Chapter 6
ROXIE
Imight be able to help you.
The words had flown out of my mouth like they’d been shot from a cannon, and the second Ledger turned back toward me—tired, guarded, beautiful in that frustrating, broody-athlete way—I realized I had absolutely no idea what I was actually offering.
Which was … not ideal.
My heart thudded as he took a few hesitant steps back toward the table, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans like he was afraid they might give away too much. Which, honestly, they probably would. Ledger always fidgeted when he didn’t want anyone to see he was unraveling.
And today? He was coming apart at the seams.
He stopped a few feet from the table, jaw tight. “What do you mean, you might be able to help me?”
Right.
That.
My brain scrambled for something, anything, to buy me time.
“I—just sit.” I gestured to the seat across from mine.
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?”
“Because standing makes you look like you’re about to bolt.”
He didn’t argue, which was alarming in its own right.
Ledger Hayes never did anything simply because I asked him to.
But he lowered himself into the chair slowly, like his body had twice the weight it normally carried.
Even exhausted, he moved with that same controlled strength that always made people stare at him on deck.
And I had a feeling it wasn’t from training. It was from life.
I swallowed hard as I sat down and glanced at the stack of papers I’d been reviewing before he showed up—my annual trust fund disbursement documents. A reminder I was approaching the deadline to submit my notarization.
I’d been staring at it while sipping iced coffee and pretending I still didn’t feel guilty about overhearing Ledger’s conversation outside the Wilson Center earlier in the week.
Remembering Ledger muttering something about “his last real shot” and “I’ll figure it out,” in that tone people use when they’re pretending they aren’t scared.
I wasn’t supposed to hear it. I hadn’t meant to hear it.
But it had burrowed into my mind.
Ledger Hayes—the invincible, infuriating swim god—was falling apart. And he’d been trying so hard to hide it from everyone.
Including me. Especially me.
Now he watched me with those dark, stormy eyes, waiting for an answer I didn’t have.
Well. Not one I could say out loud yet.
I cleared my throat. “Before you walked in, I was going over some paperwork.”
He lifted a brow. “Okay?”
“Financial paperwork,” I added.
His expression shifted to curiosity, suspicion, maybe a flicker of hope he didn’t want to show. “Good for you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be smug. It’s not a contest.”
“With you, everything is a contest.”
“That is absolutely not—okay, sometimes,” I said. “But this isn’t one of those moments.”
My fingers brushed the trust fund documents again. Gosh. What was I doing? Why was I even considering this? Ledger and I could barely share oxygen without arguing. Helping him, really helping him, would be the most unhinged idea I’d ever had.
At the same time …
The image of him standing outside the Wilson Center two days ago—panicked, pale, trying to breathe through what sounded like an impending financial collapse—wouldn’t stop replaying in my head.
The image of him just now, looking like someone had wrung all the life out of him, was worse.
I inhaled slowly. “I overheard you the other day.”
His shoulders tensed. “Overheard what?”
“The Wilson Center,” I admitted. “You and Ridge.”
He stared at me, eyes going flat. “You had no right—”
“I know,” I cut in quickly, hands lifting in surrender. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I was just … walking.”
He didn’t soften. “And now what? You think you can swoop in and fix things?”
“No,” I said. “I think I might be able to … offer something.”
His brows drew together, irritation sharpening his features. “Roxie, if this is about charity—”
“Oh, my gosh,” I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It’s not charity.”
“Then what is it?”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
This was wildly stupid. I was wildly stupid. No amount of iced coffee could give me the kind of courage this conversation was going to require.
I glanced down at the trust fund papers again, the line item that spelled out Relationship requirement: Married by age twenty-six to maintain inheritance claim.
I’d ignored that clause for years. I’d railed against it, cursed my grandmother, rolled my eyes at every condescending note from the family attorney reminding me of the deadline.
But the deadline … was in four months.
Four months until I lost access to the trust fund. The one that could pay my looming rent, keep me from having to move back home because I couldn’t make it on my own, and help me build something I could be proud of instead of working a dead end job.
Four months until I had nothing.
Ledger had only days. How many? I wasn’t sure.
I took a breath that barely reached my lungs. “Okay,” I said softly. “Please don’t interrupt until I get this out.”
He blinked, his mouth tightening. “That sounds … ominous.”
“I told you not to interrupt.”
He raised his hands again. “Fine.”
I gripped the edge of the table with both hands to keep myself steady.
“Ledger,” I said. “I think we could help each other.”
His brows shot up. “By doing what? Opening a joint bakery? You don’t even like carbs.”
“I love carbs,” I hissed. “I just can’t eat them before big events. And no, it’s not a bakery.”
He stared at me.
I stared back.
Then the words tumbled out in one uncontrolled exhale: “We could get married.”
Silence.
Absolute, suffocating, world-swallowing silence.
Ledger didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t even twitch.
Then—
“What?” he croaked.
I winced. “I said—”
“I heard what you said,” he snapped, voice cracking halfway through. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Probably,” I admitted. “But hear me out.”
“No,” he said flatly. “No. Absolutely not. That’s—Roxie, that’s insane.”
“Is it?” I demanded. “Because you need financial stability immediately, and I need to be married before I turn twenty-six to avoid losing my trust fund entirely.”
His jaw dropped. “Wait—what?”
“The inheritance clause.” I gestured to the papers. “If I’m not married by twenty-six, the trust dissolves. Every year they remind me. Every year I ignore it. But now …” I swallowed. “… now there’s someone who actually needs the financial access I’d get from it.”
I hesitated, fingers tightening on the edge of the table.
“My grandmother was the one who pushed for the clause. My parents agreed, because of course they did. They always imagined I’d marry some perfect country club clone who golfs on Saturdays and talks mergers over dinner.
The clause was supposed to ‘encourage stability.’” I made air quotes with a bitterness I couldn’t hide.
“Really, it was just their way of boxing me into the life they wanted for me.”
I forced a breath out. “And yeah, helping you would be huge. I know that. But it wouldn’t just be for you.
” My voice dropped, soft but honest. “Access to the trust would give me a chance to actually figure out what I want. Start something of my own. A business. A project. A life that isn’t”—I waved vaguely at the ceiling, meaning the café, the neighborhood, my entire suffocating routine—“this. I hate my job, Ledger. I’ve been stuck for so long trying to make it on my own, and I don’t even know what direction to run in. ”
I met his eyes, heart thundering. “This—marriage, the trust—could give me both: it could help you get out of a mess you don’t deserve and help me finally build something that’s mine.”
He rubbed both hands over his face, almost like he was trying to reset his brain.
“Roxie, no. You can’t—this isn’t—” He looked at the papers again, then back at me.
“You shouldn’t have to fix your family’s control tactics with marriage.
Least of all to me.” His shoulders slumped.
“And you can’t just throw your entire life plan off a cliff because of my mess. ”
“I’m not trying to throw my life off a cliff.” My voice was sharper than I intended. “You’re drowning, and I’m not blind. I see it. I heard it.”
I dragged in a breath, forcing myself to slow down. “I’m not heartless. And I’m not doing this because I’m reckless. I’m doing it because I can help. And it …” My voice softened, the edges still there, the way they always were with him. “It gives me a way out too. So, if we—”
“If we what?” he cut in, the bite unmistakable. “Get married so you can keep your trust fund and I can keep swimming? That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does,” I argued. “Legally, it makes perfect sense. You’d get stability. I’d keep my inheritance. We’d both benefit.”
He stared at me like I’d grown antlers.
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” he muttered.
“Believe it,” I said. “Because I’m serious.”
He shook his head violently. “No. This is too big. Too fast. Too … everything.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “You think I don’t know that? You think I’m not aware of how absolutely unhinged this sounds? But—Ledger, you don’t have time. You said it yourself. It’s only a matter of days.”
His expression flickered. Pain, fear, and something raw.
He looked away, then muttered so quietly I barely heard it, “Fourteen days.”
“Ledger,” I said softly. “Just talk it through with me. Please. Don’t say no without thinking.”
He hesitated.
Then he exhaled.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Hypothetically.”
My heart thumped hard. “Hypothetically,” I echoed.
He dragged a hand down his face again. “What would this even look like?”
My pulse jumped. “Well, first, we’d have to get a marriage license.”
He groaned.
“And then, we’d get married,” I continued, ignoring his dramatics, “I’d have access to my full trust fund allocation, and you’d have stability while you figure out your next move. Rent. Groceries. Lane fees. Training costs.”
“Stop,” he begged. “Please stop listing things. I might throw up.”
I rolled my eyes, but my nerves tightened. “Look, I’m not saying it would be easy. But it could help us both.”
He let out a shaky breath. “Roxie, you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” I said quietly.
He lifted a disbelieving brow.
“I don’t,” I insisted. “You irritate me, sure. You challenge me. You drive me up the wall. But I don’t hate you.”
He studied me for a long moment, and I hated that my pulse jumped the way it always did when he looked at me like that—zeroed in, intense, like I was the only person in the room. “You drive me insane.”
“That’s fair.”
“You’re bossy.”
I nodded. “Accurate.”
“You talk too much.”
I shrugged. “Some people find that charming.”
He didn’t smile.
But something, something small, softened in his eyes.
“And the idea of being married to you,” he said slowly, “is terrifying.”
I swallowed. “Same.”
We sat in silence for a moment.
The café hummed softly around us, with milk frothing, keyboards clicking, and students laughing over group projects. It felt unreal that we were sitting there discussing something as life altering as marriage.
But we were.
Because his desperation was real.
And my deadline was real.
And somehow, the universe had shoved us into each other’s paths again and again until this moment had become inevitable.
“Ledger,” I said softly. “I’m not asking for an answer right now. I’m not even saying this is the right thing to do. I’m just putting it on the table.”
He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the window, where students walked by in little clusters—laughing, living, oblivious.
Then he turned back to me.
“Let me think about it,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper.
My breath left me in a rush. “Okay.”
He stood, shaky and uncertain and probably halfway out the door already, in his mind.
“Roxie.” He paused. “If we do this …”
I looked up.
“This stays between us.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
But even as the word left my mouth, I knew it wasn’t that simple.
There was no universe where we could hide something as massive as marriage from the people closest to us.
Talon would sniff out a lie in minutes. Livvi would take one look at my face and know something was off.
And Ledger … well, Ledger wasn’t exactly subtle when he was stressed.
Still, I understood what he meant. He wanted time. Space. A protective bubble before the world started asking questions neither of us had answers to yet.
He nodded once in return—quick, almost nervous—then turned and walked out the café doors into the fading afternoon light.
And I sat there, staring down at the trust fund paperwork, wondering what the heck I had just started.