Page 98 of Match Penalty

Coach Haynes:Before Everett forces me to fire my special team’s coach. We're going to need him too.

I clutch my phone, tears threatening. JP still has a chance—we still have a chance.

I get through security with my shoulders feeling a little lighter after reading Coach Haynes' texts. Knowing that he never processed the transfer makes a huge difference.

The gate area is crowded. A little boy wearing a Hawkeyes jersey runs past, his toy goalie stick dragging behind him. The sight makes my throat tight.

My phone buzzes again.

Angelica:Just heard from the farm team's assistant. JP checked into one of the hotels near their practice rink. She’s sending me the address and room number.

My hands shake as I respond.

Me:Thank you. I owe you.

Angelica:You don't owe me anything. Just... fix this? He deserves to be happy. You both do.

The boarding call comes over the speakers, and I gather my things, my heart pounding. In less than two hours, I'll be in Vancouver. Two hours until I can tell JP everything—about Angelica, about his spot still being open with the Hawkeyes, about how much I love him.

"Now boarding all rows," the gate agent calls.

As I step onto the plane, I have no idea how today will end.

But I hope it ends with JP by my side.

Chapter Thirty

JP

The whistle blows, echoing in the practice rink as I bend over, hands on my knees, catching my breath. The drills are grueling, or maybe it’s just me weighed down by everything I’ve carried here. This place feels foreign—too clean, too quiet, too sterile. Even the ice doesn’t feel right under my skates.

Focus, Dumont. You can’t screw this up.

I straighten, nodding at the assistant coach when he calls for the next rotation. I push off, forcing my legs to move faster, harder, trying to drown out the noise in my head. The puck ricochets off my pad, and the defense clears it. But my timing is off—half a second slower than it should be.

Every save feels like a battle. Every missed block feels like confirmation that something is off—that I don't belong here. But I have no other choice. The other teams have already filled the spots. Besides, there's only one place that feels like home.

The Hawkeyes, the city, the girl. The only problem is… they’re all behind me now. I left it all last night, but I should be grateful that at least I get to play, because it's the only thing I have left.

After an hour of drills, the coach finally blows the whistle for a water break. I skate to the bench, pulling my mask off and dragging my sleeve across my face. The team’s chatter fades into the background as I grab my bottle.

The sharp sound of something skidding across the ice draws my attention.

A puck.

It stops near my skate. I frown, leaning down to pick it up. There’s writing on it in pink marker.

Dinner?

What the hell?

I glance around the rink, but the players are focused on their break, and the coaching staff are huddled together near the boards.

Then, another puck flies over the plexiglass, landing right in front of me with a soft thud.

I bend down, my breath catching when I see what’s taped to it: a crumpled piece of paper. My fingers are shaking as I peel it off and unfold it.

I love you, too.

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