Page 22 of Match Penalty

"Some help would be great. I can't deny that it's just that whenever I look at him, all I can think about is how easy it was for him to sell me complete and absolute lies. How can I ever trust anything he tells me again?"

"What did he tell you?" she asks.

"That once he was done with the Blue Devils, he'd find a way to get on the Hawkeyes so he could be close."

"Oh… whoa, okay, that's not what I expected you to say. So, you two were making plans for him to move here?"

I shake it off. It’s not helpful to think in terms of the future he sold me. It’s better not to relive any of that at all.

"I guess," I say, shaking my head. "I don't know anymore. And it doesn't matter. He left hours later with a woman who I overheard had been hanging around the team trying to get his attention. He never meant any of what he told me. He caught the mouse—he got what he was after, that’s all.”

"Did you confront him about it?"

"He left text messages and voicemails, but he never gave a reason—just apologized for not being there when I woke up and that it's not what it looks like, but his teammates who know him better than me sure had an idea of what he was doing with her."

"Yes, but he never said why he left with her, right? So, you don’t actually know."

"No." I say simply. "He asked to see me so he could explain, but the fact that it's too complicated to tell me with a quick text, means it's too complicated for me to be involved. At least I found out when I did."

"So, you still need closure,” she says, matter-of-factly.

"What? No… no closure. We're past closure. In fact, that door is perfectly shut and sealed solid with gorilla glue—can’t even see daylight through it.”

"Are you sure? Maybe you should hear him out. Because if I'm being honest, you seemed a little shaken up when he missed that puck yesterday. You both did."

A knock at my door cuts her off. We exchange looks.

"It can't be..." Brynn trails off, but her eyes are sparkling with mischief.

Another knock echoes through the apartment, but neither of us make a move.

"Come on, Cammy," JP's voice carries through the door. "I know you're in there. I just heard Brynn."

"No one's home," I call back, earning a giggle from Brynn.

"I brought food," he counters.

Brynn practically bounces off the couch. "Let the man in! He has sustenance! All you have in your cabinets is boring healthy food. I’ve been trained to live off half eaten soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and gold fish. My body doesn't even recognize fruits and vegetables anymore. It’ll revolt."

I shoot her a glare, but she just grins.

With a sigh, I head for the door, knowing I can’t fight against snacks. Brynn’s here helping me out of the goodness of her heart. When I open it, JP is standing there with bags of Chinese takeout, he looks unfairly good in a navy Hawkeyes hoodie and jeans, his hair feathering where he just ran his hands through it.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, though the familiar aroma of kung pao chicken is already weakening my resolve.

"Helping," he says simply, holding up the bags. Steam rises from the containers, carrying the scent of ginger and garlic. "You said that you would text if you needed anything, but I figured since I’m still blocked that the text you sent me didn’t go through,” he teases. “Lucky that your telepathy worked. I got the message loud and clear. You still like kung pao chicken, right? Extra spicy, no peanuts?"

The fact that he remembers my exact order from that night a year and a half ago has me wanting to ask him why he said all those things if he didn’t mean them, and why he left me for her that night. I hate that Brynn might be right about all these unanswered questions leaving me without closure.

“I didn’t send you any brain waves for food,” I say.

“Must have been me,” Brynn says walking up beside me.

She offers up her hand, and JP gives her a high-five. I’m dramatically outnumbered here.

"Fine," I mutter, stepping aside and pulling the door open. My apartment suddenly feels smaller with him in it. At over six-foot-three, he’s not a small man. He fits better in a large stadium than in my apartment, and yet… here he is. "Come in."

Brynn practically drags him into the kitchen with the food he brought to bribe his way past my front door, no doubt. JP moves through my space with an ease that unnerves me, unpacking containers of food like he belongs here. When he hands me a pair of chopsticks, his fingers brush mine for the briefest moment. The contact sends electricity shooting up my arm, but I don't let it show.

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