Page 96 of Match Penalty

I can’t afford to see her name on my screen. Not now. Not after tonight.

I glance at the driver, his face lit faintly by the dashboard glow. “Can we pick up the pace?” I ask. “I’m cutting it close for my flight.”

He mutters something under his breath about traffic, but the car speeds up.

Leaning my head back against the seat, I close my eyes, replaying the slapshot challenge. She was fierce—every movement confident, every shot deliberate. The way she stared at me when the confetti cannons went off—it was a vision I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.

The puck I gave her with the key and the writing was something I had already planned to hand her after Seven scored a goal, but then when she walked out onto the ice, taking her father's place to send me packing, that's when I knew that I hurt her worse than I will ever recover for because I could have never done that to her. The idea of scoring on Cammy and sending her away from me makes me physically unwell. I had to have done enough to make her resent me that much.

That's when I sent the puck up to be the one she would ultimately score on me. No other outcome would be enough to prove to her what she means to me.

I have no idea if she'll go to my apartment to check on things before she turns in the key, but at least I left a note for her, in case. The words sting, but they’re true. Trouble follows me like a shadow—and Seven is right, I won’t let it darken her life. She’s already been through too much.

Sea-Tac is buzzing when we pull up. I pay the driver and haul my bag out of the trunk, heading for the entrance. The automatic doors whoosh open, and the chaos of the terminal swallows me whole. Travelers rush past, voices blend into a dull roar, and the overhead announcements barely register.

Check-in is a blur. The attendant gives me my boarding pass and wishes me a good flight, and I offer a stiff nod in return. I move through security on autopilot, my thoughts stuck on Cammy. Seeing her tonight in that dress. How it took everything in me not to sweep her up in my arms and carry her away to somewhere private—somewhere to steal her attention—to somehow explain everything. But it's too late for explanations now.

At the gate, I sink into a chair with my phone in my pocket, still turned off. I don't need Angelica cursing me out for this. She can save her wrath for another day.

My flight’s boarding call echoes through the speakers, but I don’t move right away. Instead, I glance at the hair band around my wrist, pulling it up and letting it snap against my skin.

Finally, I stand as the line starts to dwindle, everyone else loading onto the aircraft. It's time to go.

The flight to Canada is uneventful. The plane's engines lull me into a restless half-sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see her. The way she leaned in close when we talked, her lips curving into a smile when she teased me. The fire in her eyes when she challenged me on the ice. And the way she whispered my name that night in my apartment. The feeling of her lips against mine.

At least I got to hold her again. One last time that I'll never regret.

I shake the thoughts away, staring out the window as the plane descends. The snowy expanse of Canada stretches out below, a sharp contrast to Seattle’s rain-soaked streets. It feels like I’ve crossed into another world—one where I’m no longer her problem.

The hotel room is as bare as I expected. A bed, a desk, a chair. The heater hums softly, and I toss my bag onto the floor, sinking onto the edge of the bed. The silence presses in on me, suffocating and hollow all at once.

I pull out my phone, staring at the dark screen. My thumb hovers over the power button, but I don’t press it. Not yet. If I turn it on, I’ll be tempted to stare at my phone all night, waiting for her to call or text, but I know she won't. This is what she wanted, and I can't blame her for it. I've given her every reason not to trust me.

Instead, I set it on the nightstand and flop back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow is my first practice with the farm team. I should be focused on proving myself, on working my way back up to where I was. But all I can think about is her. Her smile, her laugh, her fire.

And how I’ll never get to hold her again.

“Home sweet home,” I whisper to the empty room.

I close my eyes, willing sleep to come, but it doesn’t. Not tonight.

Not without her.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Cammy

It's still dark out as the morning is just starting. I throw another sweater into my duffle bag, along with enough underwear for a few days. I've been up most of the night, my mind racing with everything Angelica revealed about San Diego. The truth about the DUI, about JP protecting her, about everything he sacrificed—it explains so much, yet somehow makes this harder.

My phone buzzes with another text

Angelica:Still no luck with the hotels. His phone's still off. But I'll keep trying.

I reply quickly.

Me:Thanks. I got a flight. Leaving in two hours.

The puck from last night sits on my nightstand, JP's key still taped to its surface. His words echo in my mind:Je t'aime.

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