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

I step out of my car in the stadium parking lot, adjusting the strap of my duffel and game-day suit bag over my shoulder. The early morning air bites at my skin, crisp with the promise of winter. My phone buzzes in my pocket—probably another message from the media team, wanting quotes about my first away game with the Hawkeyes.

But when I check, it’s not the media team.

Cammy: Good luck today. Show them what you’ve got.

My thumb hovers over the screen, the memory of waking up alone this morning replaying in my mind. The sheets still held her warmth, the faint scent of her shampoo lingering on my pillowcase. But she was gone, and I guess I deserved that. After all, she had made her boundaries clear. Just one night.

And still, waking up to that empty space beside me felt like a blindside blow I hadn’t prepared for.

“Monty!” Aleksi’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts as he approaches, dragging his own bags along with him. “You coming or what?”

I pocket my phone, forcing myself to focus. “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.”

“You look like shit,” he observes cheerfully, clearly enjoying himself. “Ground Zero hit you hard?”

If he only knew.

“Something like that,” I mutter, following him toward the team bus.

The guys are already loading up their gear, their usual pre-game energy buzzing despite the early hour. Hunter’s got his headphones on, already in game mode, while Wolf talks strategy with Coach Haynes near the front of the bus.

“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.noveldrama

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.

I don’t respond back because, yes, my college and rookie years in the NHL were wild at times. I’ll admit that, but Cammy changed everything.

“What I care about is my daughter. And I’m telling you now, as her father first and your coach second: Stay. Away.”

The finality in his tone lands like a slap.

I think of Cammy, the way she let herself soften around me early this morning, the way she clung to me in the dark. I think about everything I want to tell her—the truth about what happened with Angelica, the truth about me.

“Shouldn’t that be Cammy’s choice?” I say.

Seven’s jaw tightens, and for a second, I think he might lose it. Instead, he leans closer, his voice dropping to a near growl. “Do you really want to test me on this, Dumont?”

Before I can respond, the captain announces our departure. Seven straightens, adjusting his tie.

“Focus on the game,” he says as he stands. “Don’t force me to make sure your career with the Hawkeyes ends with PTO. Everett wants to sign you, but he wants my recommendation after the charity event.”

I watch him walk away, his words settling like lead in my stomach.

He’s right about one thing—I need to focus. This is my shot to prove I belong here. That my knee is healed. That I’m worth the risk the Hawkeyes took on me.

But as we take off, climbing above Seattle, all I can think about is Cammy. About the way she looked at me last night. About how it felt to wake up without her.

The flight passes in a blur of strategy meetings and pre-game prep. By the time we land in Los Angeles, my game face is on. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

“You good?” Aleksi asks as we walk into our hotel room. He’s my roommate for the trip, which means I’ll be dealing with his snoring and obsession with the Food Network.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I lie, tossing my bag onto one of the beds.

He doesn’t buy it. “Seven looked ready to murder you on the plane. That ‘coach stuff’?”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

He flops onto his bed, still grinning. “You know you can’t avoid this conversation forever, right?”

I grab my headphones and turn on my pre-game playlist. “Watch me.”

As I head down to the gym, his laughter follows me.

Hours later, I’m on the ice for warm-up. The empty arena feels massive, and somehow, I don’t remember it feeling this big. Maybe it’s because my career is on the line. I focus on the drills, on the weight of my pads, on the sound of my skates cutting the ice.

But as I track shot after shot, stopping every one, I can’t help but think about Seven’s challenge. About the look in Cammy’s eyes as Seven and I shook on it. About the bet that will send me packing or give me a clean slate with Coach Wrenley in two weeks.

About how much I want the chance to prove to both of them—and to myself—that I’m more than my reputation. But the conversation in the jet has me wondering again if Seven is right. Am I good enough for her? I’m sure my father would say that I’m not. Though, I can’t imagine how he’d feel to know I’m after Wrenley’s daughter. He’s not exactly Seven’s biggest fan either.

The guys file off the ice, but I linger, taking a few extra shots from the coaching staff. Seven watches from the bench, his expression as unreadable as ever.

I stop every shot.

It’s not enough, I know. It’ll never be enough for him. But maybe, it’s enough for her. As I finally head to the locker room to gear up for the first preseason game, I know that there’s a lot more than hockey on the line.

The question is—can I keep Cammy and my position on the team?