Page 65 of The Hockey Pact

"Yes," I said without hesitation. "Completely."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Then I’m with you, Captain."

Several others murmured agreement, though I could tell some were still processing.

"One more thing," I added. "The media's going to be all over this. If they approach you for comments, you can direct them to Diane or simply say it's a private matter. But I'd appreciate if you didn't speculate or add fuel to the fire."

Coach Evans, who had been silently observing from the doorway, finally stepped forward. "Alright, that's enough personal drama for one morning," he announced. "Whatever'shappening off the ice stays off the ice. We have playoffs to prepare for, gentlemen."

As the team dispersed to finish gearing up, a few clapped my shoulder in passing—silent signals of support that meant more than they could know. Max lingered, waiting until we were relatively alone.

"Not as bad as you thought?" he guessed.

I shook my head, still processing the team's relatively accepting response. "Not even close."

"Hockey players aren't exactly known for emotional complexity," Max said with a grin. "As long as you keep scoring and Riley keeps making those sliders for team events, most of these guys couldn't care less about the rest."

I laughed despite myself. "Thanks for backing me up."

"That's what best friends do," he said, suddenly serious. "Plus, I've been watching you and Riley for months. Contract or no contract, what you have is real."

His certainty steadied me as I prepared to face the day ahead. But the worst conversation was yet to come.

Chapter 21: Caleb

After the game—a hard-fought win that inched us closer to the playoffs—Coach Evans summoned me sharply to Whitman’s office. As Riley and I drove over, the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the dashboard, I reached across the console and gently took her hand.

"Whatever happens in there," I told her, "we'll handle it together."

Her fingers tightened around mine. "Together," she agreed, though I could see the worry in her eyes.

Whitman's office was frigid, both in temperature and atmosphere. He stood behind his desk when we entered, his face set in hard lines as he slapped a tablet displaying the damning article onto the polished surface.

"Explain this," he demanded. "Diane assured me you had the situation under control."

I stepped forward, keeping Riley slightly behind me. "Vincent's blackmail attempt escalated faster than we anticipated. He leaked the photos to a blogger who was willing to run with minimal fact-checking."

"Blackmail?" Gloria Whitman asked sharply from where she sat in the corner, her presence unexpected but reassuring.

"He was pressuring Riley for controlling interest in her restaurant," I explained. "Using the photos as leverage."

Whitman's expression shifted slightly, the businesslike anger giving way to something more personal. "And you didn't think to come to me with this? The team has resources for handling such situations discreetly."

"We were trying to handle it ourselves," Riley spoke up, her voice steady. "We didn't want to involve the team in our personal problem."

"Well, it's certainly a team problem now," Whitman grumbled, though with less heat than before. "Do you have any idea of the timing? Playoff push, season ticket renewals—"

"Harold," Gloria interrupted gently, "I think we should focus on solutions rather than recriminations."

He sighed heavily, glancing at his wife with grudging acknowledgment. "Fine. What's done is done. The question is how we mitigate the damage."

"We've scheduled an exclusive interview," I said. "With Emma fromWinter Sports."

Whitman nodded approvingly. "Good choice. She's fair, respected."

"We could highlight that while their marriage had an unusual start, the connection now is undeniably real," Gloria added, her immediate grasp of the strategy making me blink. "A love that blossomed unexpectedly—audiences eat that up."

"The lawyers will review the interview parameters beforehand," Whitman added, more statement than question. "No surprises."

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