Page 40 of The Hockey Pact

What a mess.

Chapter 14: Caleb

I stared at the date on my phone. November 17th. My birthday.

Aging has taken on new significance since entering professional hockey. Each year brings me closer to the inevitable end of my career—a reality every player faces but few discuss openly. Now at thirty-one, I was still in my prime, but the clock was ticking louder with each passing season.

Previous birthdays were often overlooked or celebrated with a team dinner and perfunctory calls from family. I'd never been one for elaborate celebrations.

This morning, however, I woke to the scent of coffee and something cooking. Following the aroma to the kitchen, I found Riley at the counter, focused on creating what appeared to be a substantial breakfast.

She looked up with a bright smile when she noticed me. "Happy birthday! I was hoping to have this done before you woke up."

The kitchen island was already set for two, with fresh flowers and a small wrapped package beside my plate. Looking at the stove, I realized she'd prepared all my favorite breakfast foods, including my mother's Swedish meatballs that I'd mentioned only once in passing.

This thoughtfulness affected me more deeply than I wanted to admit.

"How did you know?" I finally asked, accepting the mug of coffee she handed me.

"That it's your birthday? I have my sources." She grinned, returning to the stove to flip what looked like perfect blueberry pancakes. "Actually, your mom mentioned it when they visited. I can't believe you weren't going to say anything."

I shrugged, settling onto a barstool. "It's not a big deal. Just another day."

"Turning thirty-one is absolutely a big deal," she insisted, sliding pancakes onto a plate. "Besides, birthdays should always be celebrated."

"Says who?"

"Says me, the birthday authority." She placed a loaded plate in front of me. "Now eat your breakfast, birthday boy. I have plans for you today."

"Plans?" I eyed the small package beside my plate. "You didn't have to do anything, Riley. The contract doesn't require birthday celebrations."

She rolled her eyes. "Not everything is about the contract, Caleb. Sometimes people do nice things because they want to."

The simple statement hung between us, loaded with implications neither of us was ready to address.

"So what are these mysterious plans?" I asked, changing the subject as I dug into my breakfast.

Riley looked pleased with herself. "I've arranged for Max to cover your media obligations today, so you're officially free. I thought we could celebrate properly with a day that combines relaxation with things you enjoy."

"That's suspiciously vague."

"It's supposed to be. It's a surprise." She nodded toward the package. "That's just the start."

I set down my fork and picked up the small box, carefully unwrapping it. Inside were a pair of custom cufflinks featuring tiny crossed hockey sticks and chef's knives—a perfect symbol of our unique partnership.

"Riley, these are..." I lifted one to examine the detailed craftsmanship. "These are incredible."

"You like them?" She looked genuinely nervous about my reaction. "I thought they'd be good for formal team events, but if they're too cheesy—"

"They're perfect," I interrupted, meeting her eyes. "Seriously. Thank you."

She smiled, visibly relieved. "You're welcome. Now eat up. We need to leave in an hour, and you'll need comfortable clothes. Something you can wear outdoors."

"Outdoor clothes? Now I'm really curious."

"Good." She took a bite of her own breakfast, looking smug. "Curiosity builds anticipation."

Her surprise turned out to be a guided fishing expedition on a private section of river outside the city—something I'd mentioned wanting to try but never prioritized during the demanding hockey season.

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