Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
Jenna
Iwatch from the doorway as Colton tucks the blanket around Livy’s small shoulders, his massive hockey player hands suddenly gentle as they smooth her baby hairs away from her forehead.
He murmurs something in Russian that sounds like a lullaby, and she blinks up at him with those solemn blue eyes before they flutter closed.
Something twists in my chest. This isn’t my life.
And yet here I stand, intruding on it, a spectator to the kind of moment I’ve never experienced in my own family.
I would have loved to have a father like him…
Colton rises from the edge of the bed with surprising grace for someone his size.
He adjusts the night light—a small glowing red hockey puck that casts soft pink shadows across the room—before turning toward me.
I step back into the hallway, suddenly self-conscious about watching them like this. Heat creeps into my cheeks.
“She’s out,” he whispers, pulling Livy’s door mostly closed but leaving a crack. “Once she’s asleep, she’s out for the night. She loves Rory, but he’s just as energetic as she is, so they usually wear each other out. Which is good for a parent I guess.”
He scratches his neck, grinning oddly as if he didn’t want to talk this much.
I just nod, unsure what to say.
We move in awkward tandem toward the kitchen, our socks silent against the hardwood floors.
His apartment is nice—nicer than I expected—with clean lines and comfortable furniture that somehow accommodates both his imposing frame and Livy’s small one.
The kitchen is modern but lived-in, with crayon drawings magnetized to the refrigerator and a step stool pushed against the counter where Livy obviously helps with cooking.
While Colton busies himself making tea, I spread my legal paperwork across his kitchen table.
It feels strange, transforming this domestic space into a makeshift law office, but the case can’t wait until morning.
The documents blur slightly as fatigue catches up with me.
It’s been a long day—okay, a long week—and living with Colton wasn’t exactly in my five-year career plan.
Neither was leaving Matthew, but here we are.
“You know there’s a big office in the back, right?” Colton says, his voice a little rougher than usual—tired, maybe.
“You can use it as yours. You’ll need the space.”
I glance up from the stack of papers in front of me.
Right now, all my stuff is shoved into what I think is supposed to be his gym. Or was. At the moment it’s just… boxes. Everywhere. Half-open, half-ignored, very much judging me for not unpacking them yet.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t want to take over your entire apartment.”
“Jenna.” He says my name like I’m being unreasonable. “I don’t need the office. It’s yours. Really.”
I blink at him. “That’s… a lot.”
“I want you to feel at home,” he adds. “It’s your place too. Take whatever you need.”
And there it is—that moment when even he seems to realize what he just said. Whatever you need.
Because this apartment is… ridiculous.
Huge. Like, unnecessarily huge. Two bathrooms, separate ones, which feel like a luxury I’m not emotionally prepared for.
Four bedrooms. A living room that could probably host a small conference.
A gym. An office. A literal party room (still unclear, slightly concerned).
And the terrace…don’t even get me started on the terrace.
It’s basically a scenic overlook of the entire city, complete with an infinity pool.
It’s the kind of place that doesn’t feel real.
“Only if you really don’t need it,” I say finally—a little softer—straightening the pile of affidavits in front of me so I have something to do with my hands.
“Most of my work stuff is at the office anyway. I just… sometimes need to finish things at home.” Especially when I don’t use my free time to work because I spend time with Livy and him.
I never really had a life outside of work.
At least… I can’t remember the last time I did.
It was always the same. Work, go home, keep working, then fall into bed with some TV show playing in the background. Once a week I see Isla. Or my mom. And then it’s back to work again.
That’s it.
But this weekend…
This weekend feels different. Easy. Light. Like I accidentally stepped into a version of my life where things don’t revolve around deadlines and exhaustion.
Like I had something real.
Except I don’t.
None of this is mine.
It’s just… pretend.
I glance up at him.
“It would be nice. The office,” I admit. “But it’s not necessary.”
For a moment, he hovers, uncertain, like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself in his own kitchen.
It’s odd seeing him like this. He’s nothing like the imposing teenager who used to tower over me in the high school hallways.
Nothing like the ruthless athlete whose body checks make highlight reels.
Finally, he pulls out the chair across from me and sits.
His fingers trace invisible patterns on the wooden tabletop.
“No, it’s fine, really,” he says. “This stuff shouldn’t be out here where Livy can spill something on it. You need a place to work. I don’t.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he keeps going.
“I just want you to be comfortable here, Jenna.” His voice softens a little. “Don’t… Don’t hold back because of me… Us, okay?”
That lands somewhere I don’t want it to. I swallow and sit down next to him, a little too aware of how close that puts us.
He’s different like this. When it’s just the two of us. Less guarded. Like the version of him everyone else sees is something he puts on, and this—this is what’s underneath. As if he’s kind of shy in public, but not with me.
And annoyingly, something in my chest reacts to it.
Which is a problem.
Because I’m reading into things. I always read into things.
That kiss? He was awkward after. Really awkward. Which probably means he didn’t want it. Or that he regrets it. Or that he sees me as… I don’t know. A friend. A responsibility. Someone who invaded his private life. Definitely not whatever my brain is trying to turn this into.
I need to stop. People being nice to me shouldn’t feel like a life-altering event. This is an arrangement. A mutually beneficial, very logical, arrangement.
That’s it.
“Thank you,” I say, a little more quietly than I intend. “I still feel bad for kind of… pushing you into this.”
His head snaps up immediately. “No. Don’t.
” He swallows. “I’m the one who should be sorry,” he adds.
“For how I acted after. I was just… surprised. That’s all.
You’re doing a lot for us, Jenna. More than I expected anyone ever would.
Nothing’s going to change that. I’ll be forever grateful for you. ”
My chest does that stupid, tight thing again.
I open my mouth to say something—anything—but nothing comes out.
Instead, there’s this sudden burn behind my eyes, and I have a split second to panic because no. Absolutely not. If I start crying right now, I might actually die on the spot.
This is ridiculous.
It’s just a few kind words. That’s it.
So why does it feel like too much?
God. Am I really this starved for kindness? For someone to be… decent?
I press my lips together, trying to get a grip, but the thought lingers anyway.
Matthew really messed with my head didn’t he?
“Seriously,” he continues. “You’re kind of saving us here. Don’t ever think you’re anything less than our hero. And… I’m sorry if I made it weird.”
Okay.
No.
Absolutely not.
The fuzzy feeling needs to leave right now.
I clear my throat, focusing very hard on the papers in front of me.
Because this should be simple.
He’s supposed to be the stereotypical athlete. Straightforward, maybe a little clueless, easy to categorize.
Except he’s not.
Not even close.
“Listen. About Wednesday,” he starts, then clears his throat.
Again. “Are you really okay with picking Livy up from school? You don’t have to, I know we just tell that to the judge, that you want to care for her and stuff.
You don’t have to do it in real life. I will find someone who can.
Maybe Liora. She and Riley helped me a lot before and she has to watch out for Rory, maybe she is willing to—”
“No, it’s more than okay,” I say, looking up from the documents I haven’t even read once since he’s been sitting next to me. “I can pick Livy up from school. What time?”
“Three-thirty. But are you sure? I know you have your own cases, and this is already way beyond what I’m paying you for.” His dark brow furrows.
“It’s fine, really,” I interrupt, surprising myself with how much I mean it. “I don’t mind, and this way the people out there will think our marriage is real. We need that.”
He studies me with those penetrating eyes, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “Why?”
It’s a fair question. Why would I, Jenna Davis—the Iron Lady who charges hundreds an hour and keeps even colleagues at an arm’s length—volunteer to play school pickup for the daughter of a man who made my teenage years miserable?
I set the paper down, buying time to form an answer that won’t reveal too much.
But what comes out is rawer than I wanted it to be.
“Honestly? It gives me something to focus on besides my own mess right now. Breaking up with someone after years together, moving out of our shared apartment... it’s been a lot.
And Livy is—” I hesitate, searching for the right words.
“She’s a good kid. Being around her feels right in a way that drafting motions for millionaires fighting over vacation homes doesn’t.
I already worked my way up, you know. I am where I want to be work wise.
I don’t need to prove myself anymore and maybe starting to get a life, to change my life…
maybe this is what I need. This is the perfect opportunity to try something new. ”
Colton smiles at me. A real smile with teeth and all.