Page 32 of Match Penalty

“Bet?” I hear my dad’s voice. “What bet?”

“Just a friendly wager. Nothing big,” I tell him, for some reason jumping in to protect JP.

There’s no way my dad would stand for the terms of our arrangement.

I can tell that he isn’t buying it, but before he can ask follow-up questions, Everett and Mark make their way down to us.

"What if I take Cammy's place?" my dad says, his voice cutting through the air like a slapshot.

Every muscle in my body tenses as I turn to face him. He’s already stepping onto the ice, his skates slicing into the surface with practiced ease.

"A battle between the old goalie and the new?" Mark says, his excitement bubbling over. "Now that’s something no one will want to miss. I hope you ordered enough tickets, Everett, because this event is about to sell out fast."

"What do you say, Dumont?" my dad asks, his eyes never leaving JP.

JP doesn’t flinch, his jaw tightening as he meets my dad’s gaze. "I’m in."

"Perfect," Mark says, already turning to Everett and Penelope to hammer out details. But I can’t focus on them. Not when my dad and JP are locked in a silent battle of wills.

"Since you seem to like bets," my dad says, his voice calm but sharp enough to cut glass, "how about we make one of our own?"

The air feels heavier, every sound in the arena fading into the background as his words sink in.

"If I get a puck past you, you agree to leave the Hawkeyes. No arguments, no explanations. You forfeit your PTO and you walk away."

“Dad—” I say but JP cuts me off.

"And if I shut you out?" JP asks. His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it, a determination that makes my chest ache. "I want your approval. No more warnings, no more interference. You let me stay here."

There's no way that Penelope, Coach Haynes, or Everett would be happy to hear this bet.

JP’s eyes flicker to me and that’s when I realize that this doesn’t have anything to do with hockey… this has everything to do with me.

“Fair enough,” my dad says, offering out his hand.

“Wait—stop…This is ridiculous! Neither of you can make that call," I say, stepping forward, my voice echoing across the ice. "You can’t just bet his career on one shot. What would Coach Haynes or Everett say about this?” I ask, trying to bring my voice down so the entire stadium doesn’t hear us, and also to bring them both to their senses.

Neither of them look at me. They shake hands, the weight of their agreement settling over the rink like a storm cloud.

Without another word, my dad turns and skates off, his shoulders rigid as he heads for the stands. Brynn’s eyes meet mine, wide with disbelief as she mouths,What just happened?

I shake my head, my stomach churning as JP turns to face me. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes that makes my chest tighten.

This isn’t just about a shot anymore. It’s about hearts and careers and second chances—and I’m not sure any of us are ready for what happens next.

Especially me.

Chapter Nine

JP

"That's what we're playing on?" Luka asks, staring at my PS3 like it's a museum artifact. He sets down a large stack of pizzas on my kitchen counter and opens the fridge door, setting a case of beers on the bottom rack of my fridge. The smell of pepperoni, spicy sausage, and bell peppers fill my apartment. "You played for the Blue Devils for four years with a multimillion dollar contract and this is the best you can do?"

"It’s not about the system," I say, grabbing another slice of pizza. "It’s about the memories. NHL 25 got me through road trips, lonely summers, and way too many nights when I should’ve been studying game footage."

Hunter comes through the door just in time. "And to think—the media calls you a spoiled brat, born with a silver spoon in your mouth. If they could only see you now."

I laugh. The media has no idea what growing up as Jon Paul Dumont Senior's son meant. I stopped asking for things from my father at a young age—it was all conditional, including his love. "Mind telling them? You'd be doing me a favor. I'll even let you sell a picture of my PlayStation to the tabloids. They'll have a field day with this kind of breaking news," I say. "Want me to pose with it?"

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