Page 16 of Match Penalty

Then I turn back to Penelope. “I doubt it. But if he has changed, I wish him all the best… with anyone other than me.”

Penelope shakes her head. "It just seems so hard to believe he’d do that. The tension between you two has been building since you started interning here. He’s been trying to get your attention for years. Everyone saw it at those league events."

I shake my head, remembering the sting of waking up alone. That's an experience I only need to try once to know that I'll never put myself in that position again. "Maybe he was after the chase—or maybe he was just trying to get under my dad’s skin. I don’t know, but I do know that whatever he wanted, he got, and then moved on pretty damn quickly. I've been used as a pawn before by my own mother. Whatever game JP wants to play this time… I’m sure he can find a willing opponent within his many female fans."

Thinking of my mother sends a familiar ache through my chest. Fourteen years of believing Eli was my father, only to learn my mother had lied to trap him—and to hurt Seven in the process. Even now, four years after telling Seven the truth and building our relationship from nothing, it still feels raw.

"Look," Penelope says, her GM voice slipping through, "I'm not saying trust JP blindly. But maybe give him a chance to explain? People aren't always what they seem at first glance."

"Like Slade?" Aria pipes up, managing a smirk.

We've all heard their love story, and honestly, after everything that happened between them, I'm surprised that she was able to forgive him. But I also can't imagine Penelope and Slade not being together. They're completely in love.

"Exactly." Penelope grins. "Though the jury's still out on that one," she teases.

We all laugh, and I'm grateful for the subject change. But as the conversation shifts to safer topics—Kendall’s new condo she just bought, Penelope and Slade’s babymoon vacation they’re planning for the end of the season—I can't stop thinking about what Penelope said about JP changing.

With all my trust issues and family drama, it’s hard for me to give people second chances. Changing that view means risking my heart again, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that.

Not even for the guy who still makes my pulse race every time he struts in with that air of confidence and bright smile.

"I hate to run, but I’d better get back so I can hit the treadmill in the stadium gym before the guys take over after practice."

Next Aria stands. "Yeah, and I need to get back and make myself irreplaceable to the new boss so that I can keep my job," she says, rolling her eyes.

"It's all going to work out. You'll see," I tell her.

Penelope pushes back her chair next. "Cammy and I will walk back with you girls. Brynn’s meeting us at the Stadium. We’re headed to morning skate this morning," she tells me with a wink.

That’s definitely a change to our schedule, and I have to wonder exactly what she has up her sleeve.

The rain has eased by the time we step into the stadium, but the chill lingers in the air. Brynn lifts Milo from his stroller, wrapping him in a blue dinosaur blanket as we head toward our usual seats behind the home bench.

“How do you think JP’s doing so far?” Penelope asks, her heels clicking against the concrete steps as we ascend.

"I'm not sure yet. This is the first time I'm seeing him practice with the team." I say.

Brynn glances at me, then back at Penelope. “Well, if Seven’s working with him, he’s doing fine. Your dad doesn’t put in this kind of effort for nothing. They've been meeting early—before practice.”

I absorb the information, keeping my focus on the rink.

Sitting in the cold seats of the Hawkeyes stadium, I stare out at the ice as players in turquoise, white, and black jerseys run shooting drills for morning skate. My dad stands at the boards, his signature stance as commanding as ever. But my attention drifts to the far end of the rink, where JP is in the crease. He’s dialed in, his movements sharp and precise, though I can tell from the tension in his shoulders that Seven’s been pushing him hard.

“How are you doing there, champ?” I ask while bouncing Milo on my knee, wrapping his tiny frame in the blanket that Brynn made for him. Milo gurgles and points toward the ice, where our dad stands with his arms crossed, watching practice with his signature intensity.

The empty arena feels so much bigger without the fans who’ll pack it in just a couple of weeks once training ends. Right now, it’s just me, Penelope, and Brynn sitting in our usual seats behind the home bench. I try to focus on Milo’s warmth instead of the figure gliding between the pipes at the far end of the rink.

But my eyes betray me, drawn to JP despite my better judgment.

He moves through his warm-up routine with the same fluid grace that made him the NHL’s hottest college rookie prospect five years ago, at the age of twenty-two. Each stretch, each adjustment of his pads, each tap of his stick against the posts—it’s muscle memory honed to perfection. Watching him settle into position stirs the kind of discomfort I’d prefer to avoid.

“How’s it going with the new owner?” Brynn asks Penelope, passing me a Ziploc bag of goldfish crackers for Milo.

Penelope exhales, her gaze flicking toward the owner’s box high above the ice.

We crane our necks to see Phil Carlton, the current owner, standing with several figures against the glass. One of them is Everett Kauffman, the billionaire who just signed to take Phil’s place as owner of the Hawkeyes.

“It’s… going well,” Penelope says carefully. “Phil’s showing Everett around today. He wants to ease the transition.”

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