Page 68 of The Hockey Pact

"Caleb?" she answered, concern immediately evident in her voice. "Is everything okay? I saw the hit during the game and—"

"I'm fine," I assured her, though my head was pounding and my vision slightly blurred at the edges. "Just a precaution, but the doc wants someone to check on me tonight. Concussion protocol."

There was a pause, then, "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

True to her word, Riley arrived at the penthouse within minutes, a duffel bag of necessities slung over one shoulder and aHat Trickbag of fresh ingredients in the other. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of my face, where a bruise was blooming spectacularly along my cheekbone.

"That looks worse than it did on TV," she said, setting down her bags and moving closer to examine the damage.

"You should see the other guy," I joked weakly.

She rolled her eyes, but her hands were gentle as they framed my face. "Any dizziness? Nausea?"

"Just a headache," I admitted. "And I'm supposed to stay awake for another hour before I can sleep. Then wake-up checks every two hours."

Riley nodded, slipping into caretaker mode with familiar efficiency. "I'll make something light for dinner while you shower. Then we'll keep you awake with that British baking show you pretend not to like."

I smiled despite the pain. "I've missed you."

Her expression softened. "I've missed you too. Now go shower while I raid your pathetically empty refrigerator."

That night unfolded with practiced domesticity, as if the past week of separation had never happened. Riley prepared a simple but perfect meal, helped me ice my various bruises, and settled beside me on the couch with a comfortable familiarity that made my chest ache with longing.

When it was finally time for me to sleep, she woke me every few hours with gentle persistence, asking the standard concussion-check questions while monitoring my responses. Each time I drifted back to sleep, it was with the reassurance of her presence nearby.

By morning, the fog in my head had lifted, though the bruises had darkened impressively. I found Riley in the kitchen, preparing breakfast with the same focused attention she brought to her restaurant cooking.

As I watched her move through the space, a fundamental truth crystallized: the contract, the captaincy, the public opinion—none of it mattered compared to the simple reality of Riley's place in my life.

I moved closer, drawn to her like a magnet finding its natural alignment. She glanced up, a smile starting to form before concern replaced it.

"You should be resting," she scolded lightly. "Doctor's orders."

"I'm fine," I assured her, stepping into her space. "Better than fine, actually."

Her eyes searched mine, wariness mixing with something that looked like hope. "Caleb..."

"I love you," I said simply. "Contract or no contract, scandal or no scandal. I love you, Riley."

She set down the spatula she was holding, her expression unreadable. "We agreed to give it time. To be sure."

"I am sure," I insisted, taking her hands in mine. "I've never been more certain of anything."

For a moment, I thought she might melt into me as she had so many times before. Instead, she gently extracted her hands from mine, her eyes sad but determined.

"You need to rest," she said softly. "And I need to get back to the restaurant. We still need this time apart, Caleb. To be certain we're not just reacting to the crisis or the pressure."

The rejection, however gentle, felt like another body check—this one directly to my heart. I stepped back, forcing myself to respect her decision even as everything in me rebelled against it.

"Okay," I managed, my voice rougher than I intended. "If that's what you need."

She nodded, returning to the stove to plate the breakfast she'd made. We ate in silence that was neither comfortable nor hostile—just uncertain, filled with words neither of us seemed ready to speak.

As she prepared to leave, gathering her overnight bag and checking that she had everything, I remained seated at the kitchen counter, afraid that if I moved closer, I'd beg her to stay.

"Thank you for coming," I said finally as she reached the door. "For taking care of me."

She paused, looking back with an expression that made my breath catch. "Always," she said simply. Then she was gone, the door closing behind her with a quiet finality that echoed in the empty apartment.

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