Page 103 of Match Penalty

Cammy's the place I belong.

And I want to be that for her.

I’ll never let her down.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Cammy

The roar of the crowd fills the arena as I stand just outside the tunnel, gripping my hockey stick. My heart pounds, but not from nerves. This isn’t like last year when everything felt make-or-break. This time, it’s just fun—well, mostly.

I take a deep breath and glance toward my dad. Seven stands beside me, arms crossed, watching the ice with his usual intensity. When he looks down at me, though, his expression softens.

“You ready, kid?” he asks, his voice rough with emotion.

I nod, adjusting my gloves. “Always.”

He exhales a quiet laugh, then sits down beside me on the bench, the weight of his presence grounding me. “I was thinking about the first time I taught you to skate,” he says, shaking his head with a small smile. “You were stubborn as hell.”

I grin. “Wonder where I got that from?”

“Must’ve been your mother,” he quips, but his smile fades into something softer. “Cammy… I want you to know that no matter what happens out there tonight, I’m proud of you. Not just for this—” he gestures toward the ice, where the slapshot challenge is about to take place, “but for everything. For standing your ground, for following your heart, for knowing what you want and fighting for it.”

Emotion tightens my throat, and I blink rapidly to keep it at bay. “You really mean that?”

Seven nods. “I do. And I know I gave JP a hard time, but... he’s proven himself. Not just as a player, but as a man. The way he looks at you, the way he takes care of you—I see it now. And I see the way you take care of him, too.”

I reach for his hand, squeezing it. “Thanks, Dad.”

His lips twitch. “Now don’t let him win out there.”

A laugh bursts from my chest as I stand, giving my skates one last adjustment. “Oh, I don’t plan on it.”

As I skate toward center ice, my eyes immediately locking onto JP. Everything else fades away. He stands tall in full goalie gear, tapping his stick against the ice, that familiar cocky smirk hidden behind his mask. His eyes, though, tell me everything—they’re full of warmth, pride, and just a little bit of mischief.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for Cammy Wrenley, our defending champion! Can she score again this year?"

The crowd cheers as I take my spot at center ice. This year’s slapshot challenge has drawn even more attention than last year’s—thanks to the millions raised. Autumn wasn't on maternity leave this year, and she and Juliet outdid themselves, transforming the event into a spectacle with a light show, live music, and a packed arena filled with die-hard hockey fans and supporters of the cause.

Of course, JP and I helped with the live auction items again.

JP stands in the crease, leaning on his stick, casual and cocky, waiting for me like he always does.

The last year flashes through my mind—the off-season in Cancun with my dad, Brynn, and Milo, where JP fit into our family like he was always meant to be there. Lazy beach mornings, JP hoisting my little brother onto his shoulders and letting him “play hockey” with a stick twice his size. Nights filled with laughter, with whispered promises, with learning each other in ways that go beyond words.

We’d come back to Seattle as more than just a couple. We were a team. And when we decided to upgrade to a bigger two-bedroom apartment in The Commons, it wasn’t just about space—it was about building something permanent together. A life, a home, a future.

JP taps his stick against the ice, drawing me back to the present. The challenge. The bet we made before the season started—one shot, just like last time. But this time, there’s nothing on the line except our pride and maybe, just maybe, the kind of competitive tension that would lead to some truly great sex later tonight.

I roll my shoulders back, watching the way his stance shifts, the way his body readies for me. He’s studying me, anticipating me, the way he always does.

"You ready for this, Dumont?" I call, raising a brow.

“Don’t go easy on me, Wrenley,” his voice echoing through the mic on the arena speakers, teasing, full of challenge.

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

He chuckles, low and knowing. “Good. Because we both know you like it when I make you work for it.”

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