Page 62 of The Hockey Contract

The tension ratcheted up when Nancy inevitably steered the conversation toward our relationship.

"So tell us how you two met," she said, eyes bright with curiosity. "Jackson's been frustratingly vague about the details."

Jax and I exchanged a glance before launching into our rehearsed story about the coffee spill, the viral video, and subsequent meetings at the bakery. We'd practiced this narrative multiple times, but under Robert's scrutinizing gaze, I found myself elaborating more than planned, adding specific details about Jax's regular orders and our conversations.

"He pretended to be interested in trying different pastries, but I could tell he really just wanted to talk," I said, the words flowing naturally despite being largely fiction. "He'd ask about baking techniques, the history of the bakery, my grandmother's recipes..."

"Jackson? Asking questions about baking?" Robert's skepticism was palpable. "That doesn't sound like him."

"People change, Dad," Jax said quietly, a rare challenge in his voice.

I reached for his hand on the table, the gesture partly for show but also offering genuine support. "Jax has been incredibly supportive of the bakery. He's even learned some basic techniques."

"He made excellent chocolate chip cookies last week," I added, sharing a real memory to ground our fabricated relationship. "Though he's still a disaster with pie crust."

"Too impatient," Jax agreed, playing along with a small smile. "Sienna says I overwork the dough."

"You do. Every time."

The moment felt surprisingly genuine, our shared experiences—real and invented—creating an authentic connection that seemed to satisfy Nancy, though Robert still watched with calculating eyes.

"And what made you decide to get married so quickly?" he asked bluntly. "You've known each other, what, a few weeks? Seems rushed."

The direct question created a momentary panic. Our prepared answer about "knowing it was right" suddenly felt flimsy under Robert's intense scrutiny.

"When something feels right, why wait?" I said, squeezing Jax's hand. "Life is unpredictable. My grandmother always said happiness should be seized when found, not questioned and analyzed until it slips away."

"The way Jax helped me during a difficult time with the bakery, how he listens when I talk about my dreams for the business, the way he's welcomed Sprinkles despite not being a dog person initially—these things showed me his character. That's what matters, not some arbitrary timeline."

The table fell silent, and I worried I'd overstepped or said something unconvincing. Then Nancy reached across to pat my hand, her eyes suspiciously moist.

"That's beautiful, dear. And absolutely right." She gave her husband a pointed look. "Isn't it, Robert?"

He nodded grudgingly, though his expression remained skeptical.

After dinner, while Jax and his father discussed the endorsement deal in the living room, Nancy helped me clean up, insisting it would give us "girl time." As we worked side by side, she shared stories about Jax's childhood—his determination to master skating before he could properly walk, his methodical approach to everything from homework to hockey practice.

"He was such an affectionate child, you know," she said wistfully, handing me a plate to dry. "Always hugging, always wanting to be close. Then something changed in junior hockey." She sighed. "The coaches, the pressure—they convinced him showing emotion was weakness, that the 'Ice Man' persona was strength."

I thought about Jax—his carefully maintained reserve, the rare moments his guard dropped. "He's not always so guarded," I offered. "Not with me."

Nancy studied me with surprising intensity. "I can tell. The way he looks at you, Sienna... I've never seen him look at anyone like that."

Her words created a flutter of panic. Was our performance that convincing, or was there something real that even Jax's mother could perceive? Before I could formulate a response, she continued.

"It worried me when he called about the sudden marriage. Jackson doesn't do impulsive." She dried her hands on a towel, her expression serious. "But seeing you together, I understand now. You balance him. Bring warmth to his structure, softness to his edges."

Guilt twisted in my stomach at her genuine happiness. "He's changed me too," I said quietly, the admission more honest than I'd intended. "Helped me be more confident in my decisions, more focused on the bakery's future."

Nancy squeezed my hand. "That's what partnership should be. Growth together."

Later that night, sharing Jax's bed, I lay rigid beside him. The day's performances and half-truths weighed heavily, along with Nancy's observations about her son's feelings—feelings I was increasingly uncertain were entirely feigned.

"You were good today," Jax whispered in the darkness, his voice startlingly close. "With my parents. Especially my dad."

"He's tough," I whispered back. "Very protective of you."

"Always has been. Everything I do reflects on him, in his mind." Jax's voice carried an old hurt. "Hockey especially."

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