Page 39 of The Hockey Pact

"He's different now," Robert observed, staring into his coffee. "More balanced. That's your influence, I think."

"I don't know about that," I demurred, uncomfortable with the implication. Our arrangement wasn't meant to change each other—just our external circumstances.

"He seems happier," Robert continued. "Less... singular."

"Singular?"

"Caleb's always had laser focus. Great for hockey, not so great for life." Robert shook his head. "I worry about what happens when it ends."

"When what ends?" I asked, though I suspected I knew.

"Hockey. They all retire eventually. The ones who never develop interests beyond the game..." He trailed off, leaving the concern unspoken.

I found myself sharing Caleb's recent enthusiasm for cooking—how he had excellent instincts for flavor combinations, how he'd been experimenting with recipes on off days.

"Really?" Robert looked genuinely surprised. "I never knew that about him."

"He's good at it," I said, warming to the subject. "Patient with the process, which is rare for beginners. And he understands how flavors work together intuitively."

Robert smiled. "Sounds like we've both been underestimating him."

Later that day, I accompanied the Matthews family to the Blizzard's home game against Montreal, sitting in the family section with Katherine while Robert joined some former players in another box.

I'd attended several games since our marriage, but I still wasn't used to the unique stress of watching Caleb on the ice, knowing how much each game meant to him. When he scored in the first period, I jumped to my feet, cheering his name along with thousands of others.

His second goal came in the third period, breaking a tie with less than five minutes remaining. The arena erupted, and Katherine grabbed my arm in excitement.

"That's our boy!" she exclaimed, her pride infectious.

Our boy. The phrase settled in my chest with uncomfortable warmth.

When Montreal's enforcer checked Caleb hard into the boards during the final minutes, I gasped, grabbing Katherine's hand instinctively. He got up slowly but finished his shift, and I didn't breathe properly until he was safely on the bench.

After the Boston Blizzard's victory, we made our way to the players' lounge to wait for Caleb.

When Caleb emerged from the locker room, his hair was still damp from his shower, his eyes immediately finding me in the crowd. His smile at seeing me with his parents seemed genuinely pleased rather than performative.

"Great game, honey," I said, accepting his kiss with an ease that should have alarmed me. "Those goals were incredible."

"Just showing off for my girls," he said, putting an arm around me and his mother.

We celebrated over dinner at a steakhouse near the arena, and I watched Caleb with his family—the subtle competition with his father, the indulgent affection for his mother, his clear delight when his mother and I discovered shared opinions on restaurant management.

This is what real marriage would be, I realized—this integration of lives and histories and families. The thought was both warming and terrifying.

When we said goodbye to his parents at their hotel, Katherine embraced me tightly, whispering how happy she was that Caleb had found someone who understands him so well.

"You're good for each other," she said, pulling back to look at me. "A mother can tell these things."

I swallowed hard, guilt washing over me at the deception. But wasn't it becoming less of a deception every day?

That night, lying awake beside Caleb's sleeping form, I contemplated the implications of developing feelings for my husband. The irony would be amusing if it weren't so potentially devastating. Our contract had no provisions for genuine emotions, no contingencies for hearts exceeding the terms of their agreement.

In few months, our arrangement would end. I would move back to my apartment aboveHat Trick. Caleb would retain his captaincy, probably date again eventually. We would become a story he might tell future girlfriends—the time he married a chef to secure his position.

The thought created a physical ache in my chest.

Rolling onto my side, I studied his profile in the dim light filtering through the curtains. Caleb Matthews—NHL captain, secret culinary enthusiast, the man I'd married for money and was in serious danger of falling in love with.

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