Page 72 of Match Penalty

"Doesn’t matter." He steps closer, his hands on his hips, as he lets out a deep sigh. "Your father was the same way. And innocent people always got caught in the crossfire. He never thought it was his fault either. I was at the bar the night your mom stepped in to stop a fight when your father got too drunk and started a fight with a group that he shouldn't have. She paid for that with a night in the hospital and your dad woke up in some alley claiming he doesn't remember her getting hit when she stepped in at the wrong time. She filed for divorce the next day and took you away, didn't she?"

The words hit like body shots, each one finding its mark. He's trying to prove a parallel between how my father treated my mother and how I will treat Cammy, and though I can deny it all I want, Cammy's in a cab right now after getting hurt during a bar fight that somehow I got pulled into.

"I’m not my father," I say instead.

"No?" Seven says, his tone calmer than before. "Then prove it. I’ve tried to warn you off of her, I’ve tried threatening your career. None of it worked, and I should have known that you're determined enough to think you could have both. But now I’m going to test just how much you care about my daughter.” His eyes narrow on mine as if he’ll find something he’s looking for. “Walk away now. Before she gets hurt worse than a bump on the head, and then I might just believe that you’re not your old man. He would have never done right by your mom, but at least she was smart enough to leave and take you as far away from him as possible."

I think about the cut on Cammy’s head, about how my attempt to protect her ended with her getting hurt anyway. About how many times I’ve watched history repeat itself with my father.

"She deserves better," Seven continues softly. "And you already know that, don't you?"

I thought I could be good enough for her just by simply trying. But maybe I'll never escape who I am, and I refuse to let Cammy live the life my mother did before she got a divorce.

"What do you expect me to do? I just got her back," I say, though I know what I have to do.

"Give her up. And make it believable," he says.

My phone feels heavy in my hand as I type out the message:

Me:I’m sorry about what happened tonight. You were right from the beginning. This isn’t going to work.

Seven watches me hit send, approval finally softening his features. "Thank you."

I nod once, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat.

Maybe some things really are genetic.

Maybe some people really aren’t meant for happy endings.

And maybe, just maybe… protecting Cammy means letting her go.

Chapter Twenty-One

Cammy

I stare at JP's text message for what feels like the hundredth time, my thumb hovering over the screen. It's been two days since the incident at Oakley's.

I’m sorry about what happened tonight. You were right from the beginning. This isn’t going to work.

The words blur together as I read them again, trying to make sense of them. My head throbs where the small cut sits near my hairline, but it's nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

After everything that happened between us two night ago—the jersey, the closet, him making me feel like I was his entire world—how could he possibly think we're not going to work?

I type out another message, adding to the string of unanswered texts I've sent over the last two days.

Me:What do you mean?

Me:This is ridiculous. At least talk to me.

I call JP. No answer.

Me:Are you honestly not going to pick up?

The message shows as delivered, but like all the others, there's no response. No typing indicator. No sign that he's even reading them.

My phone records mock me: six calls, all sent straight to voicemail. Fifteen texts, all unanswered. Two days of silence that feel like an eternity.

The bruise near my temple has faded to a dull yellow, barely visible unless you know where to look. It's nothing—a scratch, really—but somehow it's become everything. The reason JP pulled away, the excuse he needed to run.

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