Page 52 of Match Penalty

“Heard you left early. At one point, you were standing at the bar waiting for beers, and then I turned around and Scottie said that you left,” Aleksi continues, his grin turning mischievous as we stow our bags. “With a certain GM’s assistant?”

I spot Seven standing near the bus driver and shoot Aleksi a warning glare. “Not today, Mak.”

He holds up his hands in surrender, but the smirk doesn’t leave his face.

The bus ride to the private airport is mercifully quick. Once we’re on the team jet, I find a window seat five rows back—close enough to hear strategy talk but far enough for some peace.

My phone buzzes again.

Cammy:Try not to let any pucks in. Dad says that LA has a solid right winger this year.

I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips as I type up my reply.

Me:Are you worried about me?

I'm teasing, but the idea of her thinking of me after she claimed that last night was a one-off has me hoping this is a sign that I'm breaking through the wall she put up between us.

Cammy:No, I'm well aware that you can take care of yourself, Dumont.

Me:Tell your dad I’ve got it covered.

Before I can put my phone away, a shadow falls over me.

“Mind if I join you?”

I glance up to find Seven Wrenley standing in the aisle, his expression unreadable. My stomach drops, but I keep my face neutral. I start to panic about whether or not he'll be able to smell Cammy's coconut and vanilla shampoo on me.

“Of course not, Coach.”

He settles into the seat beside me, and for a long moment, neither of us speaks. The rest of the team files past, finding their seats. I feel Aleksi’s curious gaze from across the aisle, but I don’t look his way.

“You know why I’m here,” Seven says finally, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

“I can guess.”

He turns slightly, fixing me with a stare that could freeze the balls off a polar bear. “I’ve known your father for a long time, JP. I played with him my first three years in the NHL, and I watched him burn through every good thing in his life because he couldn’t keep his priorities straight… or his drinking.”

My jaw tightens, but I say nothing. I don’t need the reminder—I experienced it firsthand as a kid before my mom left him and moved us away.

“When I found out about Cammy, about everything she went through at home… I swore I’d protect her from anyone who could hurt her again. I wasn’t there for the first part of her life, but I’m damn well going to make sure she’s cared for now.”

I meet his gaze head-on. “What if I want to be the one to protect her, too?”

Seven’s laugh is humorless. “Protect her from what? Your DUI? The reputation you can’t seem to shake? The string of mistakes that follow you like a bad smell?”

I’ve built a reputation for getting into fights over the years—both on and off the ice—but never once have I been the one to start them. Not that it matters. My name always ends up in the headlines.

The media didn’t help either, painting me as the guy leaving bars and hotels with a different woman most weekends.

None of it is doing me any favors with Seven.

But the man I was then isn't the man I am now. All of that changed the first time I saw Cammy sitting in Seven’s stadium seats years ago.

“With all due respect, you're making a lot of assumptions about some things you know nothing about.”

Angelica’s text comes to mind again.Just another year and a half…

“I don’t need to assume. Your reputation precedes you, and most of it you've earned outright. Am I wrong?” he says, his voice low, as he glances around to see if anyone is listening in on our conversation.

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