Page 100 of Pucking Daddy

A small smile touches her mouth. “I can handle myself, Jaxon.”

“I know,” I say. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to step in.”

Her eyes flick to mine for half a second longer than necessary.

Then she nods. “Got it.”

An hour later, we’re pulling up to the practice facility.

The cold hits me first. Then the cameras.

I step out of the SUV and into a wall of flashing lights, the morning air biting through my jacket like it has something to prove.

Security has cleared a path from the parking structure to the practice facility, but the media has multiplied overnight. Yesterday there were a handful of photographers. Today looks like a goddamn premiere.

"Coach Halberg! Is it true your engagement is a sham?"

"Jaxon! Did you pay Zara Winslow to—"

I keep walking.

Zara's hand finds mine, her fingers threading through with a steadiness that should not surprise me anymore but still does.

She matches my pace without hesitation, chin lifted, shoulders squared. Not hiding. Not cowering.

The woman has spine.

"Did you hire your fiancée for the PR?" The question comes from a guy in a wrinkled blazer who has wedged himself past the security line, recorder thrust toward us like a weapon.

I stop.

Zara's grip tightens on my hand.

Behind us, I hear Jake's low whistle and Nate's muttered curse. Simone is somewhere in the chaos, probably already drafting damage control statements in her head.

The reporter's smirk falters when I turn to face him fully.

"Zara's here for family—not headlines." I keep my voice flat, cold. The same tone I use when a player thinks they can coast through practice. "Next question better be about hockey, or we're done here."

Silence. The kind that presses against eardrums.

Zara steps forward before I can move us along. "I can speak for myself, thanks." She looks directly at the reporter, and something in her expression makes him take a half-step back. "But he's not wrong. I'm here because I choose to be. Because this family matters. Any other questions about my motivations can go through legal."

She turns and walks toward the facility entrance without looking back.

I follow, catching Jake's eye as we pass.

He gives me a slight nod—approval, maybe, or just acknowledgment that the situation is handled. Talia stands beside him, her expression unreadable but her posture protective as she watches Zara disappear through the doors.

Inside, the fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Zara slows once we are out of camera range, and I catch up to her near the hallway leading to the family viewing area.

"Thank you for backing me up." Her voice is quiet but steady. "But I had it."

"I know you did."

"Then why—"

"Because nobody talks to you like that." The words come out rougher than I intend. "Not while I'm standing there."