Page 71 of Match Penalty

"Oliver?" I say, startled. "What are you doing here?"

Oliver Garcia, my former teammate from San Diego, the same one who got kicked off the team last year for getting in a fight with our mascot, sending him to the ER. Needless to say, he doesn’t play for the Blue Devils anymore. He and I never had a problem but I stayed out of the way of his fists when he’d get blackout drunk, which helped. He pulls me into a back-slapping hug. "Had a meeting in Seattle for a sportscaster job, saw you were playing and I had to see it for myself. Good game out there—classic Dumont."

The easy camaraderie between us feels good, but as Oakley hands me the drinks, I feel the tension in the room shift. The air grows heavier, and when I glance around, I catch a few Hawkeyes regulars straightening in their seats, their eyes narrowing.

"You’ve got some nerve showing up here," someone calls out.

Oliver turns, his smile faltering. "Excuse me?"

"That hit on Slade," another voice adds. "Championship game against the Hawkeyes. Ring any bells?"

Shit. I hadn’t been playing for the Blue Devils that year. They signed me the following year, but the memory flashes through my mind. I watched it all play out on TV—Slade going down hard, Oliver's stick coming up, the aftermath that nearly ended both careers. And the Hawkeyes fans who watched as Slade was carried off the ice, headed for the ER. They missed their chance at the Stanley Cup—none of them have forgotten.

I step in quickly, hoping to defuse the situation. "Guys, come on. It’s ancient history."

"Easy for you to say," one of the regulars snaps. "You weren’t here."

They aren’t wrong, but my focus is on keeping things from escalating. I catch Cammy watching from the table, her brow furrowed with concern. She stands, moving toward me, and the protective instinct kicks in. I always want her close, but not in the middle of this.

"Maybe we should all take a breath," Cammy says, her tone calm.

But then someone shoves Oliver. He stumbles back into a table, and chaos erupts.

I push Cammy behind me as Mike, one of the regulars, takes a swing at Oliver. I block it, trying to keep things from spiraling further. "Mike, stop—"

A fist connects with my jaw, from somewhere I didn’t see coming. I’m not even sure who threw the punch before the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. I’m barely able to register it because I hear Cammy cry out.

"Cammy!" Seven’s voice cuts through the noise as he races behind me helping her up. Blood trickles from a small cut on her forehead where she hit the corner of a table.

"Brynn," Seven calls sharply.

Brynn is there before I can get through the people squabbling, creating a wall between Cammy and me.

“I’m right here,” Brynn says, kneeling next to Cammy.

“You two get out of here. Take her to our place. I’ll meet you there after I help Oakley.” I hear him say, and I push my way through players and regulars trying to calm down the small fight going on.

I leave Oliver to defend himself… he had this coming anyway. He’s lucky Slade is still playing to this day and didn’t press charges against him.

I try to reach for her, but Seven’s glare stops me cold.

Oakley’s whistle pierces the air. "Everybody out! Now!"

The bar clears quickly, Brynn pulling Cammy with her, leaving just me, Slade, and Seven behind. Oakley’s employees are quickly running around, cleaning up broken beer bottles and turned over chairs.

"This is what I was talking about," Seven says quietly, his voice harder than I’ve ever heard it. "The chaos that follows your family name."

Slade steps up. “Seven, give him a break. He didn’t cause this.”

Seven turns to him. “Is she your daughter? The one you're responsible for protecting against anything that threatens her safety?”

Slade’s jaw tightens for a second, and we both know that he can’t help me. I’ve never seen Seven use that tone with Slade before, and I have a feeling that neither has he. “No,” he says flatly, knowing that it’s time to back off.

I appreciate him anyway. But Seven’s right. This is my fight.

Slade heads to the back of the bar looking for Oakley to see what he can do to help clean up.

"I didn’t start this—"

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