Page 93 of Match Penalty

“A bet’s a bet, Cammy," he says, handing me the puck that I scored against him.

“That’s not an answer,” I snap, gripping the puck tightly. “Why did you step aside? Did you do it for her?”

He shakes his head. "She’s only ever been a friend, Cammy—nothing more." His gaze holds mine, something honest flickering in his eyes. “I'm stepping aside because I'm not fighting you anymore. You're getting what you want. You win.”

Before I can respond, he steps closer and reaches up with his barehand, his thumb brushing over my cheek. His skin is surprisingly warm despite being out here for that last hour. I wish I was strong enough to step out of his touch—but I can't bring myself to do it. It's probably the last time he'll ever touch me, and I wish I was brave enough to reach out and touch him, too. But the hurt he's put me through demands self-preservation.

His voice drops. “I'm not mad at how this ended, I'm just sorry I couldn't be everything you deserve," he says, pulling his hand back from my skin and dropping his hand to his side. "Je t’aime. I need you to know that.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable. "What does that mean?" I ask. It's significant—I can feel it.

"You're not ready to hear it. Maybe you never will be," he says.

"Tell me? Please." I beg.

He licks his lips, and I almost think he debates it, but then he doesn't. "My apartment key is taped to the puck. Will you drop it off for me in the morning to the property management office?"

I nod, unable to come up with a response. I can’t believe he packed up his apartment before all of this. How long ago did he decide that he was going to walk away?

My vision drifts to the green hair band and he follows my eyes. "Do you mind if I keep it? It would be hard to part with it now," he says.

I nod, staring down at the puck in my hands to keep the tears at bay, but when I look up, the crowd is starting to fill in around us and JP is already skating away. I can't process all these feelings at once and the image of JP getting further and further away has my heart shattering in a million pieces. I knew this would hurt, but it's more painful than I ever imagined it would be.

I feel a presence at my side. "I love you?" Aria says, leaning forward to read something. "Who wrote that on the puck? Kind of a weird place to write it."

Then it dawns on me with Aria's translation.

He let the puck go past him because he loves me.

I turn and race toward the players tunnel, trying desperately to weave between people without slipping on my ass. The dense crowd makes it harder to get through.

The minute I make it to the tunnel, he's nowhere in sight, and then I feel a hand reach out and grab me. I spin to see who it is—praying—hoping, it's him. But then I see her.

Angelica.

"We need to talk," she says, her expression stern. "About San Diego. About why he really left that night."

"I don't have time for this, I have to—"

"He won't tell you the truth," she cuts me off. "But I will. It's time you knew everything."

The seriousness of her expression tells me that she has the information I've been begging JP to tell me.

"Everything?" I ask.

"Not here," Angelica says, glancing at the celebrating crowd. "Is there somewhere private we can talk? It's sensitive information that can't get out."

I lead her to my office, my mind racing. The confetti from the challenge still clings to our hair, a glittering reminder of JP's final words before he skated away.

Je t'aime.

I love you.

The words echo in my head as I close the office door behind us. Angelica doesn't sit, instead she paces near my window.

"I wanted to tell you this when you called two nights ago, but you hung up," she starts. She looks nervous for someone who I suspect thrives on dramatic courtroom moments. "JP and I agreed to keep this a secret but I think you need to know the truth. But you have to promise to keep our secret."

"Why wouldn't he tell me any of this?" The words come out sharper than intended. This would have cleared up so much.

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