Page 43 of The Hockey Pact

The man offered his hand, and I accepted, allowing him to pull me to my feet. The moment I put weight on my rightankle, searing pain shot up my leg, and I gasped, instinctively shifting to lean on my left foot.

"You're hurt," the woman said. "Do you need us to call someone?"

I was about to insist I was fine again—a lifelong habit—when I tried another tentative step. The pain was bad enough that spots danced in my vision.

Hat Trickwas still four blocks away. I had inventory waiting to be checked, prep that needed supervision, and an entire winter menu preview that couldn't happen without me. I also couldn't walk more than a step without wanting to scream.

"I'll be fine," I told the concerned couple. "My restaurant is just down the street."

They exchanged skeptical glances. "At least let us help you to a café or somewhere you can sit," the man offered.

"Thank you, but I can manage." I forced a smile. "I appreciate your help."

They hesitated but eventually continued on their way, the woman glancing back worriedly before they turned the corner.

Once they were gone, I leaned against a building and assessed my situation. The arena was only a block away, and Caleb was there for morning practice. I could call Zoe, but she was already atHat Trickhandling deliveries. After a brief internal debate between pride and practicality, I pulled out my phone again.

Caleb answered on the second ring. "Hey, what's up? Thought you'd be knee-deep in prep by now."

"I, uh... had a bit of an accident," I admitted, trying to keep my voice steady. "I slipped on some ice, and I think I'vedone something to my ankle. I can't really walk, and I'm about a block from the arena."

His tone changed instantly. "Where exactly are you?" All casualness vanished, replaced by focused intensity.

I gave him the address, adding quickly, "It's probably nothing serious. I just need—"

"Don't move," he interrupted. "I'm coming to get you. Five minutes."

Before I could reply, he ended the call. I stood there, weight shifted awkwardly to my left side, feeling both grateful and annoyed at his commanding tone. Exactly four minutes later, Caleb's black SUV pulled up to the curb. He was out of the vehicle before it fully stopped, still in his practice clothes, hair damp from exertion.

His face, when he reached me, was a complex mix of concern and something that looked strangely like anger. His eyes scanned me from head to toe, lingering on how I was favoring my right foot.

"What happened?" he demanded, reaching for my arm to steady me.

"I was walking and texting. Rookie mistake." I tried to smile but winced as I shifted my weight. "I just need to get toHat Trick. We have the winter menu preview tonight, and—"

"You need to get that ankle looked at," he cut in, his tone brooking no argument. Before I could respond, he bent slightly and swept me into his arms.

"Caleb!" I protested, automatically wrapping my arms around his neck for stability. "Put me down! I can hobble."

"Hobbling could make it worse," he said firmly, carrying me to the passenger side of his SUV as if I weighed nothing. "And I'm not putting you down until you're safely in the car."

The contrast between his gentle handling and the stern set of his jaw sent an unwelcome flutter through my stomach.

Once I was settled in the passenger seat, he closed the door and circled around to the driver's side. "The team orthopedist is at the facility this morning," he announced as he started the engine. "He can check your ankle."

"Caleb, I need to go toHat Trick," I insisted. "The preview—"

"Is ten hours away," he finished for me. "And Zoe is perfectly capable of handling things until we know what's going on with your ankle." His eyes softened slightly as he glanced at me. "Please, Riley. Just let me make sure you're okay. Then we'll figure out the rest."

Put that way, it was difficult to argue. I nodded reluctantly and sent a quick text to Zoe explaining the situation. Her response was immediate:

OMG are you okay? Don't worry about anything here. Just take care of that ankle and let Hockey Husband pamper you for once. I've got things covered.

Caleb drove directly to the players' entrance of the arena, where security waved us through immediately. He came around to my side and, despite my protests, carried me again—this time through hallways full of curious staff and a few lingering teammates.

"Dude, I know you're the captain now, but carrying her everywhere seems excessive," called a familiar voice. Max appeared around a corner, his goalie pads still on from practice.His smirk faded when he saw my pained expression. "Whoa, what happened?"

"Slipped on ice," Caleb replied tersely. "Where's Dr. Jenkins?"

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