Page 35 of Match Penalty

“He hasn’t talked to you about it yet?” I ask.

Brynn keeps stirring her goop, adding more ingredients to it. “Nope. He’s just walking around here like he didn’t just bet the new starting goalie to kick rocks if he loses. Do you realize how insane this is? And if JP wins this bet, he’s got a clean slate with your dad. That’s a big deal.”

The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board keeps a rhythm as I attempt to slice even cucumber rounds. "I know… and if dad wins, Penelope will never forgive me."

And then JP will leave, and who knows if I’ll ever see him again.

"So, what’s the real problem here? The bet itself, or the fact that he’s willing to risk everything for you?" she asks, catching me off guard.

My knife stills on the cutting board. "Risk everything for me…?" I ask, playing dumb.

"Come on, Cammy. It’s pretty obvious what this is all about. That boy has it bad for you."

My eyes lift up to hers. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it, Cammy. Two other teams were offering him secure contracts. But he picked a PTO with the Hawkeyes—the hardest option. Why? Because this isn’t about hockey. It’s about proving himself to your dad. To you. Don't you see what JP wants?" she asks, looking up from her bowl of smashed avocado and whatever else she put in there.

I shake my head. “It’s not his last chance. Two other teams were ready to sign him. I’m sure he could still get one of those contracts even if he walked away from the Hawkeyes.”

“I don’t think you get it. He gave up signing with those teams for a PTO with the Hawkeyes. Now why would someone pass up a five year contract to try out for a team instead? “ She asks. “Unless he has other motives that maybe aren't hockey related.”

Before I can tell her that she’s wrong, heavy footsteps sound on the stairs. My dad appears in the doorway, dressed casually in a pair of shorts, flip flops, and a Scallywag's T-shirt, like he should be in Mexico at his beach house and not in the drizzly weather of Seattle as we move into late September and the pre-season.

"Did I hear JP's name?" he asks, his expression darkening slightly.

"We were just discussing the auction preview," Brynn says smoothly.

My dad turns to me. "Listen, Cam, I did what I did to protect you. Dumont’s skating on thin ice—literally. A guy like him doesn’t risk his career without an angle. Don’t let him drag you into his mess."

"He’s not trying to drag me into anything. You bet him his career, how does he back down from something like that? Everett is not going to be happy if he finds out about this bet you two made.”

My dad’s facial expression doesn’t change. It’s hard to threaten someone when they have nothing to lose. My dad is coaching the special teams because Coach Haynes begged him to.

"Are you sure about that? He’s already made his move, Cam. Now it’s your turn to think about what happens if he loses."

"Seven," Brynn warns.

He raises his hands in surrender, pulling Milo off the counter and back into his arms. "Alright, alright. We'll be in the man cave downstairs if you need us. Come on, buddy, let's leave the ladies to their spa night. By the way, you looked good out there at that preview. You’re improving, kiddo.”

After a brief pause, he asks, "How's the rest of the auction planning going?" His tone suggests he's really asking about JP.

"It's... going," I say carefully. "Lots of moving parts."

"Mmhmm." He studies me for a moment. "Just remember what I taught you about taking shots under pressure. Keep your head up, follow through—"

"And don't let the goalie get in your head," I finish with him, earning a proud smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"It works on the ice but also everywhere else. You're doing good. I'm proud of you for taking this on and helping Autumn and Briggs, and all the families that need these condos built," he says.

"Thanks, Dad," I say.

He nods and then walks past Brynn, sticking his finger on the edge of the facemask bowl, swiping some onto his finger, and then sucking it off.

"That's delicious, baby. You could eat that with chips."

Brynn beams back at his praise.

Just as he disappears down the basement stairs of the house to my dad’s man cave, the front door bursts open with enough force to rattle the wine glasses. Aria storms in, mascara streaking down her cheeks, her usual sweet as a peach, prim and proper, polished appearance completely undone. The bow in her low ponytail left askew. Something's not right.

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