Page 57 of The Hockey Pact

Riley smiled, something bright and hopeful dawning in her eyes. "I'd say we're in breach of contract, Captain Matthews."

"Serious violation," I agreed, unable to keep from smiling back. "Clause 7.3 is definitely shattered beyond repair."

"We could draw up a new agreement," she suggested, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the back of my neck. "One without an expiration date."

My heart thumped painfully in my chest. "What terms would you propose?"

"Hmm." She pretended to consider deeply. "Full kitchen access, obviously. Shared decision-making on all major life choices. Your unwavering support forHat Trick, my attendance at all home games—"

"Done," I interrupted, pulling her closer. "Anything else?"

Her playfulness faded into something more vulnerable. "Just you," she said quietly. "The real you, not the captain or the hockey star or any other version. Just Caleb."

I brushed a strand of hair from her face, marveling at how this woman had come to mean everything to me.

"I think I can manage that," I said. "In return for the real Riley. The brilliant chef who sees me as more than just a hockey player with a good slap shot."

"I think I can manage that," she echoed, rising on tiptoe to kiss me again.

As I pulled her closer, I reflected on the irony of our situation—how a marriage that had begun as the ultimate fake relationship had somehow transformed into the most real thing I'd ever experienced. We still had challenges ahead—Vincent's potential exposé, the scrutiny of the hockey world, the inherent complications of our different careers.

But standing in our kitchen, holding Riley in my arms, those obstacles seemed manageable as long as we faced them together. What had started as a hat trick—a clever play to achieve two separate goals—had become something neither of us had been looking for but both of us had found:

A love as unexpected as it was genuine, and all the more precious for the circuitous route it had taken to reach us.

"You know," Riley murmured against my lips, "people are going to think we're crazy when they find out how this started."

"Maybe we are," I acknowledged. "But it worked out pretty well, wouldn't you say?"

Her smile was answer enough as she pulled me closer.

Chapter 19: Riley

My heart hammered against my ribcage as I sat among the other players' wives and girlfriends, my fingers clutching the edge of my seat. The score was tied 2-2 in the third period of what everyone kept calling "the most crucial game of the season." I'd attended dozens of Blizzard games by this point, but I still wasn't used to the way my stomach knotted every time Caleb took the ice.

"You look like you're about to pass out," Annabelle whispered, sliding her hand over mine. "Breathe, honey."

I nodded and sucked in a deep breath, but then immediately gasped as Caleb stole the puck at center ice. The entire arena seemed to hold its breath as he deked around one defender, then another.

"Come on," I whispered, rising to my feet without realizing it.

Caleb faked left, went right, and fired a wrist shot that sailed over the goalie's shoulder. The red light flashed. The arena erupted.

"YESSS!" I screamed, jumping up and down like a maniac. "THAT'S MY HUSBAND!"

The Boston Blizzard clung to their lead until the final horn blared, and by then, my throat was raw from screaming alongside the crowd. Swept up in the post-game energy, I followed Annabelle and a few others down towards the family room, the usual waiting spot. But instead, we were surprisingly ushered past it, deeper into the arena's restricted areas.

"Caleb will be thrilled to see you now that they’ve won!" Annabelle grinned, nudging me.

I hesitated. "I'm not sure. He must be completely drained after a game like that..."

Her hand landed firmly on my arm. "Hey, no excuses! You're his wife! You deserve to be right there by his side!"

The locker room smelled exactly like you'd expect. The team stood in a circle, still in their gear, faces flushed with victory. In the center, Coach Evans held up a vintage Boston Blizzard jersey, the kind they wore in the team's inaugural season.

From where I stood, I could see Caleb's profile—the strong line of his jaw, the intensity of his focus. My chest tightened with pride.

"Matthews," Coach Evans called. "Captain first."

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