Page 86 of Match Penalty

I’m halfway through my second set of bench presses when the gym door slams open. I don’t have to look up to know who it is.

“What the fuck are you doing, Dumont?” Slade’s voice booms across the empty space.

I rack the barbell and sit up, wiping sweat off my face. “Morning, Matthews.”

“Don’t ‘morning’ me,” he snaps, marching over. “Haynes just told me you’re asking for a transfer. Care to explain why you’re suddenly out of your goddamn mind? Please tell me you're sleepwalking, and this was all just a nightmare you're having or that you had amnesia and don't recall any of that conversation so I can tell Coach Haynes you didn't mean any of that.”

I sigh, grabbing my water bottle. “I’ve already confirmed it with Haynes. It’s done.”

“Like hell it is,” Slade growls. “You think this is how you solve your problems? By bailing?”

“I’m not bailing,” I say, my voice tight. “I’m doing what needs to be done.”

“Who exactly are you doing this for? Cammy? Seven? Because I know for a fact you're not doing this for yourself, and you're sure as hell not doing it for the team that needs you.”

“Olsen will get cleared in a couple of weeks. You won't miss me."

Slade shakes his head, his hands on his hips. "This is about something bigger isn't it?" he says, shaking a finger at me as I watch him think through it. "You came here to prove something and to get Cammy back. And you ended up doing both. So I don't get it. What happened?" he asks.

“This isn’t about proving anything. It’s about making sure Cammy doesn’t get dragged down by my shit.”

Slade laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You think she’s better off without you? That walking away is some noble sacrifice? You’re not protecting her, Dumont. You’re just proving you’re too much of a coward to fight for her.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” I snap. “You don’t know what it’s like to be compared to someone who ruined everything they touched. You don’t know what it’s like to see the same patterns in yourself and wonder if you’re going to hurt the people you care about.”

“You’re right,” he says, his tone softer but still firm. “I don’t know what that’s like. But I do know what it’s like to lose someone because you were too stubborn to admit you needed help.”

I stare at him, my chest heaving. “This isn’t the same.”

“Isn’t it?” he counters. “You think Cammy wants you to leave? You think she’ll be happy watching you throw away everything you’ve built because you’re scared?”

“She’ll be better off,” I say, my voice breaking. “She deserves someone who can give her everything. Someone who doesn’t bring trouble wherever they go.”

Slade shakes his head, disappointment etched into every line of his face. “You’re making a mistake, JP. But if you're determined to blow up your life again, then I can’t stop you. Just don’t expect me to stand by and watch you throw your life away without saying my peace.”

Later that day, Coach Haynes calls me into his office to let me know the transfer request has been submitted. “I still think you’re making the wrong choice,” he says, his tone heavy. “But I’ll respect it.”

“Thank you. Do me a favor, though. Don't say anything to anyone about this until you have to,” I say, shaking his hand.

I head to the locker room after, sitting in front of my stall for what feels like hours. The room is empty, the usual noise and banter replaced by silence. I stare at the Hawkeyes logo on my gear bag, the memories of this season playing in my mind like a highlight reel. At least I got to play here—train under Coach Wrenley—though it wasn't the experience I expected.

As I leave the facility, it hits me—after tomorrow's home game and the auction the day after, I'll be stepping into the Hawkeyes stadium as a player for the last time.

But not until I give Cammy one last thing.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Cammy

It's five a.m. as I stand on my skates with a hockey stick in my hand, my breath creating small clouds in the cold air. It's too early for anyone else to be here, but I couldn't sleep. Not with tomorrow's auction looming and today’s home game, where I'll be forced to watch JP take to the ice.

"Always the hero," I mutter bitterly to myself about JP, setting up another puck. The sound of my stick connecting with rubber echoes through the empty arena. The puck hits the back of the net, but it's not good enough. Not nearly good enough to get past JP.

I've been here every morning this week, watching Dad practice his shots. Sometimes helping, sometimes just observing. The weight of what's coming sits heavy on my shoulders —one shot from my dad could change everything, and I still have no idea how much Penelope knows. I suspect she still doesn't know anything, and the guilt I feel for that has been increasing.

Of course, if JP shuts my dad out, maybe she'll never find out. What's the likelihood of that? I have no idea. My dad is a legend in the hockey world, but JP is highly ranked in both his overall career and the start of this season. Who knows where he'll end up if he continues to play professionally.

My phone buzzes in my jacket pocket. For a split second, my pulse jumps at the thought of it being JP, but it's just Brynn.

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