Page 305 of Wild Card 13

Then Alois.

“I’ll keep this short,” Ezra began, which earned a soft ripple of laughter because everyone knew my father considered brevity a virtue and speeches a necessary evil. “I have spent a long time in this business watching people become who they are under pressure. Pressure reveals character. Sometimes it reveals problems.” Another small wave of laughter, quieter this time. “Sometimes it reveals the people you would trust with the things that matter most.”

Bea’s eyes had already gone shiny.

Alois held her hand on the table.

“When Bea came into this organization, she did not ask to be protected from hard rooms. She walked into them prepared. She earned trust the difficult way. Not because it was handed to her. Because she kept showing up.”

The bookmark under my thumb felt suddenly impossible to hold.

Ezra turned slightly toward Alois.

“And Alois, you have spent years being known for what you can survive. Tonight, I think everyone in this room gets to see something better. What you were brave enough to choose.”

Alois looked down.

Bea squeezed his hand.

Ezra lifted his glass.

“Family is not always who you are born to. Sometimes it is who stands beside you when life gets complicated. Sometimes it is who sees the worst parts of the road and chooses to keep walking with you anyway.” His voice roughened, just barely. “To Bea and Alois. To the family they found. To the family they are building. And to love that keeps showing up.”

Glasses lifted around the room. “To Bea and Alois,” everyone said.

My father sat down.

Short and sweet, exactly as promised. Devastating anyway.

The night loosened after that, as if everyone had collectively decided the emotional damage portion had been fulfilled and it was time to let the hockey players near dessert.

That was a mistake.

The three-tier ivory cake was elegant and perfect and very Bea.

The groom’s cake was a hockey helmet. A stunningly accurate hockey helmet, complete with details so precise half the roster gathered around it like scouts reviewing game footage.

Alois stared at it in silence. Then looked at Lo.

Lo lifted her champagne glass. “It’s art,” she said.

Bobby took approximately one hundred pictures.

Zee asked if the cake was regulation size.

Buzz leaned close enough for me to hear him say, “I give it ten minutes before someone tries to put it on.”

I looked at him over my champagne. “Five.”

His eyes warmed. “You’re probably right.”

We were careful all night.

We talked in small spurts, in jokes passed over flowers and glassware, in glances that landed and lifted before they could become too much.

It made me want to run and step closer at the same time.

Eventually the formal parts of the night blurred into music and motion. The room became less ceremony and more celebration. Jackets came off. Heels disappeared under tables. Someone started a debate about whether tater tots counted as a vegetable if served at a wedding. Vivienne declared late-night food seven minutes behind schedule with the air of someone announcing a national emergency.