Page 70 of The Hockey Pact

Frowning, I checked the dates of the competition's remaining events. The finals wouldn't conclude for another two days, yet Riley appeared to be abandoning the opportunity to return to Boston. While selfishly pleased at her imminent return, I worried she was sacrificing important professional advancement for our complicated situation.

After treatment, I found Max waiting in the near-empty locker room, still in his base layers despite everyone else having showered and departed.

"Shoulder?" he asked, nodding at the ice pack strapped to my joint.

"Just a strain," I assured him, wincing as I attempted to raise my arm. "Doc says it'll be fine with rest."

"Sure," Max said skeptically. "That's why you're white as my away jersey and sweating like it's game seven."

I managed a weak laugh. "Just tired. Good game, by the way. That glove save in the third was ridiculous."

"Changing the subject won't work," he said, but his expression softened with pride at the compliment. "But yeah, it was pretty sick, wasn't it?"

I settled onto the bench beside him, grateful for the distraction of normal locker room banter. "Completely unhuman. The replay's probably going viral as we speak."

Max grinned, then his expression grew more serious. "How are things with Riley? Any progress?"

I sighed, absently adjusting the ice pack. "She's coming back from New York tonight. Earlier than planned."

"That's good, right?"

"Maybe," I admitted. "Or maybe she feels obligated because of all this media pressure. She's missing the finals of her competition to come back."

Max considered this. "Have you thought that maybe she's choosing to come back because she wants to? Not because she has to?"

"I don't know what to think anymore," I confessed. "I love her. I know that much. But I'm not sure what she wants."

"You know," Max said thoughtfully, "a few months ago, I would have laughed at the idea of being in a serious relationship. The whole stable, committed thing seemed so... restrictive."

I raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden turn in conversation. "And now?"

"And now I'm thinking about asking Zoe to move in with me," he said, his expression a mixture of disbelief and certainty that would have been comical under different circumstances.

"Seriously? The same Zoe who called you an 'entitled puck-blocking man-child' last year?"

Max laughed. "That's the one. Turns out insulting me was just her version of flirting."

"When did this happen?" I asked, curious about the development in my friends' relationship.

"It's been building for a while," he admitted. "But I think I knew it was serious when I realized I was rearranging my schedule to be atHat Trickduring her shifts, just to hear her tell me I was in the way." His expression grew thoughtful. “I always assumed being with her would complicate my life, but it’s been quite the opposite. We drive each other forward because we both know what it means to be truly passionate about our work.”

His unexpected insight resonated with my own experience with Riley. "That's... surprisingly profound coming from a guy who used to rate dates based on their ability to recognize hockey players at bars."

"People change," Max shrugged. "Or maybe we just figure out what really matters."

As I drove home, Max's words lingered in my mind. The space that had once felt so perfect in its sleek bachelor minimalism now seemed hollow without Riley's presence.

After a restless hour attempting to settle in for the night, I made an impulsive decision. I contacted the team's travel coordinator, requesting an immediate flight to New York. If Riley was returning to Boston for me, potentially sacrificing professional opportunities, I would go to her instead—playoff schedule and media complications be damned.

I'd support her remaining competition events, ensuring she didn't compromise her culinary ambitions for our relationship. The logistics were complex but manageable with the team's two-day break before playoff matches intensified.

With determined efficiency, I packed essentials and arranged transportation. Just before departure, I received another notification—Riley's flight had already departed, scheduled to land at Logan Airport within the hour.

Our timing couldn't have been worse. With quick recalculation, I canceled my flight and rushed to the airport instead, determined to meet Riley upon arrival despite the late hour and my aching shoulder.

As I navigated Boston traffic toward Logan, I mentally composed what I'd say when seeing her. Beyond contractual arrangements and pragmatic partnerships, beyond captaincy concerns and restaurant finances, lay a simple truth I wasready to acknowledge: I loved her, completely and without contingency.

I pulled into the airport pickup zone just as her flight's arrival was announced on the terminal monitors. My heart raced with nervous anticipation as I made my way inside, ignoring the occasional double-takes from travelers who recognized me despite my baseball cap and casual clothes.

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