Page 65 of Match Penalty

“Fine,” I say, grabbing a puck and skating toward the blue line. “But only because I need to practice. Not because I need your help.”

He smirks, following me. “Whatever you say, Wrenley.”

We fall into an easy rhythm. JP feeds me pucks, offering tips on my stance and follow-through. Every now and then, he skates up behind me to adjust my grip or reposition my shoulders, his hands warm and steady on my arms.

Our bodies melding together like we belong connected. There’s no awkward touch—no second guessing.

Each connection has me looking forward to the next.

“You’re gripping too tight,” he murmurs, his breath brushing against my ear as he stands close behind me. “Relax your hands. Let the stick do the work.”

I try to focus, but his proximity is distracting, his voice low and intimate. When he steps back, I release the shot, the puck soaring into the corner of the net with thud.

“Better,” he says, grinning. “You’re looking solid.”

“Don’t get cocky,” I shoot back, though I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips.

We keep practicing, each minute building on something that feels impossible to ignore. By the time I take my final shot, my legs are trembling—not from exertion, but from the way JP is looking at me, his gaze heavy like he’s about to pick me up and carry me back off to the Zamboni garage again. It has me wondering.

What happens if my dad beats JP at the slapshot?

As crazy at it seems to leave everyone and everything I love here… do I go with him?

“Thank you for helping me today,” I say.

He steps closer, his eyes searching mine. “Anytime. This is my favorite place on earth, and I get to be here, with you… well, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than on home ice with you.”

For a moment, I forget how to think, how to breathe. All I can do is stare at him, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it.

He leans in, his eyes dropping to my lips, and the world tilts on its axis. My pulse races, my body swaying toward him like a magnet.

He’s going to kiss me. In the middle of the rink.

“Cammy!”

The sound of my name shatters the moment, and I jerk back, my head whipping toward the tunnel. My dad skates out, his expression hard and unyielding as his eyes lock onto JP.

JP steps back, his jaw tightening as he nods toward Seven. “I’ll see you later,” he says quietly before skating off, leaving me to face my dad.

“What’s going on?” Seven asks, his voice clipped.

“Nothing,” I say quickly, my cheeks burning. “JP was just helping me with my positioning.”

Seven doesn’t respond, his eyes narrowing as he watches JP disappear into the tunnel. When he finally turns back to me, his expression softens, but the tension lingers.

“Let’s get to work,” he says, motioning for me to line up at center ice.

As I skate to my spot, I can’t shake the feeling of JP’s hands on my arms, his voice in my ear, his eyes on mine. And as much as I try to focus, my heart refuses to listen, beating a frantic rhythm that has nothing to do with the game.

Chapter Nineteen

JP

I check my watch as I head down the service corridor toward the locker room. Two hours until puck drop. Plenty of time for pre-game routine, but Coach Haynes likes us suited up early for home games. Something about team unity, but then I hear her.

The sound of Cammy's laugh stops me in my tracks.

She's in the main concourse, leading a group of suit-wearing investors on what appears to be a stadium tour. Her voice carries as she explains the arena's recent renovations, professional and poised. But what catches my attention is the jersey she's wearing.

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