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

This win feels different than any post-game I ever experienced before the Hawkeyes, mostly because I’m strolling into a team celebration with Cammy’s hand in mine, her smile brighter than I’ve ever seen it. The team’s already here—Hunter, Trey, Wolf and Olsen are setting up a game of pool, Aleksi is trying to impress Kendall at the dartboard, Slade’s holding court with Coach Haynes at one of the largest tables that Oakley reserves for the team on home game nights, while Scottie and Luka carry back another round for the guys.

My hand rests low on Cammy’s back as I guide her to the table, pulling out a chair for her beside Aria. She sits, shooting me an appreciative smile, and I press a quick kiss to the top of her head before straightening up.

‘What do you want to drink?’ I ask her, leaning in close to hear her over the crowd.

‘White wine, please,’ she says, her eyes sparkling.

‘Coming right up.’ I give her a wink before heading to the bar

I walk up to an open spot, bellying up to the bar next to Aleksi. I feel Aleksi’s hand slap my back when he sees me.

‘You finally got the girl, huh?’ Aleksi teases, his grin wide. ‘About time.’

‘Let’s just hope I can keep her,’ I reply, half-joking but feeling the weight of those words as I glance back at her. She’s laughing at something Aria said, her whole face lit up. She’s happy, and I hope that I’m a part of that.

The moment shifts as I turn back to the bar and catch Seven’s eyes from across the room. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but far from happy, a pool cue in his hand. I’ve gotten used to his quiet disapproval, but tonight it feels sharper, like a threat.

He saw us come in—of course he did, but I won’t hide it. If he wants to bench me, then he’ll bench me.

At the bar, Oakley greets me with a nod. ‘Nice game, JP.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, sliding my card across the counter. ‘A beer for me, white wine for her. Merci.’

As Oakley grabs the glasses, I feel a hand clap my shoulder. Turning, I’m met with a wide grin. ‘JP Dumont, you magnificent bastard!’

‘Oliver?’ I say, startled. ‘What are you doing here?’

Oliver Garcia, my former teammate from San Diego, the same one who got kicked off the team last year for getting in a fight with our mascot, sending him to the ER. Needless to say, he doesn’t play for the Blue Devils anymore. He and I never had a problem but I stayed out of the way of his fists when he’d get blackout drunk, which helped. He pulls me into a back-slapping hug. ‘Had a meeting in Seattle for a sportscaster job, saw you were playing and I had to see it for myself. Good game out there—classic Dumont.’

The easy camaraderie between us feels good, but as Oakley hands me the drinks, I feel the tension in the room shift. The air grows heavier, and when I glance around, I catch a few Hawkeyes regulars straightening in their seats, their eyes narrowing.

‘You’ve got some nerve showing up here,’ someone calls out.

Oliver turns, his smile faltering. ‘Excuse me?’

‘That hit on Slade,’ another voice adds. ‘Championship game against the Hawkeyes. Ring any bells?’

Shit. I hadn’t been playing for the Blue Devils that year. They signed me the following year, but the memory flashes through my mind. I watched it all play out on TV—Slade going down hard, Oliver’s stick coming up, the aftermath that nearly ended both careers. And the Hawkeyes fans who watched as Slade was carried off the ice, headed for the ER. They missed their chance at the Stanley Cup—none of them have forgotten.

I step in quickly, hoping to defuse the situation. ‘Guys, come on. It’s ancient history.’

‘Easy for you to say,’ one of the regulars snaps. ‘You weren’t here.’

They aren’t wrong, but my focus is on keeping things from escalating. I catch Cammy watching from the table, her brow furrowed with concern. She stands, moving toward me, and the protective instinct kicks in. I always want her close, but not in the middle of this.

‘Maybe we should all take a breath,’ Cammy says, her tone calm.

But then someone shoves Oliver. He stumbles back into a table, and chaos erupts.

I push Cammy behind me as Mike, one of the regulars, takes a swing at Oliver. I block it, trying to keep things from spiraling further. ‘Mike, stop—’

A fist connects with my jaw, from somewhere I didn’t see coming. I’m not even sure who threw the punch before the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. I’m barely able to register it because I hear Cammy cry out.

‘Cammy!’ Seven’s voice cuts through the noise as he races behind me helping her up. Blood trickles from a small cut on her forehead where she hit the corner of a table.

‘Brynn,’ Seven calls sharply.

Brynn is there before I can get through the people squabbling, creating a wall between Cammy and me.

“I’m right here,” Brynn says, kneeling next to Cammy.

“You two get out of here. Take her to our place. I’ll meet you there after I help Oakley.” I hear him say, and I push my way through players and regulars trying to calm down the small fight going on.

I leave Oliver to defend himself… he had this coming anyway. He’s lucky Slade is still playing to this day and didn’t press charges against him.

I try to reach for her, but Seven’s glare stops me cold.

Oakley’s whistle pierces the air. ‘Everybody out! Now!’

The bar clears quickly, Brynn pulling Cammy with her, leaving just me, Slade, and Seven behind. Oakley’s employees are quickly running around, cleaning up broken beer bottles and turned over chairs.

‘This is what I was talking about,’ Seven says quietly, his voice harder than I’ve ever heard it. ‘The chaos that follows your family name.’

Slade steps up. “Seven, give him a break. He didn’t cause this.”

Seven turns to him. “Is she your daughter? The one you’re responsible for protecting against anything that threatens her safety?”

Slade’s jaw tightens for a second, and we both know that he can’t help me. I’ve never seen Seven use that tone with Slade before, and I have a feeling that neither has he. “No,” he says flatly, knowing that it’s time to back off.

I appreciate him anyway. But Seven’s right. This is my fight.

Slade heads to the back of the bar looking for Oakley to see what he can do to help clean up.

‘I didn’t start this—’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ He steps closer, his hands on his hips, as he lets out a deep sigh. ‘Your father was the same way. And innocent people always got caught in the crossfire. He never thought it was his fault either. I was at the bar the night your mom stepped in to stop a fight when your father got too drunk and started a fight with a group that he shouldn’t have. She paid for that with a night in the hospital and your dad woke up in some alley claiming he doesn’t remember her getting hit when she stepped in at the wrong time. She filed for divorce the next day and took you away, didn’t she?’

The words hit like body shots, each one finding its mark. He’s trying to prove a parallel between how my father treated my mother and how I will treat Cammy, and though I can deny it all I want, Cammy’s in a cab right now after getting hurt during a bar fight that somehow I got pulled into.

‘I’m not my father,’ I say instead.noveldrama

‘No?’ Seven says, his tone calmer than before. ‘Then prove it. I’ve tried to warn you off of her, I’ve tried threatening your career. None of it worked, and I should have known that you’re determined enough to think you could have both. But now I’m going to test just how much you care about my daughter.” His eyes narrow on mine as if he’ll find something he’s looking for. “Walk away now. Before she gets hurt worse than a bump on the head, and then I might just believe that you’re not your old man. He would have never done right by your mom, but at least she was smart enough to leave and take you as far away from him as possible.’

I think about the cut on Cammy’s head, about how my attempt to protect her ended with her getting hurt anyway. About how many times I’ve watched history repeat itself with my father.

‘She deserves better,’ Seven continues softly. ‘And you already know that, don’t you?’

I thought I could be good enough for her just by simply trying. But maybe I’ll never escape who I am, and I refuse to let Cammy live the life my mother did before she got a divorce.

‘What do you expect me to do? I just got her back,’ I say, though I know what I have to do.

‘Give her up. And make it believable,’ he says.

My phone feels heavy in my hand as I type out the message:

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

Seven watches me hit send, approval finally softening his features. ‘Thank you.’

I nod once, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat.

Maybe some things really are genetic.

Maybe some people really aren’t meant for happy endings.

And maybe, just maybe… protecting Cammy means letting her go.