Page 5 of The Hockey Pact

"It doesn't have to be true love," I muttered. "It just has to look good for the cameras."

"Whoa." Max held up his hands. "Tell me you're not considering some Vegas chapel situation with a willing puck bunny."

I shot him a disgusted look. "Of course not. I've seen how those end." Too many teammates had made hasty relationship decisions that led to messy, expensive divorces. "I'm talking about my legacy, Max. The captaincy I've worked my entire career for."

"So what's the plan, then?"

"I don't know yet," I admitted. "I need to think."

"Well, think over drinks later," Max suggested. "Sullivan's at eight? I'll text the guys."

"Not tonight," I said, suddenly needing solitude. "I think I'm going to drive for a while. Clear my head."

Max nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Call if you change your mind."

I spent the afternoon driving aimlessly through Boston's streets, the familiar landscape blurring as my mind churned. The captaincy had been my goal since I was traded to the Boston Blizzard eleven years ago. I'd put in the time, earned the respect of my teammates, proven myself on the ice. And now, just as it felt undeniably within reach, Whitman was moving the goalposts.

The sun was setting when I finally returned to my penthouse apartment overlooking the Charles River. I poured myself a generous bourbon and stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching boats navigate the water below. The space was immaculately designed—all clean lines, leather, and glass, with hockey memorabilia tastefully displayed. Tonight, though, it felt hollow, its perfect emptiness an indictment.

My phone rang, Diane's name flashing on the screen. My agent had a sixth sense for trouble.

"Hey," I answered, not bothering with pleasantries.

"You were supposed to call me after the meeting with Whitman," she said, her tone more concerned than accusatory. "His assistant said you left hours ago. What happened?"

I swirled the bourbon in my glass. "He's considering Peterson for captain."

The silence on the other end spoke volumes. Diane had been my agent for eight years; she knew exactly what the captaincy meant to me.

"Because of your contract demands?" she finally asked.

"Because I'm single."

Another pause. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Apparently the face of the franchise needs to project 'stability' and 'maturity,'" I said, not bothering to keep the bitterness from my voice. "Translation: wife, kids, Christmas card."

"That's... unexpected," Diane said, her tone shifting to the calculating one I recognized from negotiations. "But potentially manageable."

"Manageable how? I'm supposed to find a wife before October."

"Not necessarily a wife," Diane said slowly. "Just someone who gives the appearance of having settled you down. Whitman doesn't need to know the details of the arrangement."

I frowned, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "What exactly are you suggesting, Diane?"

"Contracts," she replied smoothly. "Arrangements. Temporary solutions. It's not uncommon in this business, Caleb. You'd be surprised how many of those perfect Hollywood marriages are carefully negotiated deals."

"You want me to hire someone to pretend to be my wife?" The idea left a bad taste in my mouth.

"I want you to consider all your options before letting Peterson take what you've earned," Diane corrected. "Think about it. You need three months to convince Whitman you're settled enough to lead. After that, things can... evolve naturally."

I took a long swallow of bourbon. "I'll think about it."

"Please do," Diane said firmly. "And Caleb? Don't wait too long. We need time to vet anyone we bring into this situation."

After we hung up, I poured another drink and resumed my position at the window. Diane's suggestion felt manipulative, calculated—everything I tried not to be off the ice. But as much as I wanted to dismiss it outright, a small part of me couldn't help considering the possibilities.

Three months. A temporary arrangement. A transaction that could secure the captaincy I'd worked my entire career to achieve.

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