Page 85 of Match Penalty

"Are you sure about this?" Brynn asks carefully. "Once you make this decision—"

"I've never been more sure of anything." I stop pacing, meeting her eyes. "He made the rules, I'm just finally playing the same game."

The short drive home feels different somehow, like I've crossed a line I can't uncross. But as I park in the underground parking garage of The Commons, I feel something settle in my chest. Not peace, exactly, but certainty.

JP Dumont has broken my heart for the last time.

Chapter Twenty-Five

JP

I’ve been in and out of this stadium a hundred times or more since I signed my PTO with the team, but today it feels different. Heavier. Like the walls themselves know what I’m about to do and are trying to hold me back.

Coach Haynes’ office door is slightly ajar. I knock twice and push it open, my heart pounding like I’m heading into sudden death overtime.

“JP,” Coach says, looking up from his laptop. “You’re early. Is everything alright?”

I step inside, closing the door behind me. It feels final, like sealing my fate. “Got a minute?”

“Always,” he says, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “What’s on your mind?”

I sit down, trying to find the right words. How do you tell someone you’re walking away from everything you’ve worked for without sounding like a complete idiot?

“I need to talk to you about a transfer,” I say finally.

Coach’s eyebrows shoot up. “A transfer? What the hell are you talking about?”

“To the farm team,” I clarify, leaning forward, my elbows resting on my knees. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. I think it’s the best move for the team—and for me.”

He stares at me like I’ve just sprouted a second head. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re the starting goalie for one of the top teams in the league, and you want to go to the farm team?”

I nod, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s not about my performance. It’s about focus. I’m a distraction, Coach. You know it, I know it, and the guys know it. This team deserves someone who’s all in.”

“And you’re not?” he challenges.

I hesitate, my throat tightening. “I can’t be. Not right now.”

Coach leans forward, his hands clasped on the desk. “This about Cammy?”

The question catches me off guard, and I glance away. “It’s about a lot of things.”

“Bullshit,” he says, his voice sharp. “You think leaving is going to fix whatever’s going on with her?”

“It’s not just about her,” I say, trying to convince myself even more than him. “It’s about doing what’s right for everyone. For the team, for her, for—”

“For you,” he finishes, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Right. Because running away is the right move.”

“It’s not running away,” I argue, but even I don’t believe it. “It’s stepping back to give everyone space.”

Coach shakes his head, his disappointment clear. “You’re making a mistake, Dumont. Everyone on that team, from the people who run the day-to-day, to the players out on that ice, are all here for the same goal—to win another championship. It would be disrespectful to the people who give it their all for me to attempt to talk you into staying on if you're not fully invested.”

"I understand, Coach." I say with a nod. "I appreciate the opportunity that you’ve given me. And I appreciate you doing this last thing for me."

He stares back at me for a beat as if thinking I might feel the weight—the call back—to stay with the team, and though my hands are sweating and my blood pressure must be through the roof, I know that I can't give my all to this team. Not when I already gave it all to Cammy, though she'll never know it.

"You have talent. I hate to see you throw it away. But at the end of the day, it's your choice."

“Thank you,” I say, standing up. The words feel hollow.

---