Victory Lap

Holden

As the Duluth hotel suite buzzes, Holden and his groomsmen navigate the plush trappings that make up their temporary quarters. Surrounded by finery that feels a touch alien, like chandeliers in the bathroom, the boys tackle their ties and tease each other about the grand day ahead. I might be miles away, but my heart beats strong for Holden as he tries to match the sophisticated aura of Britt's world, feeling the weight of expectations on his not-quite-perfect suit. As laughter and light-hearted jests fill the air, each moment tightens the bond of friendship and nervous anticipation that tethers them all to the impending ceremony where futures will be sealed.

Playlist: "Center Of My World" by Chris Young

"Holy crap, my dude." Shep barges into the suite of the Duluth hotel room. His eyes are about to pop out of his head. "This place is amazing."

The suite is a lavish affair, sprawling across three opulent rooms, each more luxurious than the last. A grand living area boasts panoramic views of the city as well as Lake Superior, plush sofas, and a sleek, fully-equipped wet bar perfect for entertaining. The bedrooms are sanctuaries of comfort, featuring king-sized beds and en-suite bathrooms with marble fixtures and deep soaking tubs. Too bad we can't enjoy it more.

Heath, Bennett, and Boone are already half-dressed. Boone seems to be struggling with his tie—I hope he figures it out soon, because Britt's family will totally notice if the rest of us have a Windsor while he has, like, a Tower of London or some shit. I don't know who thought to name the different ways of tying knots, but the details are stressing me all the way out.

Heath struggles into his dress pants. "You think this is what Britt is used to? There's a chandelier in the bathroom. I was almost too nervous to pee in there."

"Definitely." I examine myself in the mirror. I'm already dressed, and with another hour to go until the ceremony, I'm just about ready to peel my skin off. All of my dad's little pep talks about how anxiety is natural are rattling around my skull like loose ball bearings.

"Ever wonder what she sees in you?" Bennett asks. "I think about that a lot. I hope she doesn't wise up."

"I think about it too. All the time," I reply without missing a beat.

He sneaks a sly look at my reflection. "Oh, that's right. She's marrying you for your money."

"I never said that!" I protest, but Bennett is already laughing. I guess it is pretty funny, now that I think about it. It would be a lot more reasonable for Britt to make the opposite assumption, except that nothing about this lifestyle appeals to me. I'm not a thirteen-separate-forks-for-each-meal kind of guy. One fork all the way. Maybe a spoon sometimes.

Shep sets about getting dressed, while the rest of the guys fuss with their hair and their ties. I hover over them, filled with what feels like an excess of pre-game jitters. I need something to do with my hands.

Someone knocks at the door. Heath goes to answer it, while Shep scrambles for cover, still wearing his tighty whities.

"A little warning next time!" he wails.

"Settle down." Heath presses his face to the door, peering through the peephole. "It's Britt's dad. Should I let him in?"

"Well, don't just leave him out there!" I elbow Heath aside. I haven't had a chance to get to know Mr. Jensen yet, between all of the preparations and the accelerated timeline. We've met, of course, but that's about the extent of our relationship. I don't want to upset him, today of all days.

As soon as I open the door, my heart sinks. I'm outclassed. Britt helped me decide what to wear today, and at the time I thought she was just being… Britt when it came to her attention to detail. So what if my suit didn't fit perfectly? I didn't think anyone would notice.

But Britt's father is on another level, and now that I know what to look for, I can see why Britt was particular. From his watch, to his cufflinks, to his shoes, to his perfectly tailored suit, my father-in-law's outfit might as well be a neon sign announcing to the world, I Have Money and Good Taste! The bathroom chandelier is starting to seem like small potatoes. This man looks like he has special lighting in his underwear.

Nevertheless, he smiles at me as he steps through the door. "Hello, Holden. Boys." He nods to the guys. "I brought cigars for after the wedding." He holds up a small wooden box. Something tells me that the cigars inside likely cost more than my house. "And I was hoping I could have a drink with you, Holden, if you can spare the time."

"Sure." I need to get out of this room. "Guys, I'll meet you downstairs, okay?"

A general murmur of agreement is punctuated by a thump as Shep, still hiding behind the couch while he tries to finish getting dressed, falls over. I hear a very faint, ‘Woooooo' without an exclamation point. Mr. Jensen gives him a funny look, but I'm already shepherding him out of the room. If I let him stay, Bennett will start mean-talking, and we'll all be in trouble.

I'm surprised to see that my dad's already down in the hotel bar, having what looks like the world's most awkward conversation with Britt's mother, Constance, definitely not Connie. Montgomery is sitting there, too, totally engrossed in his phone. I've been avoiding him ever since his impromptu visit to Sorrowville, but Britt and I decided to let him attend the wedding for what are, admittedly, petty reasons. Fuck that guy, he didn't ruin the best thing that's ever happened to me. So there.

Mr. Jensen leads me to the bar, rather than the table. "I'll go back to them in a minute, but I wanted a word with you in private. I doubt we'll get another opportunity this weekend. What can I get you to drink?"

"Oh, uh…" Six shots of Jack Daniels sound pretty good right about now. "I'll have what you're having."

I don't recognize his order, and Beth would shit a brick if she could see the giant, spherical ice cube that the bartender places in each of our glasses. Whatever the liquor is smells like nail polish remover, but when Mr. Jensen and I toast, the first sip goes down easy.

"I want to welcome you to the family. I've really enjoyed getting to know you. We're so glad Britt followed her heart and found her true love."

"Oh. Thanks." I swirl my drink so that the fancy ice cube taps against the side of the glass. "So am I. I know I'm not what you had in mind for a son-in-law, but I love her. I'm going to do everything I can to ensure that she's happy and safe."

"That's all I ask." Mr. Jensen takes another sip of his drink and looks me over thoughtfully. "I just wanted to let you know, if things don't work out…"

My grip on the glass tightens. "We're good. Solid." Did he really bring me down here in a last-minute attempt to buy me off?

He shakes his head. "No, no! That's not what I meant. I'm talking about hockey."

"Oh." I lower my head and gaze down at my drink. "Thanks, but it's my dream." The words sound childish even as I say them. Britt isn't a dreamer, she's a doer. I assume her dad is the same. In my defense, I'm living my dream. It isn't just a fantasy, although some mornings I do have to pinch myself just to make sure that all the good things in my life are real, and that I'm not living in a long-term delusion.

"I can respect that." Mr. Jensen sounds… sad. I whip my head back up in surprise. His face is turned toward his wife, but his eyes are slightly unfocused. "I envy you that, in a way. But God forbid you get injured, or you age out of the sport and find that you don't have a plan. I just want you to know I'll always have a place for you if you ever have to give up your dream."

I can't resist a little jab. "That's really nice, but what makes you think I won't just live off Britt's trust fund?"

Mr. Jensen laughs. "You're no Montgomery. I admire your work ethic, son. You have two jobs and one of them is a professional sport. I don't think you have it in you to do nothing. If you did, you'd have never landed Britt."

"Yeah, you're right about that." I rest my elbow on the bar and sip my drink again. "But maybe I want to be a stay-at-home dad."

"Do you?" Mr. Jensen shakes himself back to the present. "Well, I suppose that's between the two of you. Maybe that would be a good idea… we left our children in the care of others, but in hindsight, I think we gave something away with that decision. I suppose I'll never know." He finishes off his drink and gestures to the bartender for another. I shake my head when he offers to top me off. I'm calmer now, and I want my head to be clear later. Heaven forbid I trip over my own tongue during the vows.

We make our way over to the table, where Dad and Constance have finally found a common point of interest in, of all things, the subject of nature photography. Apparently she collects art, and Dad used to take photos for a fishing and nature magazine, and there's just enough overlap that they're able to eke out a tête-à-tête… a term that I learned last night, since Britt has a cousin who visited Paris last year and has insisted on sprinkling French phrases into her conversations ever since. I stay with them until my groomsmen come down to collect me.

And then, before I'm quite ready, it's time.

* * *

"You're acting like you've got ants in your pants, bro," Shep stage-whispers. "You didn't get a rash or anything, did you? Because I got carpet burn on my, you know, my bits once when I hooked up with this freaky chick from Woodbury, and—"

"I don't have a rash." I pinch the bridge of my nose. Shep isn't exactly subtle. I'm pretty sure that Britt's mom heard everything he just said. "I'm just waiting for Britt. At the altar. Story of my life."

Shep checks his watch. "True. Wasn't this shindig supposed to kick off, like, twenty minutes ago?"

Heath and Boone shush him. I appreciate their support, because Shep is absolutely right, and I'm on the brink of a panic attack. Coach Duff catches my eye from a few rows back and signals for me to breathe. Usually, that would help, but I've been breathing, and I'm going to keep breathing. The air is fine. My lungs are working. My brain is the problem. With every passing second, I imagine more things that could have gone wrong.

Maybe Britt changed her mind.

Or she passed out again.

Or she was in an accident.

Or she got held up.

Or got lost.

Or…

Classical music from a string quartet starts playing, and everyone in the audience shifts. My people are on one side, Britt's people on the other, and it's obvious from a glance who's who. Regardless of which side of the aisle they're on, all of their smiles are the same. They're here to celebrate us. To help launch us into our future life as a couple.

This part, we've practiced, and my panic eases with the promise of a known quantity. The bridesmaids come first: Gisele, then Lynsie, then Joely, and Tierney last of all. Beth declined the offer to participate; she's sitting beside my dad, which is strange but also right. She's the team mom. In a way, she's family.

God, I wish my mom could be here.

Brogan the ‘flower girl' follows them, dressed in a hot pink floral romper. He really hams it up as he tosses rose petals and baby's breath from the basket sling over one arm. Beth shakes her head and says something to Dad, who chuckles and whispers back.

I'm watching them, trying to read their lips, when a collective gasp cues me into Britt's arrival. She and her father step through the door, and the rest of the crowd falls away. She's gorgeous. Her dark hair is pinned up around her head in a crown, studded with little jeweled pins and fresh flowers. The dress is stunning: she looks like an angel, or an ethereal fantasy creature from one of those movies that, come to think about it, involve a lot of people being obsessed with a ring. Relatable.

What knocks me out, however, is her smile. She's never looked happier.

And she's smiling like that for me.

The moment I lay eyes on her, I spring a leak.

"Shit, shit, shit." Shep flaps his hands. "Red alert. The groom is crying. Repeat, the groom is crying."

Heath grabs Shep's shoulder to steady him. "What do we do? We didn't plan for this."

Bennett shakes his head. "The fuck if I know. You think I've ever seen him cry?"

In the audience, Beth rolls her eyes. She waves one hand until Boone, at the end of the row, notices, then gestures toward her chest. When this gets no response, she mimes opening a vest.

Boone snaps his fingers. "Oh. Kerchief! Hold on, I've got one…" Shuffling ensues, and eventually Shep presses a kerchief into my hand so that I can dab my tears.

Britt and her father arrive at last. I hold out my hand, and Britt takes it, interlacing her fingers with mine.

"You look amazing," I whisper. "I love you."

"I love you, too." She gives my hand a gentle squeeze. "Are you ready?"

"Born ready."

"Then let's do this," says the love of my life.

Why was I so nervous? There's nothing to be afraid of. This is the best day of my life… and it's only going to get better from here.