When I had the accident this year, I was mopey and bitchy and taking it out on the people around me. My dad told me I should probably start eating weed brownies and appreciate the fact that my injuries weren’t more serious and I’d still have a career when I recovered. Weed brownies aside, he was right, as he often is.

When I was struggling to get Violet to agree to a wedding date and moaning over how much she worked, my dad gently suggested I reevaluate my life goals and what was important to me. Money might buy me comfort, but it sure as hell wasn’t going to buy me another Violet if I drove her insane with the wedding crap or made her feel like her career wasn’t important. Again, he was right.

And when my sister surprised us all with the pregnancy, my dad was the one to point out that of all the people in our family, Sunny was the most equipped to deal with babies, because she’d grown up in a house with two of them—me and him—and two dogs. And he was right, even though I hated to admit it.

But all that aside, right now I’m annoyed with him. He’s not sensing the urgency. We have suits sorted out, and we have rings. I’m having custom ones made when we get home, but the simple ones we got will work for now—I just want to put a ring on Violet. So she’s mine. Forever. And not in a possessive, club-her-over-the-head kind of way. Okay, maybe a bit like that, but mostly not.

Mostly I’m excited that she’s finally going to be my wife, and once we’re married I can start arguing my case for a large family.

So the rings are bought and I’ve even managed to set up a nice dinner for all of us after the ceremony. I’ve also called her boss to clear an extended vacation. Tomorrow night we’re flying to Hawaii for two weeks. My plan is to have an absurd amount of sex with my wife. And to relax. And to love her.

But we have two outstanding problems: the venue and my vows. I’ve always planned to write my own, not use the stock crap you repeat after the officiant. I’m not too worried about that, even though I’ve had three beers, and Darren has ordered me another. I know exactly how I feel about Violet, so writing it down shouldn’t be difficult.

That leaves me with the venue. I’ve looked at every twenty-four-hour chapel in a thirty-mile radius of the Strip. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with them, per se. I would just like someone other than an Elvis impersonator to marry us.

My dad doesn’t seem to share my focus on the matter, despite the fact that I’m getting married in less than twenty-four-hours.

“I can do it.” Lance takes another sip of his beer and leans back in his chair until it’s resting on two legs.

Everyone stares at him.

“You can do what?”

“I can officiate the wedding, if you want to see about having it in a real church. I mean, it’s short notice, and I don’t even know if you’ll be able to find a place…or maybe one of these chapels will let me stand in.”

I continue staring at him, unsure if he’s joking or not. I don’t think he is.

“Or not. It was just a thought.” He drains half his beer in a big gulp.

Darren looks up from his phone, which he’s been involved in most of the day. Apparently Charlene has been sending him pictures. “You’re ordained?”

Lance nods, like that’s all the explanation required.

“You’re shitting me, right?” Randy asks the question I don’t.

“Nope.” He shifts around, clearly uncomfortable with the way we’re all gawking at him.

I don’t know what he expected when he dropped that kind of bomb. Lance is the most notorious playboy in the NHL. He has a reputation for taking multiple women to bed. At the same time. Together. All at once. And now he’s telling us he’s an ordained minister?

“So…does that mean you wanted to be a man of the cloth?” I ask.

“A man of the loin cloth!” Miller smacks his thigh.

No one else laughs.

Lance rolls the bottle between his palms. “A friend needed a favor a while back. I got internet certified. But it’s legit.” The phrase comes out sounding distinctly Scottish. “Anyway, the offer is there. Whatever you decide.”

“That would awesome. If we can find a place that will let you do it, and as long as it’s legal and binding.”

“Don’t want yer girl gettin’ away?” Lance laughs.

“Nope.”

We spend the next hour combing the area for churches. It’s not much of a surprise that getting access to one isn’t easy on such short notice, but a sizable donation is always a great incentive to let people have what they want.

We take a trip out to visit the location and make sure what we’re seeing on the internet matches the actual interior. It’s a beautiful church—much nicer than the chapels on the Strip, particularly the ones that have an annulment center next door.

I send the information to Violet, who seems excited by the prospect of a real church, and is as surprised as I was that Lance is ordained.

I get a text from her later informing me that the girls are going to watch beefcakes get naked, and it was her mother’s idea. I’m not surprised. Skye’s a bit of a wild one.

We don’t end up at a strip club, which would’ve been awkward with Sidney and Miller. I’d feel weird looking at naked women with my fiancée’s dad and brother around, step or not. Instead we hit the casino, where girls dance half-naked on little stages anyway, so it’s almost the same thing.