Page 50 of Match Penalty

“He’s told me—multiple times. And the glare he gives me when I’m anywhere near you reinforces it.”

“Well, I don’t know. That’s a lot of hypotheticals,” I say. “You want me to tell you if I can go against the one person who I trust most in the world, when you can’t even be honest with me about what happened in San Diego? Do you see how that makes it difficult for me to give you an answer?”

He nods, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to put you at odds with Seven, and I don’t want to keep this secret from you, though I know that’s hard to believe,” he says, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me tight. “Will you stay until morning?”

“It is morning,” I joke.

It’s still dark out as his eyes glance over at the window.

“Just a few more hours then. I have to get on the bus in the morning to head for the jet, but I just want to lay here with you as long as possible.”

“Yeah.” I say. “I’ll stay. Besides, I don’t have my key.”

“Just my luck,” he says and then kisses the top of my forehead.

I pull the hair tie out of my hair and slip it back over his wrist.

“I think it’s fully charged now and ready for your away game tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” he says.

We fall asleep, just like that—him holding onto me like I'm his lifeline. It feels good to be back in his arms, as much as I know I should fight it.

A few hours later, the muffled sound of Seattle’s early morning traffic filters through the window, but it feels distant, like the world outside doesn’t exist.

JP’s arm is draped across my waist, his hand splayed warm and solid against my stomach.

I lie still, staring at the faint patterns of light on the ceiling. My mind spins with memories of last night and this morning. A lot has happened, and I’m even less sure of what to do as my feelings for him continue to grow and he shows me the person I thought I saw in him over the years, before his accident.

And yet, the reality is still the same. He’s keeping something from me. I’ve lived a life like that before—I don’t want to go back.

Carefully, I shift out from under his arm, biting my lip to keep from making a sound. JP stirs but doesn’t wake, his face relaxed in sleep. He seems so different like this—vulnerable, almost boyish. Gone are the sharp edges of the goalie I see on the ice, replaced by the man I’ve been trying so hard not to want.

I grab my phone from the charger on the nightstand and tiptoe toward his closet. His smallest pair of sweats sits folded neatly on a shelf, and I roll the waistband as many times as it takes to get them to stay up. I pull on one of his shirts, its hem brushing my thighs, and take a deep breath.

This isn’t San Diego. And yet, it feels so similar.

I grab the dress I wore at the club and my heels and head for his front door. My feet carry me to the door before I can change my mind, but a soft knock halts me mid-step.

I freeze, my hand hovering over the doorknob. Through the peephole, I see Brynn standing on the other side, her head tilted and something in her hands.

“Thank God,” I mutter under my breath, twisting the knob.

“Cammy?” Brynn’s voice is muffled through the wood, but she must have heard me.

I crack the door open just enough to meet her smirking gaze. I put a finger to my lips to mimic shushing her. “He’s asleep,” I say.

Her eyes immediately drop to the oversized shirt I’m wearing.

“Well, this is familiar,” she says, holding out my purse. “Figured you might need this to get back into your place.”

I scowl, stepping out of JP’s apartment with my club dress draped over my arm and my heels in my hand. “Not a word.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she replies, though her expression tells me otherwise. “You okay?”

I glance back at the closed door behind me as we start walking toward the elevator. “I don’t know.”

Brynn presses the button for the elevator, her smirk softening into something more genuine. “Fair enough. Just so you know, your dad asked a million questions last night when I showed up without you.”

---