Page 30 of Match Penalty

I bite back a smile, grateful for something else to occupy my thoughts instead of what’s waiting for me out on the ice.

Me:Have you forgotten that I have a preview today? I’m a little busy at the moment.

Brynn:I know, I’m in the stands. I can see you.

I glance up to see Brynn across the stadium sitting with Milo and Aria. She lifts his little mitten covered hand to wave at me. I give him a little wave back. I shoot her a quick text back since I don’t see Everett in the stands yet.

Me:He helped me clean up and then he left. That's it.

I know she’ll keep bugging me if I don’t just answer her.

Brynn:You expect me to believe that nothing happened?

Me:He got a call from his “agent” Angelica Ludwig and then went on his merry way.

Brynn:Wait, Angelica Ludwig. Isn't that the girl he got in the accident with?

I don't text back. She's smart enough to put the rest together, and honestly, this situation still stings.

Brynn:Cammy, I've seen the way he looks at you. Did you ask him about that night? Why he left?

I skate out on the ice, seeing JP already on the ice in front of the goalie.

I wave my phone at her and set it on the sideboard along the home bench to show her that I am no longer getting her messages. I notice JP’s phone sitting there too, along with his water bottle.

I need to focus, if I want to win this thing. I can’t keep checking her messages.

Her reasoning that the way he looks at me means something is completely wrong, because he looked at me a lot that night we spent in that guestroom and still left.

The Hawkeyes' arena isn’t usually lively at this time in the morning, post-practice. Players who normally rush for the showers linger in the stands, their voices bouncing off empty seats and plexiglass. I pause at the tunnel entrance, taking in the scene.

My stomach twists as I catch snippets of whispered bets and predictions floating down from the stands. This wasn't supposed to be a team event. Just a quick preview for Everett's investor. But word spread fast when Everett asked for a preview between JP and me, and now it feels like the whole organization is here to witness whatever's about to happen.

I adjust my stick tape for the third time, the familiar ritual doing little to calm my nerves. The cold seeps through my dad’s old practice jersey, but my palms are sweating inside my gloves.

"Ready for this?" Hunter calls from the bench, his grin visible even from here. "My money's on you, Wrenley."

"Betting against your own goalie?" Luka asks, clutching his chest in mock offense. "That's cold, man."

"What can I say? I like an underdog." Hunter winks at me, and I manage a small smile.

"Hey Wrenley," Aleksi calls out, leaning over the boards. "Monty's got a weak spot, high glove side when he's tired. And he always leans left after a butterfly save."

"Mäkelin!" JP shouts from the net. "Whose team are you on?"

"I’m on Cammy’s team… obviously," Aleksi grins.

Their banter helps settle my nerves, until I spot my dad standing near the tunnel. His arms are crossed, jaw set. He almost appears to be holding himself back from skating out here to take my spot, but he wouldn’t embarrass me like that. He knows I’ve been training, and after all, no one else knows what’s on the line besides JP and me.

JP's already going through his warm-up routine. Even from here, I can read the familiar patterns—the way he stretches each leg, adjusts his facemask. The same ritual I’d seen each time the Hawkeyes played against the Blue Devils, back when I knew better than to trust a hockey playboy. Back before I spent that night believing every promise he whispered against my skin.

The scrape of my skates against ice feels deafening as I make my way to center ice. Each stride brings me closer to him, and my heart pounds harder with every foot of distance I close. I catch Brynn's eye in the stands. She gives me an encouraging thumbs up. I didn’t tell her about the bet, and I’m glad I didn’t—the pressure of her watching, knowing what’s on the line as well, would have my heart beating faster.

"Looks like we've drawn a crowd," he says as I glide closer, that hint of amusement in his voice. His eyes catch mine through his mask. "Still good with our bet? If you want to back out, now is the time."

"Worried you'll lose?" I shoot back, though my heart races and my hands sweat at the memory of our deal. Three shots. If he blocks them all, I owe him a date. If I score, he backs off. The stakes feel impossibly high, especially with the weight of everyone's eyes on us.

"Never. I won’t lose today. The incentive to win is too high," he grins, adjusting his mask. I stare at his Hawkeyes jersey. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in an official game day jersey. Number 51. The same number he wore in San Diego. "Just making sure you're ready to follow through when I win."

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