20. JAXON
JAXON
Not in a Controlling, Possessive Way
She’s looking at the ring, her expression soft.
And I wonder what that look is for.
The simple gold band I picked out late last night and had rushed over this morning?
Or Lily?
Or something else… someone else?
I clear my throat. “I took the day off.”
Her head turns, surprise flashing across her face. “You… what?”
“I took the day off,” I repeat, more evenly. “Cleared my schedule.”
She blinks. “Why?”
Like she expects less of me than that.
The thought irritates me more than it should.
“Because we’re not going home yet,” I say.
Her brows lift slightly. “We’re not?”
I shake my head once. “No.”
A small pause.
Then, slowly, something like curiosity replaces the surprise in her expression. “Okay,” she says. “Now I’m intrigued.”
Good.
We get into the car, and a few minutes later it stops in front of a small café I picked out earlier.
It’s nothing flashy, but it’s the first place that came to mind when I thought about where to take Zara. Cozy, warm—and they have the best croissants in New York.
I step out first, then offer her my hand. I’ll show her, with time, that I know how to treat my wife.
She takes it, and we walk inside together.
The place smells like coffee and fresh pastries.
She looks around, taking it in. “This is… actually really lovely.”
I huff out a quiet breath. “I figured after this morning, we could use somewhere to just… breathe.”
“That’s thoughtful,” she says, her voice soft. “Thank you.”
We sit, and a server approaches. We order coffee, something simple to eat.
When they leave, Zara leans back slightly, studying me. “So,” she says, “husband.”
“Wife,” I return in the same tone.
Her mouth curves faintly. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
Then she asks, “Do you always plan things like this?”
“No.”
“Just for your fake wives?”
My mouth quirks. “Just for you.”
She clears her throat. “So… how are you feeling about everything? The media, the custody battle… and now the wedding?”
I take a moment before answering. “Honestly? I think I feel… good.”
The words surprise me, but they’re true. The future suddenly feels a little less heavy with Zara beside me. With her, I have someone who’ll show up for Lily the way I do. I’m not alone in this anymore.
I meet her gaze. “How do you feel? This is a big step, and I want you to know I’m not taking it lightly.”
She looks down at her hands, her thumb brushing absently over the ring. “It is a lot,” she admits quietly. “I think… I’m still catching up. Yesterday I was your nanny. Today I’m your wife.”
A small, almost disbelieving smile tugs at her mouth. “That’s a pretty big jump.”
“Yeah,” I say, watching her. “It is.”
Her gaze lifts to mine, searching. “I don’t regret it,” she adds quickly. “I want you to know that. I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t mean it.”
Something in my chest eases at that.
“But,” she continues, softer now, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little… overwhelmed.”
I nod slowly. “That’s fair.”
“I know what I asked of you,” I say, my voice quieter now. “And I want you to know you’re not just a means to an end. You’re not just here to fix things for me. Or to make this look good on paper. That’s not how this works.”
Her eyes flicker, something uncertain there.
“Then how does it work?” she asks.
I take a breath.
“You’re my wife now,” I say. The word feels strange and solid all at once. “Which means you’re part of this. Of my life. Of Lily’s life. And that comes with… certain things.”
“Like what?”
“Like the fact that I take care of what’s mine.”
Her eyes widen slightly.
“I don’t mean that in some controlling, possessive way,” I add, because maybe this sounded creepy. “I mean… if you’re in my life, I show up. I make sure you’re okay. I make sure you’re not carrying more than you should.”
She doesn’t speak. So I keep going.
“You’re not going to have to worry about where you stand,” I say. “Or whether you’re supported. Or whether I’m going to leave you to deal with things on your own. That’s not how I operate.”
Her throat moves as she swallows. “That sounds… like a real partnership.”
“And that’s how it should be, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” she agrees softly.
I hold her gaze.
“This situation might’ve started as strategy,” I admit. “But that doesn’t mean I treat it like something disposable. Or temporary in the way it affects you.”
Her fingers tighten slightly in her lap.
“I want you to feel safe with me,” I add, quieter now. “In this… arrangement. With me.”
Something shifts in her expression.
She lets out a small breath. “I already feel safe with you.”
I reach for her hand without really thinking.
She lets me, her fingers curling slightly around mine—warm, real, grounding.
After that, the conversation drifts to her brother, Danny.
“He’s so mad he wasn’t invited to the wedding.”
I raise a brow. “You told him everything?”
“Oh yeah, there’s no way to hide anything from him,” she says with a small groan. “We’re really close. We talk about everything.”
“You mentioned you practically raised him. That can’t have been easy.”
She shrugs, but there’s something heavier beneath it. “It wasn’t. By the time he was old enough to have opinions, I was already the one making sure he got to school, did his homework, ate something that wasn’t cereal.”
“Sounds like a lot of responsibility for someone that age.”
“It was,” she says simply. “Still is, sometimes.”
“Do you still feel responsible for him?”
She lets out a small breath, like the answer is obvious. “Yeah. I do.”
I study her for a second. “Even now?”
“Especially now,” she says quietly.
Something in her tone makes me straighten a little.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
Zara hesitates.
For the first time since this conversation started, she looks like she’s weighing whether to say more.
“Danny’s at university,” she says finally. “Which is great. I’m really proud of him.”
“But?” I prompt.
“But…” She exhales slowly. “It’s expensive. And he’s taken on a lot of student loans.”
I nod. That’s not unusual.
But the way she says it—
“How much is ‘a lot’?” I ask.
She shoots me a quick look, like she already knows I’m not going to like the answer.
“About one hundred sixty thousand left,” she says.
What the—?
“Zara—” I say carefully. “Please tell me you’re not paying down his debt for him.”
She doesn’t answer. Just presses her lips together.
“Zara,” I say again, exasperated.
She sighs, rubbing a hand over her arm. “He’s my brother, Jax. He deserves someone looking out for him. It’s not his fault Mom and Dad can’t.”
My jaw tightens slightly. “I get that. But does he expect that from you?”
“No,” she says immediately. “God, no. He actually hates it when I help. We fight about it all the time.”
I huff out a quiet breath. “At least he’s got some sense.”
“He just… doesn’t want to be a burden,” she says.
“And you don’t want him to struggle,” I counter.
“Exactly.”
Silence settles between us. I lean back slightly, thinking.
“Our contract,” I say slowly. “The marriage…”
Her gaze flicks back to mine, defiant. “I’ll use the money to pay off the debt. All of it.”
I nod once.
Yeah. I figured.
We let the topic drop and shift gears, talking about the families she’s worked for—and somehow, she actually makes me laugh.
She tells me about a five-year-old who insisted on wearing a superhero cape to school every day.
“He refused to take it off,” she says, smiling into her coffee. “The teachers gave up after a week.”
“Sounds like a smart kid.”
“He was impossible,” she corrects. “But also kind of great.”
“You liked him.”
“I like most kids,” she says. Then, after a beat, “But yeah. I liked him.”
I nod.
I tell her about my first year as a coach. The pressure. The mistakes. The nights I didn’t sleep because I couldn’t shut my brain off.
She tilts her head slightly, studying me in that quiet, curious way she has. “What do you prefer? Coaching or playing?”
I lean back a little, exhaling through my nose. “I love both. But playing takes a different toll. I’m glad I got out when I did.”
That feels like a lifetime ago.
Her brows lift slightly. “You make it sound like survival.”
“In some ways, it is.” I glance at her. “You’re in your twenties, making more money than you ever thought you would, playing in front of twenty thousand people every night. Everyone wants something from you—coaches, media, sponsors, fans.”
“And you just… handled that?”
A quiet huff leaves me. “Not always well.”
That gets her attention. “What does that mean?”
I run a hand over my jaw, thinking.
“It means I made mistakes,” I say. “On the ice. Off the ice. You think you’re invincible at that age. Like nothing can touch you.”
“And then?”
“And then something does.”
Her expression softens. “Injury?”
I nod once. “Yeah.”
I don’t go into detail right away, but she doesn’t push. She just waits, giving me the space to get there.
“It wasn’t one big moment,” I say after a second. “Not some dramatic hit that ends everything. It was smaller stuff. Wear and tear. Things not healing right. Playing through pain because that’s what you’re supposed to do.”
“God,” she murmurs. “That sounds brutal.”
“It’s part of it.” I shrug. “But it catches up with you. Eventually your body stops bouncing back the way it used to.”
“And that’s when you stopped?”
“Yeah.” My mouth tightens slightly. “I could’ve pushed longer. A year, maybe two. But I wasn’t the same player anymore. And I knew it.”
“That must’ve been hard,” she says quietly.
I glance at her.
“It was,” I admit. “Hockey was my whole life. Since I was a kid. Every decision, every move—it all led there.”
“And then it just… ended.”
“Not ended,” I correct. “Changed.”
She nods, like she understands—and I think she does.
We order a second coffee, keep talking as we eat.
When she laughs, she tips her head back, her eyes bright.
Something in my chest shifts again.
Christ.
I clear my throat, reaching for my coffee.
“You’re staring,” she says.
“I’m thinking.”
“About?”
I hesitate.
Then, because I’m apparently incapable of filtering myself around her, I say, “That you’re easy to be around when you’re not arguing with me.”
Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
I hold up a hand. “That came out wrong.”
“It really did.”
“I meant—” I exhale. “This. Right now. It’s… good.”
She studies me for a second longer.
Then she leans back slightly. “It is,” she admits.
Yeah. It is.
We leave the café an hour later.
I don’t tell her where we’re going next.
But when we arrive at the small practice rink, it’s quiet. Tucked away—the kind of place used for private ice time and off-hours training.
She slows when we step inside. “Jaxon…”
“Come on,” I say, already moving.
“I don’t skate,” she calls after me.
“You do today.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s not,” I say. “I’ve got you.”
She snorts. “Famous last words.”
I grab a pair of skates for her.
She eyes them like they might attack. “If I die, I’m haunting you.”
“You won’t die.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” I say simply.
She rolls her eyes but takes the skates.
A few minutes later, we’re on the ice.
Or rather—I’m on the ice.
She’s clinging to the barrier like her life depends on it.
“Jaxon,” she says through clenched teeth, “this is a terrible idea.”
“Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You’re gripping the wall like it personally offended you.”
I step closer, placing my hands on her waist.
She stills.
“Let go,” I say quietly.
“Absolutely not.”
“You’re not going to fall.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” I repeat. “Because I’m right here.”
She hesitates.
Then—slowly—her fingers loosen from the barrier.
Her weight shifts straight onto me. Her hands grab my shoulders.
“I hate you,” she mutters.
“No, you don’t.”
“Give it time.”
I almost smile.
I guide her forward, slow, steady. Step by step.
“You’re doing fine,” I say.
She glares at me. “If I face-plant, I’m taking you down with me.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
We move across the ice.
Awkward at first. Then… less so. She starts to relax. Her grip on me loosens. Her steps grow steadier.
“See?” I say. “Told you.”
She huffs. “Don’t get cocky.”
Too late. I’m already enjoying this more than I should.
Twenty minutes later, we end up sitting on the bench.
She’s flushed. Slightly breathless. And smiling.
“I didn’t die,” she says.
“You’re welcome.”
She nudges my shoulder lightly. “Don’t push it.”
I look at her. She looks… happy.
I reach into my jacket.
“Zara.”
She turns her head. “Yeah?”
I hold out a small box.
Her brows draw together. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
She hesitates for half a second, then takes it and lifts the lid.
Inside is a keycard. Simple. Black. Her name engraved on it.
Zara Halberg.
“Jaxon…”
“It’s for the penthouse,” I say. “Full access. I mean, you already have that. But this one isn’t temporary or conditional. It’s yours.”
“I know this isn’t what you planned,” I add. “But I’m not going to let it become something you regret.”
Our eyes meet, and I hold her gaze.
Her lips part slightly. “Jaxon…”
I lift a hand, hesitating for a second before brushing my fingers along her arm.
Then I slide my hand up to her shoulder and pull her in, until she’s right there against me.
Her arms come around my waist, holding me just as tightly.
We’ve been close before—kissed, held hands, had sex—but this hug…
It feels spectacular! It feels right and I don’t want to let go.
Her cheek presses against my chest, and I feel her exhale, the tension leaving her in a quiet release.
My hand comes up to the back of her head, fingers threading lightly through her hair, holding her there.
“You’re not going to regret this,” I murmur into her hair. “I won’t let you.”