Page 78 of Match Penalty

Brynn zips the dress up and she lets out a small gasp the second we both stare into the mirror.

"Oh my God, Cammy. If I didn't know better, I'd say they made this dress for you. JP is going to eat his heart out when he sees you in this."

"I don't want him to eat his heart out. I want the truth… and this dress is going to get it for me."

Three years of saying no to him, and the one time I say yes, it leads us here… again. One almost-perfect night, and he's gone.

"The auction isn't just about fundraising anymore, is it?" she asks, but she knows the answer.

"No," I whisper. "It's about making him choose. Stay and fight for this—for us—or leave. No more letting my dad or his past or anything else decide for him."

"And if he chooses wrong?" Brynn's question hangs in the air.

I lift my chin, meeting my own eyes in the mirror. "Then at least I'll know."

As we head to the register, my phone finally buzzes. For a moment, my heart leaps, but it's just Everett confirming auction details. I try not to feel disappointed, but Penelope catches my expression.

"You know," she says softly, "sometimes the biggest goals come from the shots we're most afraid to take."

I think about JP, about the bet, about everything that's led us here. "Yeah," I reply, "but sometimes I wish the net wasn't quite so well defended."

The emerald dress feels heavy in my arms, like the weight of decisions yet to be made. It's seven days until the auction. Seven days to figure out if I'm really ready to face what happens next.

And seven days to decide if I want him to save it or let it in.

Because the truth is, I'm not sure which would hurt more – scoring and watching him leave, or missing and knowing he stayed because of a bet, not because he chose to fight for us.

Chapter Twenty-Three

JP

The sound of blades scratching against the ice drowns out any other thoughts I have besides watching Luka, Trey, and Slade heading straight for me. Slade shoots the puck to Trey as they haul ass toward me. I keep my vision on the puck, my breathing synchronizing, my mind quieting. Out here there's only one thing on my mind—blocking that puck.

I focus on the familiar weight of my gear, the way my pads settle against my legs as I drop into position. Practice has become my sanctuary lately—the one place where muscle memory can override everything else.

Trey shoots the puck to Luka at the last second.

"Heads up, beauty!" Luka calls out, winding up for a shot.

I track the puck's trajectory, my movements automatic. High glove side, trying to catch me cheating left. The save is clean, maybe too clean. Everything feels mechanical lately, precise in a way that has my save percentage climbing but my chest feeling hollow.

"Getting cocky there, Dumont," Aleksi chirps, skating past with a grin. "You know what they say about goalies who peak during practice."

"Better than peaking after two pumps like you, Mäkelin," I shoot back, earning a chorus of "oohs" from the team.

The banter feels good, normal even. But there's a distance to it now, like I'm watching from behind glass. Just like I'm watching her.

I catch a flash of movement in the corporate offices above—Cammy's silhouette against the window. My chest tightens as she pauses, papers in hand, clearly visible even from here. Three stories of space between us, and she still feels within reach.

"Again!" Coach Wrenley's voice snaps me back to the ice. "Two-on-one drill. Slade, Hunter—show our goalie what a real shot looks like."

I force my eyes away from the window, settling into position. Slade and Hunter weave down the ice, their passes quick and spot on. The shot comes fast—Hunter to Slade then back to Hunter—but I'm already moving, stretching out to make the save.

"Nice work, Dumont," Seven calls out, the words clipped but genuine.

The praise should feel good. After all, Seven Wrenley, who I grew up emulating, is telling me that I had a good practice. Instead, it all falls flat. Because I know the cost of earning it—my relationship with Cammy. I've thrown myself into hockey because it's all I have left.

There is still an edge to the glances between Seven and me. The bet we agreed to still lingers between us, and with only two more days until the auction, it's evident that it's on both of our minds.

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