Page 102 of Match Penalty

Seven’s eyes narrow, his jaw ticking, but I press on.

“I respect you, Seven,” I say, my voice firm. “As my coach, as one of the best goalies to ever play the game, and as Cammy’s protector. But loving your daughter isn’t something I can turn off or walk away from. And just like Cammy isn’t a product of who raised her... neither am I.”

Seven’s silence stretches, heavy and taut, his eyes boring into mine.

Finally, he exhales a slow breath, shaking his head.

“She deserves everything this world has to offer."

I nod. "And I swear to God that Cammy won't ever want for anything. She'll have whatever she asks for—you have my word."

He blows out a breath. He knows his daughter is just as stubborn as he is, and I'm too stupid to back down.

"You know I’m going to be watching every step,” he says, his voice low. “If you screw this up—”

“I won’t,” I cut in, meeting his gaze. “Not this time. I’d rather lose everything else than lose her.”

For a moment, I think he’s going to hit me—his fists ball at his side, his jaw is tight enough that he looks like he might break a tooth. But finally his eyes lighten just a little, another exhale softening his tense shoulders… just barely.

“It's Thanksgiving. Come inside,” he says gruffly, turning on his heel and heading toward the house. Eli gives me a once-over before following.

I let out a breath and head up the steps.

Inside, the warmth of the house is a stark contrast to the tension outside. Cammy is standing by the fireplace, her cheeks pink, her smile bright as she talks to her mom. Brynn and who I presume to be her grandmother are setting the table, while Milo plays in his highchair.

Seven brushes past me, clapping a hand on Eli’s shoulder. “Let’s get that turkey carved.”

Cammy's eyes meet mine. Her smile softens, and in that moment, the world feels like it’s shifting into place.

She walks over, slipping her arms around my waist. “You okay?”

I nod, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Your dad’s intense.”

She laughs, tilting her head up to look at me. “He just wants to make sure I’m happy.”

“Well,” I say, wrapping my arms around her. “I’ll just have to prove that I'm the man for the job.”

"I made up a room for you two upstairs," Cammy's grandma calls out to her from the kitchen.

"Oh, thanks Gram, but I got us a hotel room just down the street. I hope that's okay," she tells her, as her eyes find mine.

I pull her into my arms and plant a kiss on her lips. She giggles against my mouth. "I thought you might need a break from my dad," she whispers.

"Have I told you today how much I love you?" I tease.

"Only a couple dozen times." Her hazel eyes stare up at mine, that warm amber color that tells me she's happy.

"Then, let me tell you again in case you forgot. Je t'aime, Cammy. Tu es mon amour."

Her smile widens, and she pulls me toward the table. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

As we sit down to dinner, surrounded by warmth and laughter, I realize something.

I've been searching for the place where I fit, where I'm home.

I looked for it in my father, in the long line of stepfathers, stadiums, and coaches. And before Cammy found Seven, she was searching for that, too.

But, finally, we've both found it.

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