Page 72 of The Hockey Pact

I quickened my pace, sudden urgency replacing my earlier fatigue. "I should call him."

"Do that," Zoe agreed. "And Riley? I'm glad you're back."

"Me too," I said, surprised to realize how true it was. Despite the opportunity I'd left behind, Boston felt right. Home felt right.

After ending the call, I navigated through the concourse, mentally calculating how quickly I could get to Caleb. I'd need to drop my bags at the apartment, maybe shower quickly, then—

I rounded the corner and froze, momentarily certain exhaustion had conjured a hallucination. There stood Caleb—disheveled, in team-logo athletic wear, scanning the arriving passengers with obvious intensity. When his gaze landed on me, the transformation in his expression—from anxious tension to radiant joy—made my heart stutter.

We moved simultaneously, meeting halfway in an embrace that disregarded public setting and curious onlookers. The airport faded to background noise as I absorbed Caleb's solid warmth, his arms encircling me with careful pressure that suggested minor injury while still conveying unmistakable need.

When we finally separated slightly, I noticed the developing swelling along his shoulder, evidence of the punishing game Zoe had mentioned. My fingers automatically traced the swelling, concern mingling with pride at his team's victory.

"You're hurt," I said, examining him more carefully, noting how he favored his right shoulder.

"It's nothing," he insisted. "Just a rough game."

"Liar," I said softly, but without heat. "Zoe told me you got medical checks."

Before he could respond, I noticed the small suitcase beside him. "Were you going somewhere?"

"New York," he admitted with a rueful smile. "To find you."

"But I was already on my way here," I said, confused.

"I know that," he said, still holding me as if afraid I'd disappear. "I wanted to be there, with you."

The realization that we'd been moving toward each other simultaneously made something warm unfurl in my chest. Before I could begin any of my carefully prepared explanations, we both started speaking at once.

"I left the competition because—"

"I was coming to New York to tell you—"

We broke off, laughing at the overlap, and the tension that had built during our separation dissipated like morning mist.

"You first," I said, still nestled in the circle of his arms.

Caleb took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine. "I was coming to tell you that I was wrong not to fight harder when you left. That I should have made it clear every day how much you mean to me, contract or no contract."

His honesty made my breath catch. "Caleb..."

"Let me finish," he said gently. "I love you, Riley. Not because it's convenient or beneficial or part of some arrangement. I love you because you're you—stubborn and brilliant and kind. And I don't want to spend another day pretending that our relationship has an expiration date."

Tears pricked my eyes. "I left the competition because I couldn't focus," I confessed. "All I could think about was you—whether you were okay after that hit, whether you'd eaten anything besides takeout, whether you missed me as much as I missed you." I swallowed hard. "I realized that no award or recognition would mean anything if you weren't there to share it with."

His expression then was worth every professional opportunity I might have sacrificed—a mixture of wonder and joy that made him look younger, unburdened by the weight of leadership and expectation he typically carried.

"I love you too," I whispered, finally allowing myself to say the words that had been building inside me for months. "So much that it terrifies me."

Around us, travelers moved through the terminal, some glancing curiously at our intimate conversation, others hurryingpast with the single-minded focus of people eager to reach their destinations. For once, I didn't care who might be watching or what they might think. In that moment, only Caleb mattered.

With characteristic directness, Caleb pulled back slightly, his expression suddenly serious. "I need to ask you something important."

"Okay," I said cautiously, noticing how his good hand slipped into his pocket.

What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Caleb dropped to one knee in the middle of the terminal concourse, wincing slightly as the movement jostled his injured shoulder. Curious onlookers paused, phones emerging to capture what appeared to be an impromptu proposal.

I stood frozen, uncomprehending until Caleb opened a small velvet box to reveal a stunning sapphire ring surrounded by diamonds.

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