21. ZARA
ZARA
Pretty Damn Good Team
Yesterday was… wonderful. It brought Jaxon and me closer.
For a while, it almost felt like we were a real couple. Every time that thought crossed my mind, I told myself not to read too much into it.
But lying in bed last night, alone with my thoughts, I couldn’t ignore the truth. Somewhere along the way, I’d fallen—completely—for my fake husband. My boss.
Had I imagined the way his gaze softened when he looked at me?
I don’t know.
Either way, that quiet, easy feeling is gone today.
An email from Jaxon’s lawyer, waiting for me first thing this morning, replaces it with something sharper. Urgency.
I’ve spread every document across the dining table, trying to make sense of it all.
I trace my finger down the legal brief, highlighting key phrases with a yellow marker.
Stability of home environment.
Primary caregiver assessment.
Character witnesses.
Each term carries weight, each one a brick in the wall we are building to protect Lily.
From down the hall, I hear her laugh—bright and uncomplicated, the sound of a six-year-old who doesn't understand what the adults around her are fighting for.
Mrs. Henriksen's voice murmurs something in response, probably negotiating the great maple syrup debate that has become a morning ritual.
My phone buzzes. Talia's name lights up the screen.
Talia:
Heard about the hearing. The wives are with you. Whatever you need.
I type back quickly.
Me:
Thank you. That means everything.
Another buzz. This time from Danny.
Danny:
You okay? How was the wedding night? *wink, wink*
I set the phone face-down. Danny will have to wait.
Right now, I need to focus on the task list growing in my notebook: affidavits from colleagues, PR strategy confirmation with Simone, testimony preparation with Jaxon's attorney.
Each item feels like a small battle in a larger war I'd never expected to fight.
But here I am. Fighting anyway.
The scent of brewing coffee mingles with something sweeter—Lily must have convinced Mrs. Henriksen to make pancakes.
I hear the clatter of dishes, the pad of small feet against hardwood, and then a flash of movement as Lily appears in the doorway.
"Zara, are you doing homework?"
I smile, capping my highlighter. "Grown-up homework. Very boring."
"That's silly. Grown-ups don't have homework." She climbs onto the chair beside me, peering at the papers with undisguised curiosity. "What are all these words?"
"Important stuff for your dad." I smooth a hand over her hair, still sleep-tangled despite Mrs. Henriksen's best efforts. "Nothing you need to worry about."
Lily considers this, her expression grave. "Is it about the court place? Daddy said I might have to talk to someone there."
My chest tightens. "Maybe. But if you do, all you have to do is tell the truth. That's it."
"The truth about what?"
"About what makes you happy. Who takes care of you. What your life is like." I tuck a curl behind her ear. "Easy stuff."
She nods slowly, seeming to accept this. "I'd tell them about you. How you make the best grilled cheese and know all the words to the dragon song and don't get mad when I accidentally use too much glitter."
I swallow past the sudden thickness in my throat. "That's—yeah. That's good."
"And Daddy. How he reads me stories even when he's tired and always checks for monsters even though he says monsters aren't real." She pauses. "And how he smiles more now that you're here."
Before I can respond, Mrs. Henriksen calls from the kitchen.
Lily hops down, already distracted by the promise of breakfast, leaving me alone with the documents and the echo of her words.
He smiles more now that you're here.
I press my palms flat against the table, steadying myself. This isn't supposed to be complicated.
I am here for a job—a job that has evolved into something stranger, something that involves fake marriages and real feelings and a little girl who has somehow carved out space in my heart without asking permission.
My phone rings, and it’s Danny.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Zara.”
His voice is… off.
My stomach tightens immediately. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says quickly. “I just—did you do something?”
“What do you mean?” I ask slowly, already bracing myself.
There’s a pause on the other end. Like he’s trying to figure out how to say it.
“My student account,” he says. “I logged in this morning because I had to check something for registration.”
Another pause.
“And?”
“And it says my balance is zero.”
My breath catches.
“What?”
“Zero,” he repeats. “Like—completely paid off. All of it.”
I sit up straighter on the couch. “That’s… that’s not possible.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says, a shaky laugh slipping through. “So I checked again. And again. And then I called the finance office.”
My heart is starting to pound now.
“What did they say?”
“That it was paid in full yesterday afternoon,” he says. “Single transaction.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I murmur.
“Zara,” he says, more firmly now. “Did you do this?”
“No,” I say immediately.
Because I didn’t. I haven’t received the agreed-upon amount from Jaxon. It would look suspicious if anyone took a closer look. I don’t even have the money.
“Are you sure?” he presses. “Because you know you can tell me. If you did, I at least want to know.”
“I didn’t do this,” I repeat, slower this time.
There’s a silence on the line. “Then who did?” he asks.
I open my mouth to say I have no idea, but then I close it again.
Because I do have an idea.
“Zara?” Danny says.
I press my fingers to my temple, my pulse suddenly too loud in my ears.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
“Zara, what?” His voice sharpens. “Do you know something?”
I do. I know exactly what must have happened.
“Zara.”
I swallow.
“It wasn’t me,” I say again, because it’s the truth.
“Then who—”
“I have to go,” I cut in.
“What? No, you don’t just—Zara, you need to tell me what’s going on—”
“I’ll call you back,” I say, already pushing to my feet.
I hang up before he can argue.
My heart is racing now, my thoughts tripping over each other.
He did this. Jaxon did this.
There’s no one else who could have. No one else who would have.
One hundred sixty thousand dollars.
Paid off like it’s nothing.
“Jaxon Halberg,” I murmur under my breath.
This man. This impossible, infuriating—
The front door opens.
Jaxon's voice carries from the entryway, low and tired, followed by the thud of his bag hitting the floor.
He has been at an early practice, up before dawn to run drills with the team before the day's real chaos begins.
“Zara?” he calls.
I’m already moving.
I round the corner into the hallway just as he straightens, shrugging out of his jacket. His hair is still damp, his T-shirt clinging slightly to his shoulders.
He looks up, sees my face, and immediately goes still.
“What happened?” he asks, alert in an instant.
I stop a few feet in front of him.
For a second, I just look at him.
Because I don’t know where to start.
“You paid it off,” I say.
His expression doesn’t change.
“Zara—”
“You paid off Danny’s loans,” I repeat, my voice thinner now.
There’s a beat. Then he exhales slowly.
“Yeah,” he says.
Something inside me twists.
“Jax,” I breathe, shaking my head slightly. “Why would you—” I break off, pressing a hand to my chest as my emotions scatter in every direction. “Why would you do that without even talking to me?”
His jaw tightens slightly.
“Because if I’d asked,” he says quietly, “you would’ve said no.”
I blink. Because he’s right. I would have.
I let out a shaky breath, dragging a hand through my hair.
“That’s not the point,” I say, even though it kind of is.
“It is the point,” he counters, his voice still calm but firmer now. “You’ve been carrying that on your own. You shouldn’t have to.”
“It’s not yours to fix,” I shoot back.
His eyes flash, just briefly. “I told you. You’re mine to take care of.”
God. Part of me wants to believe that.
My throat tightens painfully, and I think about the fact that he chose to spend his money on something that matters to me. He’s not someone who makes decisions lightly. I know that.
I press my lips together, trying to hold back the emotions threatening to choke me.
I shake my head, tears finally slipping free.
“This is too much,” I whisper.
His gaze drops to my face, to the tears, and something in him shifts.
“Hey,” he says, softer now.
He closes the distance, his hand coming up to cup my cheek.
I don’t pull away. I can’t.
“It’s not too much,” he murmurs. “Not for me.”
“It is for me,” I say, my voice breaking. “No one’s ever—no one just does something like that for me, Jax.”
His thumb brushes lightly under my eye, catching a tear.
“Well,” he says quietly, “get used to it.”
A laugh breaks out of me, wet and unsteady.
I shake my head again, then—without thinking—I step into him.
My arms wrap around his waist, holding on. Tight.
He exhales softly, like he’s been waiting for that, and his arms come around me immediately, pulling me closer.
“I don’t even know how to thank you,” I mumble against his chest.
“You don’t have to,” he says.
“I do,” I insist, tightening my grip just slightly. “You just… you changed everything for him.”
“I did it for you,” he says. “And you’re welcome.”
And the way he says it, like it was never even a question, does something dangerous to my heart.
For a moment, we just stand there, holding each other.
Finally, I pull back just enough to look at him. “We should probably talk about the court case, huh? Your attorney wants to do a video prep session this afternoon. Testimony rehearsal.”
“We can use the conference room at the arena,” he says. “Quieter than here.”
"Works for me."
He straightens, but his hand remains on my shoulder, thumb brushing absently against the curve of my neck.
"Lily asked about the court this morning." I turn to face him, watching his expression shift. "She said if anyone asks, she'll tell them about grilled cheese and glitter."
Something flickers in his eyes—fear, maybe, or something softer. "She shouldn't have to deal with any of this."
"No. But she's handling it better than we are." I reach up, covering his hand with mine. "She's resilient. You raised her that way."
I break eye contact first, gathering the papers into a neat stack. "We should get moving. Long day ahead."
***
The arena's conference room smells like stale coffee and dry-erase markers, but it's private—tucked away from the media circus that seems to follow Jaxon everywhere these days.
I've set up my laptop at one end of the table, the attorney's face filling the screen, while Jaxon paces near the windows.
"Describe your role in Lily's life," Rebecca Sullivan says, her voice crisp through the speakers.
She is silver-haired and sharp-eyed, the kind of woman who has probably never lost a case and doesn't intend to start now.
I straighten in my chair. "I'm her primary caregiver during Jaxon's work hours. I handle school pickup, meals, activities, homework. I'm there when she wakes up and when she goes to bed."
"And beyond the logistics?"
I pause, thinking. "She trusts me. When she's scared or confused, she comes to me. When she needs help with something—tying her shoes, understanding why the sky is blue, figuring out friendship drama with her classmates—I'm the one she asks."
I glance at Jaxon, who has stopped pacing to watch. "My presence brings stability, I think. A home filled with consistency and support."
Rebecca nods, making notes. "Good. Specific and emotionally resonant without being saccharine. Now, opposing counsel will likely challenge the legitimacy of your relationship with Mr. Halberg. They'll suggest it's a manufactured arrangement designed to influence the court."
“It’s not manufactured.” The words come out sharper than I intend. “We’ve built a real connection. The stability in this household—the way Lily has flourished—that’s not something you can fake.”
"Excellent." Rebecca's pen taps against her notepad. "Maintain that conviction. Judges can smell insincerity a mile away."
We run through a dozen more scenarios—questions about my background, my qualifications, my intentions for the future.
Jaxon jumps in occasionally, his responses measured and precise, the coach in him emerging whenever strategy is discussed.
I notice how he defers to me on matters related to Lily's daily care, how he references specific moments I've shared with his daughter as evidence of our bond.
"One more," Rebecca says. "They may ask about the intimate nature of your relationship. Whether it predated the employment arrangement."
My stomach drops. Beside me, Jaxon goes very still.
"We don't have to answer that," I say carefully.
"You don't. But evasion can be interpreted as guilt. Better to address it head-on." Rebecca's gaze, even through the screen, is unflinching. "What's your answer?"
I look at Jaxon. He looks back at me.
"Our relationship developed naturally," he says, his voice steady. "Whatever existed before the formal arrangement evolved into something deeper through shared experience. Through taking care of Lily together. That's the truth."
Rebecca nods slowly. "Keep it vague on timing. Emphasize the evolution, not the origin. Anything else?"
We wrap the session with action items—documents to gather, character references to line up, media statements to approve.
By the time Rebecca signs off, my shoulders ache from tension and my jaw hurts from clenching.
Jaxon closes the laptop, the room falling silent except for the distant echo of hockey sticks against ice somewhere in the arena.
"She's good," I say finally. "The attorney."
"She's expensive."
"Same thing, usually."
He almost smiles. "Nate texted during the session. Practice went well. Morrison's looking sharp."
"Good." I stand, stretching muscles that have gone stiff. "The team needs to stay focused. Playoffs are coming."
He huffs out a quiet breath, like that’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Look at you,” he says, his voice low with amusement. “Finally learning about hockey.”
I shoot him a look. “Excuse you. I’ve been studying.”
“Have you?” His brow lifts, clearly entertained.
“Yes.” I cross my arms, lifting my chin. “I know what a power play is now.”
“That’s impressive,” he says dryly.
“And icing,” I add, just to prove a point.
That actually gets a reaction. He pauses, looking at me like he’s reassessing something.
“Okay,” he admits slowly. “I’m a little impressed.”
I grin. “Thank you.”
He shakes his head, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Lily’s influence?”
“Partly,” I say. “She takes her hockey education very seriously.”
“She does,” he agrees, softer now.
There’s something in his expression that makes my chest tighten.
“Looks like I made the right call,” he murmurs.
I frown slightly. “What call?”
His eyes flick between mine, something unreadable passing through them.
“Bringing you into this,” he says. A beat. Then, quieter—more deliberate—“You and me.”
He studies me for a second, like he’s weighing something.
My breath catches.
“I think we make a pretty damn good team,” he says, voice low and sure.