Page 11 of Match Penalty

Two, staying close to Cammy. If I can't find a way to get her to trust me, while still keeping what happened that night in my Ferrari from coming out, at least I can be near her.

Her sharp gaze makes it clear she'd rather I stay in the past where I belong, my priorities feel… blurry.

"You’re still here?" she finally bites out, sitting back in her chair and typing up an email.

"Just soaking in the warm welcome," I say, flashing her a grin.

Her eyes narrow, her jaw tightening but whatever snarky comeback she'd like to say, she's biting it back.

I push off her desk, slipping the envelope into my back pocket. “For what it’s worth, Cammy…” My voice drops just enough to soften. “It's good to see you again.”

Her expression flickers—confusion, maybe doubt—but she shuts it down just as quickly. “Save your charms for your female fans, Dumont. They're the only ones buying it.”

A call comes in on her desk phone, perfectly timed to end the conversation.

I watch her turn away. Everything’s changed—my career, my priorities—but being in the same room with her still stirs something I can’t quite name, something I’m not sure I’ll ever find anywhere else... with anyone else.

The headlines are already writing my eulogy—“Dumont’s Last Stand.” Maybe they’re right. Maybe this is my last chance to prove I’m still the player I used to be. Or maybe I’m chasing something I’ll never have again.

I force my feet to move, pushing through the door and out into the hallway. My knee aches with every step. I need to get moved into the new apartment and get ice on it. It’s a brutal reminder of how far I’ve fallen and how much further I have to go. Rehab, practice, the media circus waiting to devour me—it’s all waiting outside this office, and it’s all on me to survive it.

Cammy doesn’t look back, her voice steady and calm as if I’m not even here. It’s like I don’t belong in this office—or her life. Maybe I never did. But as I leave, the ache in my chest tells me one thing hasn’t changed: she’s still the only thing worth fighting for.

Chapter Three

JP

"That's the last of it."

I hear Hunter Reed, the Hawkeyes' left defenseman, drop a moving box onto the laminate wood flooring of my new apartment in The Commons.

Most of the players live here since it’s only a couple of blocks from the Hawkeyes' stadium. From what I’ve heard, Penelope Matthews, the current GM, worked out some deal with building management to keep units available for players during the season.

"Vittu," Aleksi Mäkinen mutters out a curse word in Finnish as he walks through the door with another box. He drops it with an exaggerated groan, rolling his shoulders back. "What the hell did you pack in there? Cement blocks?"

I grin. “It’s just my gaming system. It doesn't weigh that much.”

I walk over and slice open the box, revealing the console and a few neatly packed wires.

Hunter’s brows shoot up. “A PS3?” he barks. “You're still carrying this thing around? Why?”

“Because my college coach said that gaming is good for hand-eye coordination.” I shrug, pulling the console out completely.

Aleksi, who’s suddenly a lot more interested, shoves Hunter out of the way with his shoulder to peer inside the box. “It’s true, Reed-man. It's science.”

Hunter raises a skeptical brow. “You’re kidding. Where’d you hear that crap?”

"On a podcast,” Aleksi says, pulling out the controller with an expression of reverence.

Hunter scoffs. “Everything’s a podcast with you, Mäkelin.”

Aleksi doesn’t even look up. He’s too busy inspecting the cables like they’re fragile artifacts. “Podcasts are very educational. You should try them sometime. Expand your mind."

Over the short time I’ve been here, I’ve learned a few things about Aleksi.

One, he takes comfortable silence as a personal offense.

Two, he’s weirdly loyal to any random fact he finds on podcasts, and if you challenge it, he will bury you under citations until you give up.

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