15. ZARA
ZARA
Developing Situation
The phone rings at six in the morning.
Not my alarm—the actual ring, the one that means someone needs something urgently enough to ignore basic human decency about sleep schedules.
I grab it off the nightstand, squinting at the screen. Unknown number with a local area code.
"Hello?"
"Zara? This is Simone Reed, PR director for the Metro Raptors." Her voice is clipped, professional, and wide awake. "I apologize for the early hour, but we have a developing situation."
I sit up, pushing my hair out of my face. The guest room—my room now, I suppose—is still dark, the city lights filtering through the blinds in thin strips. "What kind of situation?"
"A sports blogger has been asking questions about your relationship with Coach Halberg. Nothing's been published yet, but we're monitoring it closely. I wanted to give you advance notice."
My stomach drops. The scandal from the arena has barely settled, and now this. "What kind of questions?"
"Background checks. Employment history. Whether your arrangement is legitimate."
Simone pauses. "I've already briefed Jaxon. We'll handle this from our end, but you should be prepared for potential media approaches. Don't engage with anyone claiming to be press without clearing it through me first."
I rub my eyes. "Understood."
"And Zara? The family day event at the arena this afternoon—it would be beneficial if you attend with Lily. Show a unified front."
After she hangs up, I stare at the ceiling for a long moment.
The custody hearing looming, lawyers circling, now reporters digging into my past. Three weeks ago, my biggest worry had been whether the Henderson twins would finally stop putting crayons in the microwave.
I get up and start my morning routine. Coffee first—always coffee first.
The apartment is quiet, Lily still asleep, and I move through the kitchen with the familiarity that comes from repetition. Same mug, same spot by the window where the light hits just right.
My phone buzzes.
Danny:
Saw your name trending. You okay?
I type back.
Me:
Define okay.
Danny:
Not crying in a bathroom?
Me:
Not yet. Day's young.
Danny:
Call me if you need to. Love you.
I touch the silver heart pendant at my throat—his gift, ten years old now and still the most valuable thing I own.
Me:
Love you too.
By the time Lily stumbles into the kitchen in her dragon pajamas, I have pancakes ready and my game face on.
"Zara!" She climbs onto her stool at the counter, still half-asleep. "Are we doing something fun today?"
"Actually, yes." I slide a plate in front of her, the pancake shaped vaguely like a star. "Your dad's team is having a family day at the arena. Ice skating, games, probably too much sugar."
Her eyes go wide. "Real ice skating? Like Daddy does?"
"Well, hopefully with fewer people trying to knock you down."
She giggles, and something in my chest loosens.
Whatever chaos swirls around the adults in this situation, Lily remains the center of it all. The reason I'd agreed to any of this in the first place.
We spend the morning getting ready—hair braided, warm clothes layered, skates borrowed from a closet that seems to contain every piece of hockey equipment ever manufactured.
Lily chatters the whole time about her friend Maria's hamster and whether dragons can ice skate and why the color purple is objectively the best color.
I listen, ask questions, make appropriate sounds of wonder at her six-year-old logic.
This part comes easy. Kids are predictable in the best way—they want attention, consistency, and someone who takes their concerns seriously. I'd been giving that for a decade.
It’s the adult stuff that makes me want to hide under a blanket.
I still cringe when I think about the moment I leaned in to kiss Jaxon.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
And then he said the worst possible thing: “It wasn’t even a date, Zara.”
Now, as Lily and I enter the arena for family day, I try to push everything else out of my mind and just be present.
I immediately notice how transformed the arena is.
Gone is the serious, high-stakes atmosphere of game night. In its place: streamers, music echoing off the high ceilings, and what looks like half the team’s families milling around on the ice and in the surrounding areas.
Lily grips my hand as we navigate through the crowd. "There's Daddy!"
Jaxon stands near the boards, clipboard in hand, talking with Nate.
He’s in jeans and a Raptors hoodie instead of his usual game-day suit, and the casual look does something annoying to my pulse.
When he spots us, his expression shifts—still guarded, still careful, but something warmer underneath.
"There's my girl." He crouches down as Lily runs to him, scooping her up. "Ready to show everyone your moves?"
"I don't have moves yet," she says seriously. "Zara says we have to learn them first."
"Smart woman." His eyes meet mine over Lily's head. "Thanks for bringing her."
"Simone said it was important."
A muscle in his jaw twitches. "Yeah. She mentioned the call."
Before we can say more, a woman approaches with a warm smile and an extended hand. "You must be Zara. I'm Talia Morrison—Jake's wife."
I recognize the name from Jaxon's roster rundowns.
Jake Morrison, veteran captain, the steady presence that keeps the team grounded.
His wife is young, beautiful, with sharp eyes that miss nothing.
"Nice to meet you." I shake her hand. "Lily's been talking about this all morning."
"The kids go crazy for family day. There's a whole obstacle course set up on the auxiliary rink."
Talia glances at Lily, who is already squirming to get down. "Want me to take her over there while you get settled?"
Lily looks at me for permission. I nod. "Go have fun. I'll come find you."
As Talia leads her away, chattering about which station has the best hot chocolate, I become acutely aware of being left alone in enemy territory.
Not enemy, exactly. But unfamiliar. Exposed.
"Come on." Jaxon's hand brushes my lower back—the same spot from before, the gesture that has become something of a signature. "I'll introduce you to some people."
The next hour is a masterclass in subtle interrogation disguised as friendly conversation.
Wives and girlfriends of players approach with bright smiles and questions that are just pointed enough to feel like tests.
"So you two are dating? How did you meet?"
"Jaxon mentioned you just moved here. Big adjustment?"
"Lily seems attached already. Kids can be such good judges of character."
I answer each one carefully—yes, we met at a bar; yes, huge adjustment; yes, Lily is wonderful. The truth, just not the whole truth.
Jake Morrison's wife reappears halfway through, falling into step beside me as we watch the kids race around the obstacle course. "You're handling this well."
"The questions?"
“The whole thing.” Talia sips her coffee. “This world isn’t easy to navigate. There’s politics, scrutiny… People either crumble under it or turn into someone else.”
“Which one are you?”
She laughs. “I was the former coach’s daughter. Avoided hockey like the plague. Then I met Jake.” She shrugs, a smile tugging at her lips. “Now I love it.”
Her gaze drifts to where Jaxon stands with Jake and a few other players. "He's different with you around. Looser. The guys have noticed."
I don't know what to do with that information, so I file it away and change the subject. "Lily's killing it out there."
"She's got good balance. Must come from somewhere."
We watch as Lily attempts to skate between two cones, wobbles dramatically, and recovers with a triumphant whoop.
My chest aches with something I refuse to name.
After the ice time, everyone migrates to the players' lounge for refreshments.
The space is comfortable—leather couches, a well-stocked snack bar, windows overlooking the empty main rink.
Lily has found a group of other kids and is deeply invested in some game involving toy pucks and imagination.
I settle into a corner with my coffee, content to observe, but Jaxon drops onto the couch beside me.
"You survived."
"Did I pass?"
"With flying colors, according to Talia." He stretches his legs out, and his knee brushes mine. Neither of us moves. "She said you were 'refreshingly genuine.' Her exact words."
"High praise from the queen of hockey wives?"
"She's not—" He catches my smirk and shakes his head. "Yeah, okay. She basically runs the whole WAG infrastructure. If she approves of you, everyone else follows."
I watch Lily across the room, her laughter carrying over the ambient noise. "She's happy here."
"She is." Jaxon's voice softens. "Happier than she's been in a while."
There is weight in those words—history I don't fully know, pain he keeps locked away. I think about Simone's call, about the hearing, about all the ways this could fall apart.
"Can I ask you something?" I keep my eyes on Lily.
"Yeah."
“How did you and your ex-wife end things?”
I feel him go still beside me.
For a second, I think he might not answer.
Then he exhales slowly.
“It wasn’t one moment,” he says. “It was… a lot of small ones that added up.”
That makes sense.
It always is, isn’t it?
“We were never really steady,” he continues. “It was intense. Good, when it was good. But everything felt like it could tip over at any second. And it got worse when Lily was born.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“She struggled,” he says. “Didn’t put it like that, but it was obvious. The responsibility. The routine. Looking back, I think she might’ve had undiagnosed postpartum depression. She never got the help she needed.”
“That sounds hard,” I say quietly.
I don’t miss the way his gaze flicks to Lily before he continues.
“There was a night when Lily was three,” he says. “We fought. Nothing new. But this time… she left. Spent the night with some guy she met at a bar.”
My stomach tightens.
“It was over after that,” he goes on. “She walked out, said she wasn’t cut out for motherhood. And honestly, I was relieved. But for Lily, it was hard. She loves her mom. And she’s been let down by her more than once.”
He drags a hand through his hair.
“I spent the next year rebuilding everything. Our routines. Her trust. My sanity.” His voice hardens slightly.
“That’s why I get so angry about what she’s doing now.
New fiancé with money, new perspective on what she wants—suddenly she’s going for Mom of the Year and trying to take my daughter from me? ” He shakes his head. “No way.”
His gaze drops, then lifts again.
“I want her in Lily’s life,” he adds, quieter now. “Of course I do. But I also want to protect Lily from getting hurt again.”
"Jaxon." I wait until he looks at me. "When I was fourteen, my parents divorced. Ugly, bitter, the kind where lawyers practically move in with you. My mom worked doubles to pay for it all, and I became a parent to my brother overnight."
I touch my pendant again. "Danny was six. Same age as Lily. I know what it costs a kid to be caught in the middle."
His expression shifts—something cracking open behind his eyes. "I didn't know that."
"Not something I advertise." I shrug. "But it's why I do what I do. Why I agreed to this. Kids deserve stability, even when the adults around them can't manage it."
He is watching me differently now. Not guarded. Not careful. Just... seeing.
"I started coaching because I wanted to matter," he says quietly.
"To make something that will last. But somewhere along the way, it became about proving I am not my own father.
" He lets out a breath. "He was in and out of my life until I was ten, then just out.
Foster homes after that. I swear Lily will never feel that uncertainty. "
"She won't." I say it with more certainty than I feel. "Whatever happens with the courts, she knows you're there. She talks about you constantly. 'Daddy does this, Daddy says that.' You're not a ghost to her."
Across the room, Lily looks up and waves at us, grinning. We both wave back.
"There's a charity gala next week," Jaxon says, still watching his daughter. "Black tie, major donors, press coverage. Simone thinks we should attend together."
I stiffen. "Together together?"
"As a couple. Publicly." He finally looks at me. "I know it's a lot. It's not just showing up—it's cameras, questions, performing for people who'll pick apart every detail."
My instinct is to run. I'd spent my career invisible, valuable precisely because I fade into the background of other people's lives.
Stepping into spotlights, onto red carpets, into the scrutiny of people looking for weaknesses—that is the opposite of everything I've built.
But I think about Lily. About the hearing. About Jaxon's face when he talks about foster homes and absent fathers.
"Okay."
He blinks. "Okay?"
"I'll need something to wear." I manage a smile. "And probably a crash course in small talk with billionaires."
"Zara—"
"This is what we agreed to, right? Whatever it takes." I stand, brushing off my jeans. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I promised Lily I'd help her build a pillow fort in the kids' area."
I walk away before he can respond, before I can think too hard about what I've just committed to.
The gala will push me so far outside my comfort zone I'll need a map to find my way back.
But as I kneel beside Lily and start stacking cushions according to her exacting specifications, I catch Jaxon watching us.
Something has shifted between us today—not just attraction or convenience, but understanding. The kind that comes from showing someone the parts of yourself you usually keep hidden.
It should have scared me more than it does.
Later, as the event winds down and families start leaving, Jaxon finds us in the pillow fort. Lily has fallen asleep against my shoulder, worn out from the excitement.
"I've got her." He lifts her carefully, and she mumbles something about dragons before settling against his chest.
We walk to the car in comfortable silence, Lily snoring softly between us.
The day has been a test, and somehow I've passed. But the gala looms ahead—a bigger test, with higher stakes.
"You didn't have to say yes," Jaxon says as he buckles Lily into her car seat.
"I know."
He straightens, standing too close in the parking garage's dim light. "Why did you?"
I think about lying. About giving him some practical answer about contracts and agreements. But after everything we've shared today, that feels wrong.
"Because you asked. Because it matters." I climb into the passenger seat before I can say anything else. "Now take us home, Coach. Your daughter needs her bed."
He rounds the car, and as he slides behind the wheel, I see the ghost of a smile on his face.
Home. I'd called it home.
And the scariest part is how right that has felt.