Page 122 of Pucking Daddy

"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.