Page 33 of Match Penalty

Aleksi snipes two beers and a box of pizza and heads for the living room. "I offered to bring my newer system, but your boy Monty here is what’s known as a traditionalist, enjoying relics from our past," Aleksi says, slapping the box on the coffee table before sprawling out onto the sofa. "I, for one, am open to all forms of gaming consoles. It brings me back to my childhood."

"Make yourself at home, Mäkelin," I mutter around a mouthful of pizza.

"I always do," Aleksi says quickly.

"Where I'm from, someone who holds on to junk is considered a hoarder," Luka says.

Luka has a similar background as I do—both of us coming from competitive sports families. He comes from a wealthy family in Russia, with rumors of ties to the mob, and his dad is a well-decorated Olympic gymnast who's worked in the family business since he retired from the sport thirty years ago. From the little we've talked, he's familiar with unattainable fatherly expectations.

Aleksi grabs a controller, already queuing up NHL 25. "Where's everyone else?"

"Bozeman's helping his college roommate move," Hunter says, cracking open a beer and settling into my armchair. "And Hartley's at Adaline's piano recital."

I've only met Trey's niece once, but she seems to have a good head on her shoulders for someone who lost her family at a young age.

The door opens again and Slade walks in, nodding at us. His presence still commands attention—maybe it's the captain thing or that he's the longest running hockey player on this team and the only one with a Stanley Cup win under his belt. "Ziggy sends his regrets. He's in New England for a funeral."

Wolf Ziegler—the nicest guy you'll ever meet off the ice and one of the meanest defensive players I've ever played against.

"More pizza for us," Aleksi says, already starting up the game. "First round loser buys next time."

We settle in, chirping at each other over missed shots and arguing calls. It feels... normal. It's strange how quickly I went from the new guy to a part of this team. There's plenty of ego in this room—enough to fill that big ass stadium only a couple of blocks away, but there's also a sense of brotherhood that took me two years to break through with the Blue Devils. Even Luka seems relaxed, trash-talking Aleksi in Finnish just to piss him off.

"Speaking of scoring," Aleksi says during a break between games, his tone too casual. "I'm surprised Coach Wrenley didn't bench you for the rest of the season."

"What? Why would he do that?" I ask.

“Goddamn it, Monty. You’re really going to pretend that we didn’t all witness you eye-fucking the Coach’s daughter right in front of him during the slapshot challenge?” Hunter says, balling up his paper napkin and tossing it at me.

“I was just watching my opponent shoot pucks at me. It’s literally my job," I say.

Chuckles from the guys fill the room, and more balled up napkins come flying at my head from different angles.

The first game ends and Slade stands, grabbing empty bottles. "Dumont. Help me get more beer."

I follow him to the kitchen, grateful for the escape. I turn to the fridge, grabbing beers out of the fridge.

"You're serious about her."

It's not a question.

"Doesn't matter. Seven will kill me." I run a hand through my hair. "You've seen what he does to guys who even look at her the wrong way. And things aren't exactly going great between us right now."

Slade leans against the counter. "You couldn't have fucked up as bad as I did starting out with Penelope. I promise you that."

"Want to bet?"

"Did you threaten every guy on campus to stay away from her and ruin her Olympic skating dreams?" He takes a pull from his beer. "Because that's what I did."

I stare at him. "You ruined her chance at the Olympics?"

He shrugs as if playing it off like it's not a big deal, but his expression gives him away, darkening at the memory as if he still has regrets. "More or less. She ended up going… just a lot later than she had planned," he clears his throat. "The point is, her dad was my coach, too, and then my GM. If I can make it out of the doghouse for my sins, you can, too. But be sure it's what you want. Sam stunted my career for four years, sending me to the farm team when I was expected to be a first round pick in the NHL draft, to teach me a lesson—Seven will end your existence all together."

My jaw tightens as Slade talks about Seven’s wrath, but it’s not fear I feel—it’s doubt. Doubt that Cammy would even want me to fight for her. Doubt that I’ll ever win her over without telling her what happened that night with Angelica hitting that guardrail. Or maybe it's doubt that I'm good enough for her—that I'm the right choice. Seven's wrong to think that I just want a casual one night with Cammy, only to toss her out when I'm done. But that doesn't mean he's wrong about whether or not I'm the right choice for her.

I shake off the thought. I can't think that way. Whatever it takes, I need to be the man who deserves Cammy.

"I know... he already told me he would, in far fewer words. Your wife threatened me, too. But you're saying she got over it?"

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