Page 51 of The Hockey Pact

Caleb laughed. "It's lethal. One cup and you'll be singing carols until New Year's." His expression grew more serious. "I'm glad you're coming. It wouldn't have felt right without you there."

The honesty in his voice made my heart trip over itself. Before I could respond, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and frowned. "It's Diane. I should take this."

I nodded, rising to clear our plates while he answered. From his side of the conversation, I gathered something was wrong. His responses grew increasingly terse, his posture tightening with each exchange.

When he finally ended the call, his expression was grim. "That was Diane," he confirmed. "She's been hearing some disturbing rumors."

"About what?" I asked, though I had a sinking feeling I already knew.

"About us." Caleb ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I'd learned indicated stress. "Specifically, about the authenticity of our marriage."

My stomach dropped. "Vincent?"

Caleb nodded. "Diane says he has connections to a sports blogger known for breaking scandal stories. He's apparently fishing for confirmation, offering significant money for evidence."

"Evidence of what, exactly?" My voice sounded distant to my own ears.

"That our marriage is a contract rather than a relationship." Caleb's eyes met mine. "Diane doesn't think he has anything concrete yet, just suspicions. But after today..."

"He's clearly looking for something to use against us," I finished, leaning heavily against the counter. "What do we do?"

Caleb crossed to me, placing his hands on my shoulders. "First, we don't panic. Vincent is fishing, nothing more." His grip was warm and reassuring. "Second, we continue exactly as we have been. There's nothing to find because—" He paused, something shifting in his expression.

"Because what?" I prompted when he didn't continue.

"Because we're not just pretending anymore, are we?" he said quietly.

The question hung between us, loaded with all the unspoken feelings that had been building for months. I couldn't find the words to agree or disagree, my heart beating too rapidly in my chest.

Caleb seemed to understand my silence, squeezing my shoulders gently before releasing me. "Try not to worry aboutVincent. Diane is already working on counterstrategies if he tries anything."

I nodded, grateful for the retreat from emotional territory neither of us seemed ready to fully explore. "Okay."

Later that evening, while Caleb reviewed game footage in the living room, my phone chimed with a text from Zoe. It contained a link to an article about an international culinary competition in Paris. Applications were due next month for the event, which could provide unparalleled exposure for participants.

You HAVE to apply for this,Zoe's message read.It's exactly what you've been working toward since culinary school.

I clicked the link, excitement building as I read the details. The competition was prestigious, featuring chefs from around the world, with judges from international restaurants and food publications. Winning—or even placing—could putHat Trickon the international culinary map.

Then I noticed the dates.

The competition fell during the Blizzard's final regular-season push, a critical time when Caleb's captaincy performance would be under scrutiny. My absence would raise questions about our relationship, potentially undermining everything we'd built.

I glanced across the room to where Caleb had fallen asleep on the couch, game notes scattered around him. His face was relaxed in sleep, vulnerable in a way it never was when he was awake. Something in my chest tightened at the sight.

I'll think about it,I texted Zoe back, then closed the link without responding further.

I set my phone aside, disturbed by how automatically I'd prioritized our arrangement over my professional aspirations. Yet as I looked at Caleb again, I acknowledged the truth—it wasn't just about the contract anymore. My reluctance to pursue the Paris opportunity stemmed equally from not wanting to disrupt what was developing between us, whatever that might be.

I moved quietly to the couch, gently removing the tablet from Caleb's lap. He stirred slightly as I draped a blanket over him but didn't wake. On impulse, I brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, my fingers lingering against his skin.

"What are we doing?" I whispered, though there was no one to hear the question.

Only the soft sound of Caleb's breathing answered me as I retreated to our bedroom, leaving him sleeping on the couch with game notes scattered around him, my heart increasingly tangled in something that had never been part of our original deal.

Chapter 17: Riley

The temperature in Paris was surprisingly cold for January. From my hotel window, I could see the Eiffel Tower illuminated against the evening sky—a postcard-perfect view that should have thrilled me. Instead, I felt a persistent hollow sensation in my chest despite having advanced to the finals of the prestigious International Culinary Excellence competition.

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