“Something like that,” I answer and get her set up in her room with her favorite stuffed animals and a movie on the iPad—a parenting shortcut I’m not proud of but it’s necessary right now.
“Twenty minutes,” I tell her, kissing the top of her head.
“Okay, Daddy.” She’s already engrossed in the animated bears on the screen, and we both know she has no clue how long twenty minutes are.
When I return to my open-plan living area, Jenna is standing by the glass curtain wall, looking out at the city below. She’s removed her suit jacket, and without it she seems smaller somehow, less armored.
“So,” I say, closing the space between us. “You finally want to tell me what the fuck that was about?”
Jenna turns, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. “I know it was extreme?—”
“Extreme?” I cut her off, keeping my voice low enough that Livy won’t hear. “You told a judge we’re fucking married. This isn’t extreme, Jenna. This is crazy.”
She throws her hands up in the air, the professional facade crumbling completely. “I know. I know it is. But you saw what was happening in there. They werewinning.”
I pace the space between the kitchen island and my couch, running a hand through my buzzcut, wishing for once there was hair I could pull at. “And your solution was to commitperjury?”
“Technically, I never said we werelegallymarried. I said we were ‘recently married.’ The interpretation was theirs.” She looks up at me. “But yes, that’s a thin defense at best.”
I stop pacing and face her. “But why? Why would you risk your career like that? Just days ago, you panicked because you texted me… this doesn’t add up.”
Something shifts in her expression, a vulnerability I haven’t seen before. “Because she was trying to make dinner with a knife, Colton. A six-year-old handled a sharp knife because no one was there to feed her.” Her voice cracks slightly. “And all your ex cares about is how it affects her social media schedule. I kind of… lost it. The case got too personal, I guess… I—I panicked! I was scared we… you might lose her and I just couldn’t let that happen. This was the only way I thought would work.”
The raw honesty in her voice knocks the anger out of me. I sink onto the white counter stool across from her.
“Okay,” I say, exhaling slowly. “Ooookay.”
There’s not more I can say. We’re married. We lied in court. I didn’t correct her. I’m complicit. I could lose Livy. Fuck. Fucking fuck.
“You said it would work,” I say, calm, but I’m anything but calm.
“It… did?” Her voice is thin, and I can’t even look at her face right now. I knew we were kind of losing but this is… this is wild…
“So now we’re married?”
“Well… we need documentation,” she says. “Something that shows we were married before this hearing. Not long before—that would seem too convenient—but recently enough that itexplains why it hasn’t come up yet.” She’s twisting the plastic ring on her finger.
“How do we do that? I’m guessing you don’t have a time machine hidden in that briefcase of yours?”
She almost smiles. “No time machine. But we need someone who can create documents that would pass a cursory inspection. Nothing that would hold up to serious scrutiny—we’re not trying to defraud the government—but enough to convince Mira’s lawyer and the judge that we didn’t just make this up on the spot.”
“And where do we find someone like that?” I ask.
“And that’s where I’m not sure what to do,” she says, hiding her face in her hands. “Fuck, I messed it all up. I’m sorry…”
My phone won’t stop buzzing so I decide to switch it off but once I take it out, I see Ethan called six times. He’s Riley’s PR manager but became something like the assistant director of player relations for the whole team. He’s our fixer. Of course. I think he could help… It’s worth asking. He’s discreet, if nothing else. And he owes me a favor.
“Colton? I’m sorry, okay…” I hear her in the background and realize she must have called my name several times now.
“Sorry, I… I think I have an idea. Someone who could help us…”
Jenna raises an eyebrow. “Then call him. We’re running out of time.”
TWENTY
Colton
Ihear Ethan before I see him—angry footsteps pounding down the hallway outside my apartment like he’s trying to punish the floor. Typical. People call me a grump, but Ethan’s like the king of grumpiness. That guy could give a bear in a traffic jam a run for its money.
