Page 29

The notification pinged during morning skate. My phone was in my jacket pocket at the bench, but I knew from the cascade of buzzing that followed that something significant had happened. It wasn't until Coach called a five-minute water break that I had a chance to look.

My stomach dropped as I saw the notifications—a headline alert from a sports news app: " Boston Blizzard captain's marriage a business deal ?" Beneath it was a grainy but unmistakable image of Riley and me seated at my dining table, reviewing paperwork clearly labeled "Marriage Terms."

"Fuck," I muttered, scrolling quickly through the article. A second-tier sports blog had published the photos along with a detailed account of our "business arrangement." The mainstream sports outlets were already picking it up, adding their own speculation and reaching out for comment.

My phone rang—Diane, of course. Before I could answer, Coach Evans caught my eye from across the ice.

"Problem, Matthews?" he called, his expression making it clear that whatever it was could wait.

"No, Coach," I replied automatically, shoving the phone back in my pocket and grabbing my stick. I'd deal with this disaster after practice.

By the time I reached the locker room, my phone had accumulated dozens of missed calls and messages. Most were from reporters, but several teammates had texted variations of "What the hell?" and "Call me."

I bypassed them all to call Riley.

"Hey," she answered immediately, her voice tight with tension. "I guess you've seen it."

"Just the headline and main photo," I confirmed, keeping my voice low. "Are you okay?"

"I've had better mornings," she admitted with a hollow laugh. "Zoe's fielding calls at Hat Trick —apparently we're the hottest reservation in town now that we're scandal-adjacent. Everyone wants to gawk at the gold-digger chef."

Her attempt at humor couldn't disguise the pain in her voice.

"You're not—"

"I know," she cut me off, her voice softening. "But that's the narrative they're spinning. The struggling restaurateur who seduced the hockey star for financial gain."

I leaned my forehead against the cool metal of my locker, wishing I could teleport to her side. "Vincent came through on his threat."

"It looks that way." There was a pause, then, "Diane's called a meeting at her office in an hour. Can you make it?"

"I'll be there," I promised. "Just... hang in there, okay? We'll figure this out."

"Okay," she said, but the uncertainty in her voice made my chest ache.

After a quick shower, I dodged reporters camped outside the practice facility by using a service exit. When I arrived at Diane's office, Riley was already there, pale but composed in jeans and a Hat Trick hoodie, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail that emphasized the tension in her face.

She stood when I entered, and without thinking, I crossed the room and pulled her into my arms. She melted against me with a shuddering sigh, her fingers curling into the fabric of my jacket.

"I'm sorry," I murmured into her hair. "This is all my fault."

She pulled back to look at me, eyes fierce despite their redness. "It's not. It was a mutual decision, remember? We're in this together."

Diane cleared her throat from behind her desk, her expression sympathetic but focused. "If you two are finished with the touching reunion, we need to discuss damage control."

We sat side by side on the couch in Diane's office, close enough that our shoulders touched. I found myself unable to stop looking at Riley, searching for signs of how badly this was affecting her.

"Our options are limited but clear," Diane explained, sliding a folder across the coffee table toward us. "One: categorical denial. Claim the photos are misleading and the story fabricated."

"No," Riley and I said simultaneously.

Diane nodded, unsurprised. "Two: acknowledge the beginning was arranged but emphasize how it evolved into something genuine. Play up the romance angle—unexpected love story and all that."

Riley bit her lip. "That's closer to the truth."

"Three," Diane continued, "refuse all comment and wait for the next scandal to draw attention away. But be warned: in Boston, something like this tends to stick."

"We can't just hide and hope it goes away," I said, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "The team, our families—they deserve some kind of explanation."

As if summoned by my words, Riley's phone rang. She glanced at the screen and paled.

"It's my parents," she whispered, looking suddenly terrified.

I squeezed her hand. "You should answer. They deserve to hear it from you, not the internet."

She nodded and took a deep breath before answering. "Hi, Mom," she said, her voice artificially bright. "Yes, I've seen the articles... No, it's not—" She winced. "Can I put you on video? Is Dad there too? I want to explain properly."

She moved to the far corner of the office, and though I couldn't hear the details of the conversation, I could see her gesturing earnestly, occasionally wiping at her eyes.

"Your family is next," Diane said quietly, her eyes on Riley's hunched form.

"They'll understand," I said with more confidence than I felt. "My sister already knows anyway."

Diane raised an eyebrow. "You told Megan?"

"She guessed," I admitted. "After I brought Riley to meet my parents, Megan said the way I was looking at Riley was completely wrong. She said I looked like I was analyzing her, not loving her."

"Smart girl," Diane murmured.

My own phone rang then—my mother's name flashing on the screen. With a grimace, I answered the video call.

"Caleb Matthews," my mother began without preamble, her face filling the screen. "Please tell me these horrible stories aren't true."

"Where's Dad?" I asked, noting his absence. "And Megan?"

"Your father is...processing," she said diplomatically. "Megan's on her way over. Now answer the question."

I sighed, bracing myself. "It's complicated, Mom. Yes, Riley and I initially got married because of an arrangement, but—"

"An arrangement?" she interrupted, her voice rising. "Like a business deal? With contracts?"

"Yes," I admitted. "But it's not like that anymore. We—"

"I knew something was off!" she exclaimed, more to herself than me.

"The timing was so sudden, and you'd never even mentioned her before the engagement.

But I thought maybe you'd been keeping it quiet because of the media, or—" She stopped, her expression shifting from hurt to confusion.

"Wait, what do you mean it's not like that anymore? "

I glanced toward Riley, who was still deep in conversation with her parents. "We fell in love, Mom. For real. Neither of us expected it, but it happened."

My mother studied my face through the screen, her expression softening. "Oh, Caleb."

Before she could say more, my father's face appeared over her shoulder. His expression was unreadable, but the set of his jaw spoke volumes.

"Let me get this straight," he said, his coach's voice in full effect. "You entered a fake marriage to secure a team position?"

Put like that, it sounded worse than I'd allowed myself to acknowledge. "The captaincy was part of it," I admitted. "But Riley needed financial help with her restaurant, and we both—"

"Do you have any idea how this looks?" my father interrupted, his face flushing. "The integrity of the game, your reputation—"

"Robert," my mother cut in, placing a hand on his arm. "Let him finish."

I took a deep breath. "I know it was deceptive. I'm not proud of how it started. But what Riley and I have now is real. I love her, Dad."

The simple declaration seemed to take some of the wind out of his sails. He stared at me for a long moment, then shook his head. "Well, you've made quite a mess, son."

"I know."

"But," he continued, surprising me, "if you love her—really love her—then you'll figure out how to fix it. Together."

Before I could respond, Megan popped into frame, her expression a mixture of concern and vindication. "See? I told you this was a bad idea! You should've listened!"

Despite everything, I laughed. "Thanks for the support, Meg."

"Hey, I kept your secret, didn't I?" She sobered. "How's Riley handling all this? The media's being pretty brutal to her."

"She's talking to her parents now," I said, glancing over to where Riley was wiping tears from her cheeks as she nodded at whatever her parents were saying. "It's tough."

"Tell her we're here for both of you," my mother said firmly. "Whatever she needs."

"Even Dad?" I asked, only half-joking.

My father sighed heavily. "Even me. She's family now, however it started."

The simple acceptance in his words made my throat tight. "Thanks, Dad. That means a lot."

After promises to keep them updated, I ended the call just as Riley finished with her parents. She came back to the couch, her eyes red but her shoulders straighter.

"How'd it go?" I asked, pulling her close.

"Better than I expected," she said, leaning into me.

"They were hurt about the deception, but mostly concerned that I was forced into something.

" Her lips curved in a small smile. "Once I explained that it was mutual and that we've developed real feelings, they calmed down.

My dad actually said he suspected something wasn't quite right at the wedding, but figured we had our reasons. "

"Perceptive guy," I murmured.

"Your family?" she asked, nodding toward my phone.

"Shocked but supportive. Even my dad, which I didn't expect."

Diane, who had been quietly working at her desk during our family calls, rejoined us. "Now for the hard part," she said. "The team and the public."

My stomach clenched at the thought of facing my teammates. Their trust was essential on the ice, and I'd been living a lie in the locker room for months.

"The team first," I decided. "I'll talk to them before tomorrow's practice."

Riley squeezed my hand. "Do you want me to come with you?"

I considered it, then shook my head reluctantly. "I think this is something I need to do alone. As captain."

She nodded, understanding in her eyes. "What about the public?"

"One exclusive interview," Diane suggested. "With someone respected who'll give you a fair hearing. We control the narrative, emphasize the genuine relationship that developed, and move forward."

It sounded simple when she put it like that, but as Riley and I left Diane's office, I knew the most difficult conversations were still ahead.

The locker room fell silent when I walked in the next morning. Twenty pairs of eyes tracked me as I moved to the center of the room, still in street clothes while they were partially geared up for practice.

"I'm guessing you've all seen the news," I began, surveying the faces of men I'd gone to battle with all season. Some looked merely curious, others betrayed disappointment or confusion.

"Is it true?" Cooper, our veteran defenseman, asked bluntly.

I took a deep breath. "Yes."

The room erupted in overlapping questions and exclamations. I held up a hand, waiting for quiet. When it came, I continued without excuses or justifications.

"Riley and I entered into a legal arrangement at the beginning of the season. I wanted the captaincy, she needed financial help for her restaurant, and we agreed to a temporary marriage that would benefit us both."

"So it was all fake?" Johnson asked. "Even at the hospital visits and team dinners?"

"It started that way," I acknowledged. "But it didn't stay that way."

From the back of the room, Max spoke up. "For what it's worth, guys, I've seen them together a lot. And I'm telling you, whatever the initial setup was, what's between them now is absolutely, undeniably real."

I shot him a grateful look before addressing the room again. "I know this complicates things, especially with the playoffs coming. I deceived the team ownership and all of you. If you feel I shouldn't wear the C anymore, I'll understand."

Cooper studied me intently. "The way you've led this team has nothing to do with who you're married to or why. That part's between you and management." He paused. "What I want to know is—are you and Riley actually together now? For real?"

"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's happening 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.