Page 56 of Match Penalty

Practice finishes, and I have my bag slug over my shoulder, post shower. I head for the corporate offices, my body tingling with excitement as if I’m about to play a game. But instead, I'm actually going up to see Cammy for the first time since she was in my bed four days ago. Though compared to an NHL in-season game, the stakes feel just as high when it comes to her.

Every night away, I found myself checking my phone, hoping for another text from her. They were always professional, always about hockey:Good luck tonight.Nice save in the third.Way to bounce back after that first loss.But no text like,I miss you. Dinner sounds great.

Simple. Friendly, yet distant. But it’s something.

Each one felt like a small stepping stone to building a new foundation. And after having my number blocked for the last year and a half, this is the kind of progress I can get behind.

The elevator seems slower than usual as it climbs to the executive floor, my mind racing with memories of the last time I saw her—wrapped in my sheets, her hair spread across my pillow. Then waking up alone, understanding why she left but hating it all the same.

When the doors open, I hear her before I see her.

"No, no, no," she mutters. "This is not happening."

I round the corner to find her standing in the middle of what looks like a merchandise explosion.

Boxes are stacked everywhere—on her desk, the floor, spilling into the hallway. She's got her hair pulled back in a messy bun, reading glasses perched on her nose as she studies a clipboard. The morning light streaming through the windows catches the gold in her hair, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.

"Need a hand?"

She startles, looking up. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The air feels charged, heavy with everything unsaid between us since that morning I woke up to an empty bed.

"JP." She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and I fight the urge to do it for her. "I didn't know you were back."

"The team got back last night. We had practice this morning.”

Her eyes clamp shut, and she shakes her head as if she should have remembered that. “Right, yeah, of course. I've been a little busy with everything going on. And the auction is coming up in a week and a half.”

“What can I do to help?” I ask, stepping closer, picking up a jersey that's fallen from one of the boxes. My fingers trace the Hawkeyes logo, buying time. “Are these for the auction?” I ask.

“You don’t need to help. You’ve been out of town, played several hard games. You should get a day off—I’ve got it.”

“Do you have it? Because it looks like you’re about to square off with those boxes. Should I grab you a hockey stick at least?”

She glances up at me, and takes a deep breath, her hands gripping her waist. “What are you doing here anyway? You should be at home icing that knee.”

“It’s a weekend, so I could ask you the same thing. But judging by the disaster zone in here, I’d say you’re trying to turn yourself into a human pretzel over this auction.”

Her eyes roam over the forty or fifty massive boxes that Merchandise must have delivered for her this morning.

She bites her lip, clearly torn between pride and practicality. "I knew that Merchandise was coming in today to do this for me, but I guess I thought they were going to take everything down to the locker room. I’m going to have to carry all of these down today to get the guys to sign them."

I step inside, shaking my head. “Cammy, this is insane. How are you planning to get all this stuff downstairs?”

Her lips tighten, “I’m not sure…” and she waves me off. “But I’ve got it under control.”

“No, you don’t.” I walk further into the room, surveying the situation, careful to maintain professional distance despite every instinct screaming to pull her into my arms. Our text messages over the last few days show her warming up to me—I can feel it—but it’s still a delicate balance. "Let me help. Actually..." An idea forms. "Give me ten minutes."

She raises an eyebrow, and I catch a hint of the spark that first drew me to her. "What are you planning?"

"Trust me?"

The words hang between us, weighted with meaning beyond this moment. She studies me for a long beat before nodding slowly.

I'm already heading for the elevator. "Don't move anything. I'll be right back."

In the locker room, most of the guys are still hanging around after the morning skate. Perfect.

"Listen up," I call out. "I need volunteers for a special mission."

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