxygen out of Bailey’s lungs and possibly made some kind of threat—probably to come after me if I hurt Bailey, not the other way around.

I’ve never seen Mom so happy or smile so big. Which made the guilt twine itself around the happiness into a heavy rope looped tight around my chest.

Because what happens if Mom or Annie replace out the truth? Or what if instead of this becoming more, it ends?

I hope they never know, just like I hope Parker’s idea to woo my wife will result in something real growing from the seeds of what started as practical necessity mixed with a little insanity. Today made me hopeful. If I wasn’t actively thinking about the way this began, I got completely lost in the genuine emotion of it all.

Despite Parker’s recommendation to wait, I wanted to talk to Bailey about it tonight. But hearing the conviction in Bailey’s voice when she said her vows, the way her eyes never left mine, I don’t feel like I need to wait. The whole night felt like a big green light.

Only now as I’m seeing Bailey’s physical and emotional exhaustion, I know this wouldn’t be the right time. I want her fully awake and fully cognizant when we talk about our real future.

I also don’t want to mess with the perfection of today.

As I cross the suite’s living area, I toe off my shoes, leaving them by the couch, which will likely be my uncomfortable bed for the night. One of the guys booked this room for us, and while I would have picked a suite with two rooms, Wyatt chose the honeymoon suite.

To be funny? Or maybe because he’s also rooting for us?

Either way, I’m not going to share a bed with Bailey all night without her express, coherent consent. I won’t trust any decisions she makes in this sleep-addled, exhausted state. And I won’t have her waking tomorrow with regrets.

It’s not easy to peel back the comforter and sheets while balancing Bailey against my chest, but I manage. Only … I hesitate once I’ve got the bed ready. Would she want to sleep in this dress? Can she sleep in this dress?

I know nothing about fashion, but I am aware that a custom wedding gown from a designer like Zella wouldn’t be cheap. And it’s a gorgeous dress. Likely not one Bailey wants to get wrinkled and possibly ruined in sleep. But if I’m not willing to share a bed without consent, I’m not exactly going to take off her dress. The thought of it makes heat flood my neck and cheeks. I suddenly can’t wait to get out of this suit.

I stand there, cradling Bailey as I debate. Put her to bed in this dress, or wake her? I finally lean down, brushing my lips across her temples.

“Bailey, sweetheart?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you want to sleep in your dress, or do you want to change first?” Annie dropped our bags off in the suite earlier today, her one contribution to the wedding plans. And honestly, I’m shocked she managed even that. But my duffle is in the corner, next to a purple rolling suitcase that must be Bailey’s.

Way to come through, Annie.

“Change,” Bailey says with another yawn, her eyes still closed. “Is my bag here?”

“Yeah. Hang on.” Careful not to bunch the dress up under her, I rest Bailey on top of the sheets. She sighs and tucks her head against the pillow, her hair fanning out across it.

I stand there, staring for a moment, memorizing the way she looks in the soft white dress against white sheets, eyelids fluttering as though she’s already fallen into a dream. Maybe she has. But then her lids crack open slightly and she gives me the smallest smile.

“What?” she asks.

I grin and look away, rubbing the back of my neck. “Nothing. Just … nothing.”

It would be too much right now to tell her how beautiful she looks, wouldn’t it? I told her on no less than a dozen occasions tonight. I meant it every time. And every time, she blushed.

“You look good in a suit,” Bailey says, her eyelids fluttering closed again. “And in a jersey. And in those shorts you sleep in. Even a muumuu! I’m pretty sure you’d look good in anything. It’s not fair.”

Chuckling, I cross the room and unzip her bag. “Not anything. I couldn’t pull off scrubs like you do.”

Bailey snorts. “Scrubs are the least sexy things ever.”

“You make them look good, Bailey.”

My voice is gruffer than I intend, but maybe that’s because I’m imagining her lying in that bed in her normal work attire, hair tied up in a ponytail. I like this idea a lot.

Maybe scrubs aren’t inherently sexy, but I wasn’t lying when I said she makes them look good. I like Bailey in everything I’ve seen. I’m sure she’ll look great in whatever pajamas she’s packed.

Only … as I unzip her bag, I realize I never should have trusted Annie. Not with a single, simple task.

Bailey’s whole suitcase is full of nothing but lingerie.

Not the kind that could double as a nightgown either. The kind I think can only be purchased at some kind of adult gag store. It’s all lace and strings and mesh. I’m not even sure there’s enough fabric in here to make a single outfit if someone quilted them together.

I drop my head to my chest and groan.

“What’s wrong?”

When I glance over, Bailey is leaning up on an elbow. Still looking sleepy, but more awake than she’s been since she first conked out in the car on the way here.

“We might have a problem,” I tell her, zipping the suitcase back up. I can’t keep looking at all this lace. I might get … ideas.

“What kind of problem?”

I stand, fisting my hands on my hips and swallowing hard. “Annie took it upon herself to repack your bags. Probably mine too.” I don’t even want to open mine, now that I’ve thought about it.

Bailey sits up fully. “Repacked them how?”

“With, um, lingerie.”

“Oh. Oh.” Bailey giggles. “This doesn’t surprise me, somehow.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I love Annie. And I appreciate her … enthusiasm? I’m not sure if that’s the right word.”

“The right word is probably intrusive. Nosy. Obnoxious. Difficult.”

“Funny,” Bailey corrects, then lifts a hand to her mouth as she yawns again. “But what do we do? I can’t sleep in this. Is there anything I can wear?”

I’m not sure what expression is on my face, but Bailey laughs. “Okay, guess that’s a no.”

“I’ve got an idea,” I say, already shrugging off my suit jacket. I drape it over the back of a chair then start unbuttoning my shirt. I freeze on the second button when I realize Bailey is staring at me, unblinking. “What?”

She simply shakes her head.

I make quick work of the buttons, then pull the shirt off, holding it out to Bailey. “Here. It may not be the most comfortable thing to sleep in, what with the buttons and all. But it’s better than wrinkling your dress.”

Bailey takes the shirt, and almost as though it’s an involuntary action, lifts it to her nose. I watch as her lids lower with her deep inhale. “Smells like you,” she murmurs. “This will be perfect. What about you?”

“I didn’t check my bag. I can only imagine. But at least I’ve got this t-shirt and boxers.”

Bailey clears her throat and gets to her feet unsteadily, grabbing the nightstand for support. “I’ll go change. You look in your bag. I can’t wait to hear what she packed for you.” With a smile, she walks to the bathroom, still holding my shirt up to her nose.

I expect something like a whole bag full of condoms and am surprised when I open it to see fabric. Not what I packed, though.

Instead, Annie removed everything I put in the bag earlier, replacing my clothes with what looks like a bunch of towels and one single wearable item: the muumuu I wore on Bailey’s birthday. I’m sure she had no idea the significance of this, but it’s oddly fitting. Especially since Bailey just mentioned it.

Smiling, I remove my t-shirt and slip the muumuu over my head while Bailey’s in the bathroom, then shuck my pants and drape them over my coat on the back of the chair. I’ve just finished when I hear Bailey call me from the bathroom.

I place a palm flat on the closed door. “Are you okay?”

“I … I think I need help.” Bailey opens the door a crack, peeking at me with one brown eye, then laughing when she sees what I’m wearing. “That’s what Annie packed for you?”

“She’s got some sense of humor,” I say drily. “Now, what kind of help do you need?”

Bailey opens the door a little wider. “This gown has a million tiny buttons,” she whispers, her cheeks flaming. “Jenny helped me get dressed this morning, and I didn’t think about getting them undone.”

“No problem,” I tell her, twirling my finger. “Turn around.”

But when she does, pulling her hair out of the way, I see the problem. Not her problem, though I do see how impossible it would be for Bailey to undo the delicate buttons herself. No—the problem I’m aware of is mine.

Because I’m the one who has to undo them.

“Eli?” Bailey tilts her head, looking up at me over one shoulder. “You okay?”

There’s a tickle in my throat, but swallowing doesn’t make it better. I cough. “Yep.”

I’m torn between wanting to curse and wanting to thank Zella for putting so many buttons on the dress. They start just between Bailey’s shoulder blades and drop down just below her waist. So small my big fingers struggle to work them. Especially with the way my mind is warring with itself, making it hard to focus. Under the loose fabric of the muumuu, my lower back starts to sweat.

Bailey angles her head, peeking at me over her shoulder. “You okay there, hockey player? I can’t imagine a few buttons are hard for a guy who can balance on tiny blades while sending a little puck into a net with a stick.”

“You wouldn’t think,” I mutter.

By the fifth button, the top of the dress falls open slightly, revealing what looks to be the top of some kind of undergarment. Not a bra. A corset, maybe? Or some fancy thing women wear under fancy dresses?

I squeeze my eyes closed and try to move my fingers faster, which only makes me clumsier. And slower. I honestly might do a better job wearing my game-day gloves.

Soon, it’s not just my lower back that’s sweating but my forehead and neck. Every inch of me is hot and electric. I hope Bailey can’t feel the heat when my fingers brush over her skin, dragging over her lower back as I move down, down, down below the bottom hem of her undergarment. Bailey’s skin is warm and smooth, and seeing this little bit of it makes me want more.

I bite back a groan.

Two more buttons, and I replace something that stops me. I trace around the raised, red mark.

“What?” she asks.

“Leelee, have you been playing with cats again?”

She groans, angling her body as she tries to look. She’d have to be a contortionist to see it. I gently turn her back around.

“I don’t think he was playing,” Bailey says. “More like trying to use my back as a springboard. Think it will leave a scar?”

“I don’t think so. But you should let me put something on it when we go back home. Mom has some antibiotic cream.”

“I didn’t even know it was there. I guess this is what we do now, huh? Watch each other’s backs?”

I grin. “That and argue about pizza toppings. A wise woman told me that’s what marriage is about.”

As I go back to the buttons, I see Bailey spinning the wedding band I slid on her finger earlier. She requested something simple, so it’s a plain platinum band. Except for one thing.

“Did you happen to check the inscription?” I ask.

“You added an inscription?” Bailey slips the ring off and turns the ring until she can read it, laughing when she does. “Awkward together,” she reads. “From our first date. Eli—I love it.”

“Feel like maybe it will be something of a theme. Says the guy wearing a muumuu while unbuttoning your dress.”

I expect another laugh, but maybe it’s the mention of undoing Bailey’s dress that has us both falling silent again. A thick tension hangs in the air like a curtain, only growing more obvious in the quiet. The only sounds are our breaths—both of us a little unsteady—and the sound of my fingers fumbling with the buttons.

I slow as I move closer to her waist, closer to the end. Both relieved I’m almost done and wishing Zella had put buttons down the whole back, down to the floor. When I undo a button just above Bailey’s hips, my heart thrumming in my chest, the whole dress starts to slip down, sliding right off her shoulders.

“Oh,” Bailey says on a breathy exhale, clutching the top. She barely keeps it from falling into a pool of soft white fabric around her feet. “I guess that’s all the help I need. Thanks, Eli.”

“No problem.” I swallow with difficulty and take a step back, wiping my palms on the muumuu.

Bailey turns to face me, her fingers tight on the top of the dress. For a long moment, we stand perfectly still, as though each of us is waiting for the other to make a move or speak. The air shimmers with a pulse of electricity, and I wouldn’t be shocked to see light dancing in the air.

I want to kiss her. I want to more than kiss her.

And with the way Bailey’s toffee eyes have darkened to liquid chocolate and her teeth are worrying her lip, I think she wants that too.

I hear a faint whisper in my mind, Parker’s voice saying patience … you don’t want to overwhelm her …

Most guys wouldn’t think about patience. They wouldn’t overthink this. Or think at all. They wouldn’t care about talking first, about being sure we’re on the same page.

They’d be inside the bathroom, shucking off Bailey’s dress and this stupid muumuu, words lost in favor of a tangle of lips and tongues and maybe even teeth. Imagining it has blood rushing through my body, like a clanging alarm bell.

But there’s more riding on this. And what I want is more. Something long and lasting. Not a quick decision made in the heat of a moment. The risk is higher now, the cost potentially greater. If I want this to be real, I need to work for it. To exercise the utmost restraint until it’s safe to unleash it. Until I’m sure she’s sure.

Otherwise … I’d be sharing a house with my own personal heartbreak right down the hall.

As much as I want to toss thought and consequence and future Eli’s potential heartbreak to the side, I decide to choose the patient path. The safe one. The one most likely to transform the label of wife, which Bailey now wears, into more than a title. More than words on a paper. I am after something lasting, not fleeting.

Which means I need to step back. For now.

But, just as she did at the rink during my mess of a proposal, Bailey is the one to take charge. Stepping forward and still holding her dress up with one hand, she hooks the other behind my head and pulls my mouth to hers.

I slide my hands around her waist, tugging her closer. Needing her closer.

Bailey kisses me like she’s been dying to do so for hours—or days. Like our kiss at the ceremony—quick, sweet, chaste—was only a tease, igniting this level of consuming hunger.

Or maybe that’s just how it was for me, and I replace myself kissing her back with the same level of desperation.

My fingers replace the tiny sliver of skin on Bailey’s lower back between where the dress gapes open and whatever she has on underneath. When I trace my finger along the borders of the area, trailing along the hems and the fabric lines, Bailey gasps into my mouth. I swallow the sound and move my fingers slower, softer, needing her to make that sound again.

She does, and a low sound comes from the back of my throat.

This is something more than just kissing. More than an agreement or arrangement or an aligning of what I need—a visa—with what Bailey needs—money for vet school. It’s more than I’ve ever felt kissing any woman, and though I still can hear Parker on a loop in my head saying not to overwhelm, to be patient, though I know Bailey and I are barely getting to know each other even if we’re wearing each other’s rings, it’s hard to hold back.

I want to give her everything.

Bailey is the one to pull back, dropping a kiss to my chin before letting her hand drop, grinning at me as she steps back. “I’m going to finish changing now,” she says.

“Probably a good idea.” Though I have plenty of other ideas.

I trail my fingers down Bailey’s cheek to her jaw. A whisper touch. A future promise. She shivers in response, gently swaying forward just as I step back and drop my hand.

“You good?” I ask in a voice rough and cracked and more than a little tortured.

Bailey’s nod is quick, her smile knowing, her pupils dilated. “I—I’m something.”

Me too.

I turn then, needing relief from the pinch in my chest, the pull toward this woman who has so quickly worked her way right into the center of me with her kindness and sweetness and the quirkiness that makes Bailey Bailey.

“Hey, hockey player,” she says, and I pause, back still turned. In the mirror above the dresser, I can see just a sliver of the bathroom door, Bailey’s hand with my ring on her finger. “Thanks for helping with my dress.”

“Just … let me know if you need any more help.”

Bailey closes the door on her laughter, and I smile all the way to the couch. Where I fully intend to sleep unless invited to the bed. Which can just be for sleeping, if that’s what Bailey wants.

I yawn, letting my head fall back as I close my eyes. Tomorrow, I leave for two weeks. And while I’d like to talk to Bailey before I go about what this is, what that kiss meant, and if she wants this marriage to be more—to be real, I don’t know how we’ll replace the time.

I have to be at the Summit most of tomorrow for a last round of training and then meetings about the trip. Our bus leaves around seven p.m., and we’ll drive overnight. It’s going to be grueling, and while I had been looking forward to it, now all I want is to stay home.

I yawn again, snuggling deeper into the couch cushions, letting my mind wander back over the day. It was perfect. Everything I could have wanted—except the full assurance that it’s as real for Bailey as it is for me.

Though I meant to stay awake until Bailey came out, I wake up, disoriented, sometime in the middle of the night to replace one of the pillows from the bedroom under my head and a comforter tucked over me. There’s a note on the coffee table, written on the hotel stationary, and I squint to read it through the light coming off the EXIT sign.

Goodnight, husband, from your wife, is all it says. I fall back asleep with the note still in my fingers, pulled close to my heart.