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

‘That’s the last of it.’

I hear Hunter Reed, the Hawkeyes’ left defenseman, drop a moving box onto the laminate wood flooring of my new apartment in The Commons.

Most of the players live here since it’s only a couple of blocks from the Hawkeyes’ stadium. From what I’ve heard, Penelope Matthews, the current GM, worked out some deal with building management to keep units available for players during the season.noveldrama

‘Vittu,’ Aleksi Mäkinen mutters out a curse word in Finnish as he walks through the door with another box. He drops it with an exaggerated groan, rolling his shoulders back. ‘What the hell did you pack in there? Cement blocks?’

I grin. “It’s just my gaming system. It doesn’t weigh that much.”

I walk over and slice open the box, revealing the console and a few neatly packed wires.

Hunter’s brows shoot up. “A PS3?” he barks. “You’re still carrying this thing around? Why?”

“Because my college coach said that gaming is good for hand-eye coordination.” I shrug, pulling the console out completely.

Aleksi, who’s suddenly a lot more interested, shoves Hunter out of the way with his shoulder to peer inside the box. “It’s true, Reed-man. It’s science.”

Hunter raises a skeptical brow. “You’re kidding. Where’d you hear that crap?”

‘On a podcast,” Aleksi says, pulling out the controller with an expression of reverence.

Hunter scoffs. “Everything’s a podcast with you, Mäkelin.”

Aleksi doesn’t even look up. He’s too busy inspecting the cables like they’re fragile artifacts. “Podcasts are very educational. You should try them sometime. Expand your mind.’

Over the short time I’ve been here, I’ve learned a few things about Aleksi.

One, he takes comfortable silence as a personal offense.

Two, he’s weirdly loyal to any random fact he finds on podcasts, and if you challenge it, he will bury you under citations until you give up.

Three, he has a nickname for every player on the team. Reed-man for Hunter Reed, Popeye for Luka Popovich, Hart for Trey Hartley. The list continues. Monty is the only name he calls me.

Eh. I’ve been called worse.

“You believe this guy?” Hunter snorts, turning to me.

“Actually,” I say, biting back a grin, “he’s not wrong. There’s a study about surgeons who game. Better precision, fewer mistakes.”

Aleksi points at me without lifting his eyes from the controller. “See? Even Monty knows. Science.”

Hunter groans, raking a hand through his hair. “Whatever. I still don’t trust anyone with suspicious facts he got from some dude in his makeshift podcast studio in his musty basement.”

Aleksi finally looks up, lips twitching. “Careful, Reed–man. It’s scrimmage tomorrow and we play against each other. You don’t want me to beat you at your own game, do you?’

Hunter grins, grabbing a bottle of water from the counter. “You mean you’ll beat me on the ice? Or on that prehistoric game console that Dumont’s got?”

‘Hey, watch it. She’s a classic,’ I say, feigning insult.

“Both,” Aleksi replies smoothly.

Hunter laughs, shaking his head. These two can go rounds and often do. “You’re all talk, Mäkelä. But I’m too tired to deal with this Finnish brainwashing tonight.” He tosses his empty water bottle into the trash and heads for the door. “Good luck setting up your grandma’s PlayStation, Dumont. Night, boys.”

“Night,” I call as the door swings closed.

He’s kidding. A hundred bucks says he’s over here tomorrow night playing against Aleksi in the new NHL game that I just got after preordering it months ago.

Aleksi doesn’t say anything. He’s too absorbed in arranging the wires on my coffee table like it’s a sacred ritual. I don’t stop him. I’m too tired to argue and, honestly, I’m half-tempted to play a round just to clear my head.

Aleksi’s phone rings, cutting through the quiet. He glances at the screen, his expression softening instantly. “Sisko,” he murmurs.

Sister.

He answers in rapid Finnish, his voice dropping an octave as he paces to the other side of the room. I catch only bits and pieces—nothing I can decipher—but his tone is gentle. Protective. After a couple of minutes, he hangs up, tucking his phone into his back pocket.

“Everything okay?” I ask, even though it’s none of my business.

He nods, but there’s a faint crease between his brows. “Yeah. She needed to talk about something. Nothing serious.”

“You sure?”

Aleksi waves me off with a tight smile. “Family stuff. You know how it is.” He tucks his phone into his pocket and heads for the door. “I’m heading out as well. See you at practice, Monty. Don’t open the new NHL game without me.”

I smirk. “I’ll try not to.”

He grins faintly, the door clicking shut behind him, and suddenly, the apartment is quiet. Too quiet.

The silence feels heavy once they’re gone, like the quiet is daring me to sit still with my thoughts. And that’s the last thing I want to do right now.

I drop onto the couch, grabbing the remote to turn on the TV and then crack my neck from side to side as the screen comes to life. Quickly I find the sports channel and stop when I see the Hawkeyes logo in the top right corner of the screen—they’re talking about my team. I stare at the few boxes stacked against the wall. Unpacking can wait.

I turn up the volume and like I thought, they’re talking about us. A banner runs across the bottom of the screen: HAWKEYES’ NEW SEASON BEGINS TOMORROW—ALL EYES ON DUMONT.

“Of course,” I mutter under my breath.

I used to live for being the center of attention before the Blue Devils let me go. But now, my name is never in the news for anything to be proud of.

I twist Cammy’s neon green hair band around my wrist absentmindedly. The elastic is starting to stretch out now. It’s the same one I’ve worn every day since that night with her. No one knows why I wear it, and I don’t explain it. It’s just a piece of her, a reminder of everything I’m trying to fix—my game, my reputation, myself.

‘In other Hawkeyes news,’ the TV anchor’s voice cuts through my thoughts, ‘controversial new PTO signing of Jon Paul Dumont in Seattle, ahead of tomorrow’s first official practice of the season.’

Perfect timing. I position my thumb over the power button to turn it off but then stop.

‘The former Blue Devils goalie, whose promising NHL career ended after a DUI accident and knee injury two years ago, has been signed to a PTO contract by Coach Ryker Haynes despite concerns from fans and sports analysts alike. Sports director Tom Summers weighs in.’

The screen splits to show a middle-aged man in a suit too tight across the shoulders. ‘Look, Dumont was a rising star—rookie of the year contender, three shutouts in his first season. But with that accident, the drinking and the party reputation he had, not to mention the female passenger who ended up in the ER… There are too many red flags. Coach Haynes is biting off more than he can chew as the new coach for the Seattle hockey team. The question remains: can Dumont overcome his past, stepping out of his father’s shadow, or is this a mistake for the Hawkeyes?’

I switch off the TV, letting out a slow breath. They love dragging up ancient history, especially when they don’t know the whole story. Not that I can tell them the truth about that night—I made a promise, and I plan to keep this one. Even though it’s costing me everything I’ve ever wanted.

My phone buzzes on the kitchen counter. I get up off the sofa to retrieve it and then see Angelica’s name flash across the screen.

Right on cue.

Somehow, she always knows when I’m feeling beat down… and then likes to rub salt in it.

‘You’re in Seattle?’ Her voice is sharp, worried. ‘Are you insane?’

‘Good evening to you, too,’ I say, sitting up and running a hand through my hair. ‘And yes, I’m in Seattle. On a PTO with the Hawkeyes. You know, the one you got me.”

Angelica Ludwig, one of the only people on earth who I trust, and my temporary sports agent… though the last one is against my better judgement. I have to hand it to her, she pulled a rabbit out of a hat with this one. Getting me onto the Hawkeyes ice for PTO. It wasn’t an easy feat. Nor was getting my DUI expunged, but she managed both.

I should be grateful, but I know she’s doing all of this out of guilt. Guilt that I wish she’d let go of to focus on her own life.

‘Yeah, I know I got it for you but I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to take it when you had teams ready to sign you immediately,” she says, her voice gruff with annoyance.

“Stupid? Jesus Ang, don’t hold back–tell me how you really feel.”

She lets out a dramatic sigh. “JP, this was supposed to be a quiet rebuild, not a spectacle.” Her frustration is evident through the tightening of her voice. For some reason she thinks she holds superiority over me just because she tutored me in high school a whole lifetime ago. ‘You’re playing for your ex-team’s biggest rival, under a coach who has every reason to hate you—and your father. The media’s already circling, and you’re giving them front-row seats to your mess. This is exactly what we were trying to avoid. Remember what I said?’

‘Fly under the radar—yeah, I know,’ I say, though I already regret mocking her.

‘This isn’t flying under the radar, JP,’ Angelica snaps. ‘You’re training under Coach Wrenley—the guy you fought weeks before the crash and split his lip open. The guy who used to play with your dad, and hated him. You know what kind of attention this is going to bring? You’re putting a target on your back—and on mine. If they start digging back up the DUI case…’

Angelica’s been like a dog with a bone about getting me back into the pros, and she made it happen. I’ll give it to her, she’s been impressive as my stand-in sports agent after mine dropped me a year and a half ago when I lost my NHL contract. If she wasn’t committed to saving the world with her lawyering skills, she could kill it as an agent for pro athletes.

‘I know. We had a plan. I didn’t stick to it,’ I confess.

She lets out another deep sigh that tells me that she’s already coming to terms with my decision. ‘How’s the apartment?’ she asks, changing the subject. ‘Better than that shoebox in Toronto?’

‘Hey,’ I say, feigning insult. ‘For the record, I never complained about my shoebox. You’re the one that pulled me out of it, remember?’

I wasn’t sure if I was ready to try out this year, but Angelica pushed me to do it and once she sent me the PTO for Seattle, she didn’t have to do any more convincing.

I glance around at the floor-to-ceiling windows, modern furniture, and empty walls. The place screams temporary, like everything else has been since the accident. But I’m determined to stay this time.

‘That’s great. You’ll have plenty of time to live in a shoebox after you secure your place as the best goalie to ever play the game.’ she insists. “Speaking of? How’s it going with Coach Wrenley?’

My stomach tightens at Seven’s name. All Cammy would have to do is tell her dad what happened between us that night at Cooper’s beach house, and I’m sure he’d find a way to get me benched for life. ‘He didn’t break my nose the day I skated out onto his ice, so I’d say he doesn’t know about me and Cammy.’

‘Wait. You didn’t take this PTO contract just because of her, did you?’ Angelica asks suddenly.

‘Who?’

‘Don’t play dumb with me, Dumont. I already know that you’re too smart for your own good. You let your stepdad waste his money on paying me to tutor you because you sure as hell didn’t need it.’ She pauses. ‘Cammy. Seven’s daughter. The girl you’ve been chasing around for the last four plus years—the girl from Cooper’s post-game party. Ring any bells? The one who made you stop being such a player and pull your head out of your ass.’

‘Yeah, okay, I get it. You have a good memory of my greatest failures. By the way, that’s your worst trait.’

I turn to the window. It’s dark out now, the lights of Seattle glittering outside my window. For a moment, I’m back in that guest room, the glow of the moon outside the second story window casting a blue hue over Cammy’s skin as she told me about her dreams of working in hockey, of carving out a place in the Hawkeyes family like her dad.

‘JP, she could blow our secret—’

‘I’m not going to tell her anything. I made you a promise that we are in this together. There’s too much at stake for both of us. But as soon as I can… ‘ I say finally.

‘One and a half years, JP,” Angelica says, her voice softening. ‘After that, the statute of limitations runs out, and no one can touch us.’

‘I’m not sure I have that long,’ I say. ‘Coach Wrenley’s looking for a reason to cut me, and Cammy…’ I trail off, gripping the neon green hair band around my wrist. ‘She hasn’t forgotten about San Diego. She’s barely speaking to me.’

A laugh bubbles out of Angelica. ‘Wait. You actually thought she might have forgotten? Women don’t usually forget the guy who slept with them and disappeared, only to show up in the news hours later getting arrested with another woman.’

‘Thanks for that stellar recap of the worst morning of my life.’ I move to another box by the island and pick it up off the floor—plates and silverware. ‘Any other highlights you’d like to revisit? Maybe that time I got food poisoning at my mom’s third wedding and threw up all over you and the dance floor during the macarena?’

‘Gross. Did you really have to bring that up? I’m still trying to erase that night from my memory. And don’t bother blaming the food again. You were absolutely wasted and only seventeen years old. Your mom was furious. Don’t you remember?’ she asks. ‘And for the record, it’s a true testament of my love and loyalty, because I don’t know many friendships that could survive being puked on.’

‘I know, you’re a good friend, Ang,’ I tell her.

She clicks her tongue, like she’s about to cave—because she always does with me. ‘Fine. If this is what you want…”

What I want is to go back to that morning, and change everything. I’d leave a note for Cammy, tell her why I had to leave instead of letting her wake up alone. But I can’t. Instead, I raced out of that room to help Angelica, dragging myself into the crash that ruined everything. And now, Cammy thinks I abandoned her for another woman—and I’ve got no way to prove otherwise without implicating myself and Angelica, for something I still believe I made the right call on.

But I can’t change the past. And after weeks of calls, texts and even a desperate flight to Seattle, trying to track her down after she blocked my number, I finally gave up. That’s when I knew that my chances with her were gone. All I can do is take it day by day, hoping I’ll get an opening to show her that I’m not who she thinks.

In the meantime, I’ll focus my efforts on getting signed with the Hawkeyes.

‘We don’t always get what we want. What I need right now is to focus on proving myself to the team,’ I tell her. ‘To Coach Haynes. To Coach Wrenley.’

“What are you going to do about Cammy?”

I stare at the hairband around my wrist, worn and stretched from a year and a half of trying to figure that out. It’s my only tether to her—and the reason I made it through tryouts. My lucky charm, or a reminder of everything I wrecked. Maybe both.

‘I don’t know yet,’ I admit. ‘But I know one thing—I have to sign with the Hawkeyes. If there’s even the slightest chance she’ll give me another shot, I need to be here. I need you to do everything in your power to make this deal happen. No negotiations, no counteroffers. If they put a contract in front of me, I’m signing it.’

“JP, that’s not how negotiations work.”

“I don’t care about the contract, the money, or the starting line. At the end of the day, I’m here for one thing. I’m here for her. The Hawkeyes are my way in, and a nice bonus, but none of it means anything without her.”

Making it back to the NHL felt impossible a year ago. But losing Cammy again? That’s something I know I wouldn’t survive.

Tomorrow, I’ll be back on the ice, Seven breathing down my neck, waiting for me to screw up. Every drill, every block, every second in the net—none of it will matter if I don’t get this right. Because no amount of pressure, no contract, no championship win will ever compare to what’s really at stake.

Her.

A second chance with Cammy is the only goal that matters. And signing with the Hawkeyes? That’s just how I’ll get there.

I hear Angelica take a deep breath. She’s getting the point now. Cammy doesn’t want anything to do with me. She made that clear this morning when I went in to get my key.

‘Okay, you made your point. I won’t twist arms to get you a mega signing deal. Though you’re killing all my fun,’ she says begrudgingly. ‘Good luck tomorrow. Show them what you can do.’ She pauses. ‘And JP…” her voice softens. ‘I never meant for any of this to happen. If I hadn’t been so upset that night, if I hadn’t called you—’

‘You’re my best friend, Ang,’ I say finally. ‘You needed help. End of story. And if the truth about that night came out, it wouldn’t just cost us fines and jail time. It will end both of our careers. I’ll lose my shot at Cammy all over again, and you’ll lose everything you’ve worked for. I can’t let that happen.”

‘So, what do you need to do now?” she asks.

The only thing I can do. Take my last shot.

“I need to stay on the Hawkeyes team. I’ll play for free if that’s what it takes. But I can’t leave that team–-not until I know Cammy and I are done for good.” I tell her knowing that it pains her to leave money on the table, but Cammy is worth more than any contract in the NHL.

“Then play your heart out and get them to send me a contract. Good luck,” she tells me.

After we hang up, I stare at my reflection in the window. By morning, I’ll be back on the ice with Seven, so for now, I need to get some sleep.

My phone buzzes again—a text.

Seven: Early practice. 5 a.m. Don’t be late.