Chapter 228: Wedding Preparations

The moment the news of the engagement settled, the wedding talks officially kicked into high gear—and so did the chaos.

I was sitting in the living room with my leg elevated, a fresh hot tea in hand, when the parental alliance officially formed.

My mother came in carrying three different bridal magazines, while Brad McCoy sat across from us with a tablet open to high-end venue listings.

"I just want something small," I said, leaning back into the sofa and looking over at Reid. "A quiet ceremony. Beachside, maybe twenty people max. Just us, the family, and the guys."

Reid didn’t hesitate for a single second. He looked up from where he was sitting on the floor beside my leg, his dark grey eyes softening instantly. "Whatever Kain wants, he gets. Small and quiet works for me."

My mother and Brad exchanged a silent, synchronized look that immediately made my stomach drop.

"Absolutely not," my mother said smoothly, setting down a thick stack of venue brochures on the coffee table. "Kain, sweetie, you two just won the Stanley Cup, retired from the NHL, and broke the entire internet on a live stream. Half the country is waiting to see this wedding. A ’small gathering’ will have paparazzi hiding in the trees with telephoto lenses."

"She’s right," Brad added with a warm, indulgent chuckle. "Besides, Reid... you’re my only child, and Kain is the Captain who brought this entire city a championship. Both families want to celebrate this properly. A lavish wedding isn’t just about the spectacle—it’s about security, comfort, and giving you two the royal treatment you actually deserve."

I looked at Reid, hoping for backup, but he just held up his hands with a lopsided, helpless smirk. "Don’t look at me, Cap. They’ve got a point about the security. Plus... if my dad and your mom want to throw us the grandest party in the country, who am I to stop them?"

I let out a long groan, throwing my hands over my face, though a breathless laugh escaped right after. "So... a lavish wedding it is."

"Wonderful!" my mother beamed, already flipping through flower arrangements. "We start venue inspections next week."

A wedding was fine, but what do I know about preparations?

Reid picked up on my utter cluelessness almost not long after.

Over the next few weeks, as my physical therapy kicked into high gear, the wedding planning transformed into an unstoppable machine. Every afternoon, after I finished grueling sessions of leg raises, resistance bands, and painful joint mobility drills with my specialist, I was greeted by a living room turned command center.

My mom, Brad, and Marina would be buried beneath a mountain of catalogs, samples, and mood boards. Every time they pulled me into the room for my input, my brain completely short-circuited.

"Kain, sweetie, look at these," my mom said one afternoon, holding up four identical-looking squares of fabric. "For the aisle runner, do you prefer winter ivory, eggshell pearl, warm alabaster, or whipped cream satin?"

I stared at the swatches, my eyes literally spiraling into confusion. "Mom... those are all white."

"They are absolutely not all white," Marina cut in smoothly, flicking through a binder thick enough to be a phone book. "Eggshell pearl has a cool pink undertone, which completely clashes with the heavy plush velvet carpet we’re lining the aisle with. We need something that holds up under the venue’s crystal chandeliers without reflecting the flash photography."

"Right... the plush velvet carpet," I echoed numbly, rubbing the back of my neck.

Before I could process the floor, Brad tilted a massive tablet toward my face, displaying a dozens of intricate wood carvings and upholstery swatches. "And for the head table seating, Kain—are we thinking hand-carved mahogany chairs with silver-embroidered damask cushions, or high-backed ivory leather with button-tufted backrests to match the floral arches?"

I blinked, staring at the sheer volume of choices. High-backed leather? Damask cushions? I’d spent my entire life sitting on hard wooden benches in ice rinks, surrounded by sweaty gear, metal lockers, and the sharp scent of cold arena air.

I was an omega, sure, but I’d grown up entirely in an Alpha-dominated sports world. I knew how to call tactical plays under high pressure, how to read an opponent’s defense in a split second, and how to take a hit against the boards.

Color palettes, cake architecture, and floral arrangements were way beyond my comprehension.

"And then there’s the cake," my mom chimed in, pointing to a five-tier sketch that looked more like an expensive skyscraper than food. "Six tiers or seven? Vanilla bean buttercream with lemon-lavender curd, or dark chocolate ganache with wild raspberry preserve? And should the sugar lace details match the pattern on the table napkins or the motif on the invitations?"

The words began to blend together into a dizzying wall of noise. Lemon curd? Sugar lace? Damask? I felt a sudden headache creeping behind my eyes, completely overwhelmed by the sheer scale of choices for a single day.

I looked down at the tiny square of ’whipped cream satin’ in my hand like it was a foreign object, totally out of my depth.

Reid, who had been sitting quietly on the sofa beside my elevated leg, let out a low, warm chuckle. He reached over, taking the fabric swatch out of my frozen fingers and tossing it gently back onto the table.

"Alright, that’s enough for today," Reid said smoothly, his deep voice slicing through the chaos as he leaned into my space. He wrapped his uninjured arm around my shoulders, drawing me against his side while his grey eyes softened, looking down at me with pure, protective affection.

"Reid..." I muttered, resting my forehead against his collarbone with a heavy sigh. "I don’t know what alabaster is."

"I know, Kain," Reid whispered, a low, reverent laugh rumbling through his chest. He pressed a warm, lingering kiss to the side of my head, his fingers lacing through mine where our hands rested over my stomach. "You don’t need to know. Leave the carpets, the cake tiers, and the chairs to them."

"Are you sure?" I asked, looking up at him, feeling slightly guilty for being so useless at something that was supposed to be our big day. "It feels like I’m completely checking out."

"You’re not checking out, you’re recovering," Reid murmured, his thumb soothingly tracing the band on my ring finger. "Your only job right now is to focus on your rehab, keep your strength up for our baby, and just let them build a day worthy of you. You just have to show up, look incredible, and say ’I do’."

I let out a long, relieved breath, closing my eyes as the overwhelming wave of options finally receded, entirely content to leave the grand preparations in their hands while I focused on healing.