Match Penalty: Coach’s Daughter Hockey Romance (The Rookie Hawkeyes Series Book 1)

I stare at JP’s text message for what feels like the hundredth time, my thumb hovering over the screen. It’s been two days since the incident at Oakley’s.

I’m sorry about what happened tonight. You were right from the beginning. This isn’t going to work.

The words blur together as I read them again, trying to make sense of them. My head throbs where the small cut sits near my hairline, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

After everything that happened between us two night ago—the jersey, the closet, him making me feel like I was his entire world—how could he possibly think we’re not going to work?

I type out another message, adding to the string of unanswered texts I’ve sent over the last two days.

Me: What do you mean?

Me: This is ridiculous. At least talk to me.

I call JP. No answer.

Me: Are you honestly not going to pick up?

The message shows as delivered, but like all the others, there’s no response. No typing indicator. No sign that he’s even reading them.

My phone records mock me: six calls, all sent straight to voicemail. Fifteen texts, all unanswered. Two days of silence that feel like an eternity.

The bruise near my temple has faded to a dull yellow, barely visible unless you know where to look. It’s nothing—a scratch, really—but somehow it’s become everything. The reason JP pulled away, the excuse he needed to run.

Again.

This all feels like Déjà vu.

I push away from my desk, unable to focus on the auction paperwork spread out in front of me. The arena feels different today, colder somehow. Through my office window, I can see the team practicing on the ice below. JP’s guarding the net, his movements smooth yet mechanical as he blocks shot after shot.

He’s playing better than ever. And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because while I’m up here falling apart, he seems completely fine. More than fine—he’s excelling.

My phone buzzes, and my heart leaps. But it’s just Brynn.

Brynn: You okay? Haven’t heard from you since that night.

Me: I’m fine. JP’s not talking to me.

Brynn: What do you mean not talking to you?

Me: Radio silence since Oakley’s. Won’t answer calls or texts.

Brynn: Want me to talk to Seven?

Me: No. I need to handle this myself.

It was his day off yesterday, and when I went to his apartment door to see if he was home so he could offer me an explanation in person, no one answered. His car wasn’t in the parking garage either.

I watch as JP makes another impossible save, the small crowd of practice observers cheering—mostly Hawkeyes staff and coaches and family members. Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s holding himself too rigid, too controlled.

Something’s wrong. I know it in my bones.

The problem is, he won’t let me close enough to figure out what it is.

I grab my jacket. If he won’t answer my calls, I’ll make him face me in person. I’ve done the waiting game before—back when he first left, when I spent months wondering what I did wrong, why I wasn’t enough.

I’m not doing it again.

I spend the time during the walk down to the ice level preparing myself for the physical version of our digital interaction—which is a cold shoulder. How did we get here when only a couple of days ago, he pulled his jersey over my head like a claim and took me against the broom closet wall without a condom? Now, I doubt he’d even respond via carrier pigeon.

Practice is wrapping up; I can hear Coach Haynes giving final instructions, the sound of skates scraping ice as players head toward the tunnel.

I position myself near the locker room entrance, heart pounding. JP will have to pass by here. He’ll have to acknowledge my existence.

The players start filing past, some nodding in greeting, others too focused on their post-practice routines to notice me. And then I see him, bringing up the rear, his mask pushed up on top of his head.

‘JP!’

He freezes, his eyes meeting mine for a split second before darting away. The look in them is a mixture of pain and distance, as if he’s shut down. There’s no sparkle in them anymore—no fire. I take in a deep inhale.

‘Cammy, can I grab you for a second?’

Matt’s voice cuts through the moment, and I want to scream in frustration. The equipment manager is standing just a few feet away, holding a stack of jerseys and wearing an apologetic expression.

‘You can see me?’ I ask Matt as JP walks past us.

‘Uh, yes Cammy, I can see you,’ he says with confusion as if he’s not sure if he answered the question correctly.

‘Good, I thought maybe I died and returned as a ghost, and now I’m invisible.’

I turn to see JP’s shoulders tense. He’s taking large steps away from us, but at least he heard me.

‘No… not at all. I can see you just fine,’ Matt says while scratching his neck, not knowing where I’m going with my questioning.

I really shouldn’t let JP turn me into Penelope’s crazy assistant that no one wants to be around. I should be more professional than this. As Penelope’s right hand, the crew have high expectations for me, and it’s my job to deliver.

‘Sorry, Matt. What can I help you with?’ I try to steady my voice, putting my ‘assistant to the GM’ face back in place.

‘It’s about the auction items—there’s a mix-up with the jerseys, and I need your input before I take them to be signed.’

I glance back toward JP, but he’s already walked away, his broad shoulders disappearing around the corner. My chest tightens, anger and hurt warring for dominance.

‘Fine,’ I say to Matt, following him into the equipment room even as my heart screams at me to go after JP.

By the time I finish sorting out the jersey issue, JP is long gone. Again.

I lean against the wall outside the equipment room, letting out a shaky breath. This can’t keep happening. I won’t let it keep happening.

My phone feels heavy in my hand as I pull it out one more time.

Me: You can’t avoid me forever. We work in the same building.

The message shows as delivered, and for a moment, I see the typing indicator appear. My heart leaps—

And then it disappears.

Just like him.

The next two days pass in a blur of auction preparations and failed attempts to corner JP. He’s become a ghost in his own arena, appearing only for practice and games, vanishing the moment the final whistle blows.

I catch glimpses of him—in the hallway, on the ice, leaving the parking lot—but he’s always just out of reach. Always one step ahead of me, as if he’s memorized my schedule just to avoid it.

‘It just doesn’t make any sense,’ Aria tells me over coffee at Serendipity’s. ‘You two looked… I don’t know, settled at Oakley’s. Does that even make sense?’

I know what she means. It seemed like finally, we were on the same page. That we had made the conscious decision to be a couple even though we were technically only going on our second date. That is if you call the Pike’s Place outing a date.

I stir my coffee more aggressively than necessary. ‘I thought we were settled, too. Oakley’s was supposed to be the start. I don’t know how it could have changed so quickly.’noveldrama

‘And he’s seriously dodging you after practice?’

I nod and then pull my cup up to my lips to take a sip.

‘What are you going to do?’ she asks.

‘I can’t let him disappear without explanation. Not a second time.’

She reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. ‘Then don’t let him.’

I glance back at my friend knowing she’s going through it, too.

‘How’s the job search?’ I ask.

She rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her own coffee. ‘Not great. Phil was incredibly considerate with my salary. He knew what I had going on at home and was generous to help my sister and me.’

‘Why didn’t you tell Everett any of this?’ I ask, knowing that her sister’s cancer treatment is expensive and she’s now draining her hard earned savings.

‘Because I don’t want to be anyone’s charity case. Not even the billionaire whose monthly budget on suit ties would probably wipe out my sister’s medical bills in one go.’

I know she needs this job, and I hate that she hasn’t found anything yet. ‘Speaking of charity, you’re still coming out with us to try on dresses after work on Friday, right?’ I ask.

‘I wouldn’t miss it. Penelope is demanding to buy my dress. I feel like she’s up to something,’ Aria says with a raised brow.

‘Oh… Penelope Matthews is always up to something,’ I wink.

The opportunity comes later that afternoon. I’m heading to the media room with some paperwork when I spot JP coming out of the training room. He’s alone—no teammates, no staff, no convenient interruptions.

This time, he doesn’t see me coming.

‘We need to talk,’ I say, stepping directly into his path.

He stops short, his eyes widening slightly before his expression smooths into something carefully neutral. ‘Cammy—’

‘Don’t ‘Cammy’ me,’ I snap. ‘Four days of silence? Really? After everything that happened at Oakley’s?’

His jaw tightens. ‘I sent you a text.’

‘A text?’ I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. ‘You mean your cryptic ‘this isn’t going to work’ message? That’s not an explanation, JP. That’s not even close to good enough. The last time you did this, I got over two dozen text messages and a handful of rambling voicemails. So don’t tell me your one text was good enough.’

He shifts his weight, his eyes darting past me like he’s searching for an escape route. ‘I can’t do this right now.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’

‘Both.’ His voice is rough, strained. ‘We’re at work, Cammy.’

‘At work?’ The words taste bitter on my tongue. ‘The same place where you fucked me on top of the Zamboni and almost missed media because you had me bent over in the broom closet? Is that the work you’re referring to?’

Something flashes in his eyes—pain, maybe, or regret—but it’s gone before I can be sure. ‘It’s better this way—for you.’

‘Oh… how sweet, you’re doing this for me?’ I step closer, close enough to catch the familiar scent of his cologne. ‘Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re running away. Again.’

He flinches at that, and for a moment, I think I’ve broken through whatever wall he’s built between us. But then his expression hardens.

‘I’m not running,’ he says quietly. ‘I’m protecting you.’

‘From what?’ I demand. ‘From Oliver Garcia? From a bar fight that wasn’t even your fault. Or from yourself?’

He doesn’t answer, but his silence says enough.

‘You don’t get to make that decision for me,’ I tell him, my voice shaking with anger and something else—something that feels dangerously close to heartbreak. ‘You don’t get to decide what’s best for me without even talking to me about it.’

‘Cammy—’

‘No.’ I cut him off, stepping back. ‘You want to protect me? Fine. But don’t pretend this is about anything other than you being too scared to face whatever this is between us. You sabotaged this as soon as it got real. Just like San Diego. I guess your text wasn’t full of shit after all… I was right not to trust you.’

I turn to leave, then pause, looking back at him one last time. ‘You know what the worst part is? I actually thought this time would be different.’

The walk back to my office is a blur, my vision clouded by tears I refuse to let fall. I’ve barely made it through the door when my phone buzzes.

Brynn: Just a reminder to meet after work for dress shopping.

I stare at the message, thinking about the auction, about JP, about everything that’s led us here.

I need a night with the girls outside of the walls of this stadium, dress shopping and forgetting everything between him and me.

Me: I’ll be there.

Because if JP wants to push me away, fine. I’ll give him exactly what he wants.

And I’ll look damn good doing it.