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“You have a black eye, Elkington.”
“Do I?” I don’t even notice it, and it doesn’t impair the vision of him … at least not from my left eye.
“I’ve missed you so fucking much. Take me home. Fuck me stupid. Make me all yours again.”
“As you wish, darling dear, but you never stopped being mine.” I close my eyes, so I can feel our hearts beat together, enjoying the simple pleasures of Logan’s hallmarks—his scent, the sound of his breath, the energy pouring from him—swaying with him. My inner world spins, righting its axis.
Right here, with him—this is where I’m meant to be.
“Mr. Elkington? Should we assume you want to proceed with, um?—”
“Logan. His name is Logan.” I set Logan on his feet, and get an idea. If Father wants a spectacle, I’ll give him a spectacle. “Feel like putting on a show, baby?”
“I just came from watching an entire period of hockey with your father after having to listen to his bullshit parenting ideologies. Yes. A thousand times yes, let’s do it.”
It won’t be a real marriage, but good practice for when we do, which I hope I won’t have to wait much longer for. I nod to the man. “Go ahead.”
Jack hands his microphone to Logan and leaves the ice to stand just outside of the boards. The arena hushes. I clasp Logan’s hands and stare into his blue-gray eyes. I’m decked out in all my hockey gear, and he’s wearing a suit that’s at least three sizes too big. Is that…? Pretty sure that’s one of Jack’s suits.
A woman presents me with a pillow holding two rings. I don’t want to use those rings, even for a fake ceremony, but I need something … got it. I tear off the suit jacket and replace it with my hockey jersey.
“This smells like ass, Elkington. You’re lucky I’ve been through too much missing-you trauma to take it off.”
Is love a drug? Because I’m high on it. Everything he says right now is endearing, but I know that can’t be. I brush the hair off his face.
“I love you, Logan.”
“I know.”
The man—who might as well be invisible—clears his throat. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I have something after this, and I’d like to get on with it. If you could repeat these words, Mr. Elkington.”
“I, Rhett Elkington, take you, Logan Wescott, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, I promise to love and cherish you.”
I say it all, even though we’ll never be poor. Logan smirks as if he knows what I’m thinking. He probably does.
“Your turn, Logan,” the man prompts.
“I, Logan Wescott, take you, Rhett Elkington, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, I promise to love and cherish you.”
“Anything else you two want to say?” the man says, his exhaustion with this whole thing clear by his tone.
“Us against the world?” he says, holding out his pinky.
I clasp it with my much larger one. “Us against the world.”
“Good. Then by the powers invested in me by the Province of British Columbia, I pronounce you husband and husband. Go on, kiss him.”
Finally. My palm plants firmly against his upper back and I dip him, crushing my lips to his, pushing my tongue past his teeth.
The arena fills with uproarious cheering and with thousands of phones pointed in our direction. This will be everywhere.
“Just need you to sign here for me, Mr. and Mr. Elkington,” he says.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” I say, unable to take my eyes off my “husband”. I sign my name and Logan signs his as part of the show while rabid fans throw hats, flowers, and game towels onto the ice.
Logan frowns at his signature.
“Sorry, Mr. Elkington,” our officiant says to Logan. God, I love the sound of him being Mr. Elkington. Maybe that will be my new nickname for him even after tonight ends. “It says Jack’s name because … well we must have been mistaken. But Rhett here’s the mayor’s son. I’ll get City Hall to fix it right up.”
