Page 82 of Match Penalty

"No… you've silenced me long enough over the last week, and now you've answered my call because deep down, you want to hear what I have to say."

She got that wrong. I don't want to hear what she has to say, but I know well enough that if I didn't answer the phone, she'd fly her happy ass down here to tell it to my face.

"Okay then, say your peace," I sigh, stuffing one hand into my jacket pocket.

"You need to fix this with her. You're not your father's son—"

"Ang—" I try again.

"JP, you're not him. And Cammy's not your mom. There's no way that your dad would do what you've done for me—what you've done for her. You're protective and caring. You want to shield those you love even when it means taking the hit yourself."

I get to the end of the cross walk. I pull my hand out of my jacket and slam it against the crosswalk button as I wait for it to signal WALK, frustration building. I can do everything right, but I still don't get Cammy. "What do you want from me, Angelica?"

"I want you to fight," she says simply. "For once in your life, I want you to fight for what you want instead of accepting what other people think you deserve."

The words echo in the empty street, cutting through my carefully constructed defenses.

"That's why I'm coming to town," she continues, softer now. "My flight lands tomorrow morning."

"Angelica, you don't have to—"

"Yes, I do. Because someone needs to knock some sense into you before this charity game. And since Cammy can't do it herself—because you won't let her—it might as well be me. You won her over without even telling her about San Diego. You kept our secret intact, and she still fell in love with you a second time. Don't you get it? Cammy sees the real you through it all."

I think about the upcoming game, about Seven's challenge. About how easy it would be to just let the puck slip past, to give everyone what they think they want.

"The couch pulls out into a bed. I'll have it made up for you," I say finally, because there's no point in arguing with Angelica when she gets like this.

"Thanks. And JP?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop practicing so hard. Your save percentage is already ridiculous, and we both know you're not doing it for the team."

I hang up, her words following me the rest of the way home. She's right—I have been pushing harder, playing better. But not because I want to win.

Because when I'm focused on stopping pucks, I don't have to think about everything else I've lost. About how empty my apartment feels without Cammy's laughter filling it. About how the arena feels colder now that I can't look up and meet her eyes.

Tomorrow, Angelica arrives. Maybe she can help me figure out where I'll end up if I leave the Hawkeyes. I need to learn to accept that walking away might be the right thing to do.

The elevator doors open to my level after a run with Hartley this evening, and I notice that I missed a text from Angelica—her flight landed early. I pocket my phone as I step out seeing Angelica standing at my apartment door, her rolling bag in hand and her laptop bag over her shoulder.

"You look like shit," she announces, as I walk up.

"Missed you too," I mutter, pushing the door open and holding it for her as she walks in first in her high powered lawyer suit and heels. "Make yourself at home. I just got back from a run with Hartley. I'm going to jump into the shower first," I say, dropping my apartment key and phone on the kitchen island.

"Oh, I plan to," she says, already laying out on the couch, stretching out her legs, and kicking off her heels as she grabs the remote control to the TV. "And when you're done, we're having a real conversation about Cammy."

I'm under the hot spray, trying to wash away the weight of the last six days, when I hear my phone ringing in the other room. Angelica's voice carries through the bathroom door.

"Hello? Yes, this is Angelica. JP's in the shower right now..."

My stomach drops as I realize who must be calling. I shut off the water, but by the time I get to the door, wrapped in a towel, the call has ended.

"Was that…" I ask, pointing to the phone in her hand. I can't bring myself to say her name, hoping my instincts are wrong.

"That was Cammy," Angelica says quietly, holding my phone. "And based on how quickly she hung up, I'm guessing she doesn't know I'm in town."

"Fuck." The word echoes in the quiet apartment. Because of course this would happen now. Of course, Cammy would call at the worst possible moment.

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