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

‘Everett Kauffman is coming in today,’ Penelope announces as she breezes past my desk, clutching her dirty chai latte like it’s the only thing keeping her upright, her long blonde hair swishing behind her in a low ponytail. The sharp click of her heels against the dark wood floors of this Hawkeyes’ suite echoes through the space before she disappears into her office.

I glance at the contracts spread across my desk—returning player contracts and Professional Tryout players, helping to make sure everything is ready for the talent coming back in to start the season—and then at her office door, left ajar for me. The smell of cinnamon and espresso from her usual drink mingles with her vanilla perfume, a familiar scent that usually brings comfort, but today it only heightens my sense that something’s off.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Dad: Still on for lunch?

I smile, typing back quickly.

Me: Wouldn’t miss it.

These lunch dates with my dad started as his way of making up for lost time, but they’ve evolved into a weekly check in that we both look forward to.

Four years ago, I moved to Seattle for an internship with the Hawkeyes—the same team my dad used to play for. Since then, I’ve worked my way up, determined to prove myself beyond being Seven Wrenley’s daughter. And these lunches with him were everything I missed growing up, thinking his older brother Eli was my father.

Penelope Matthews, the youngest GM in the NHL, is usually rock solid, but the way she barreled through without her normal cheery ‘good morning’ or even a passing smile tells me that whoever is coming in today has her rattled.

Pushing back my chair, I grab my notebook and follow after her. She’s already perched on the edge of her desk, fingers drumming against the to-go cup from Serendipity’s Coffee Shop down the street. The moment I step inside, she comes around her desk and heads for the door, softly clicking it shut behind me, the sound low but ominous, like the calm before a storm.

‘Everett Kauffman?’ I prompt, sliding into one of the leather chairs across from her as she returns to lean against the desk. My pen hovers over the fresh page of my notebook, ready to take notes like I’ve done countless times in this office over the past four years, working my way up from intern to executive assistant under Penelope. ‘As in Everett Kauffman? Oldest of the billionaire Kauffman brothers? Didn’t The Seattle Sunrise just do a piece on him and his family?’

‘Yep, the very one,’ she says, taking a sip of her drink. ‘And Phil just signed a deal to sell the Hawkeyes to him.’

My notebook slips from my fingers, landing on the floor with a dull thud that seems to echo in the suddenly too-quiet room. ‘Wait. Phil Carlton is selling the team? Phil, who swore on his mother’s grave he’d die before letting anyone else own it?’

I lean down to retrieve my notebook.

Penelope sighs, her fingers tightening around her cup until her knuckles whiten. ‘Phil thinks it’s time for a fresh vision, new energy. He believes the Kauffmans have the resources and connections to take the Hawkeyes to the next level.’

‘And you’re okay with this?’ I ask, watching her closely. Penelope Matthews doesn’t rattle easily—I’ve seen her handle trade deadlines, playoff pressure, and media storms without breaking a sweat—but the tension in her shoulders and the way she keeps adjusting her grip on her drink tells a different story.

Her gaze drifts to the framed photo on her desk—her, Phil, and her father, Sam Roberts, taken at her first game as GM, when she stepped into her father’s shoes, taking over the General Manager position. The glass reflects the morning light, highlighting their proud smiles.

‘Phil’s decision caught me off guard,’ Penelope admits softly. ‘We had a system, and now everything’s changing—Phil’s gone, Slade’s retiring, and Coach Haynes is still finding his footing. It’s a lot to juggle.’

My chest tightens at the mention of Slade Matthews—her husband, the team’s captain and center, and the last of the original players. This season is already shaping up to be one of transition, and I can feel the weight of it settling over the room like a heavy blanket.

I nod, keeping my tone gentle. ‘The Hawkeyes are strong. We’ve weathered change before. If Phil’s selling to Everett, he must feel confident about it.’ I flip through my notebook to the section where I’ve been tracking potential roster moves. ‘Besides, we’ve got solid prospects coming up, and the new training facility plans are already approved.’

Now I’m beginning to wonder if the new practice rink that was announced earlier this summer is actually part of Everett’s big offer to show Phil that he intends to take care of a team that Phil holds dear. But then it has me wondering what other changes are on the horizon for the Hawkeyes.

Penelope smiles faintly, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘That’s what I love about you, Cammy. Always thinking three steps ahead. You’re going to run this place someday, you know that?’

‘That’s what Dad keeps saying,’ I laugh, but the compliment means more than I let on. The truth is, Penelope is my idol, and I would love nothing more than a chance to prove that I can follow in her footsteps. ‘But for now, I’d settle for getting through this transition smoothly. Is there anything I can do to help?’

Her expression brightens slightly, and I know I’ve just volunteered for something big. ‘Actually, yes. The Kids with Cancer charity auction is in six weeks. I promised Autumn I’d handle the player donations and memorabilia now that she’s on bed rest with her pregnancy, and Briggs doesn’t want to leave her side. But with everything else on my plate…’

‘I’ll take care of it,’ I say quickly, straightening my spine at the chance to prove myself. The foundation holds two events each year: an auction and a gala. I’ve attended both over the last four years, with Autumn giving me several projects to help with set up. Since Juliet, Coach Haynes’ wife, is the Hawkeyes official party planner handling the event set up, all I need to take care of are the auction items. ‘Whatever you need.’

‘You’re sure? Everett wants to host it here at the stadium instead of the convention center like usual. Juliet is looking forward to the challenge, so I’m not concerned with the set up, but Autumn is hoping to double the silent auction’s donations to fund the condos for families going through treatment near the cancer center. That’s going to require a lot more donors to show up and bigger ticket items for the silent auction.’

I’m already making notes, mind racing with possibilities. ‘Actually, that could work in our favor. The stadium gives us more space, better atmosphere. We could do interactive elements, maybe even something on the ice—’

My words cut off when I notice a folder on her desk with a name written on it. A name that I’ve tried to forget over the last year and a half, with little to no success.

My pen stalls on the page, a drop of ink bleeding into the paper.

‘JP Dumont,’ I utter, unintentionally saying it out loud.

The name slips out before I can stop it, and suddenly, I’m drowning in memories: JP’s cocky smile, the puck with ‘Dinner?’ scrawled in sharpie, the way he always seemed to find me in crowded arenas as if drawn by some unshakable pull. And then San Diego—the night I thought maybe, just maybe, there was more to him—until I woke up alone, realizing how wrong I’d been.

I still remember that night— his calloused hockey player hands, caressing every inch of me, the intensity of his blue eyes, the way his laugh sounded, carefree and easy… Only to find out I’d been played by one of the biggest players in the league.

Worst still—I knew better.

My dad has always warned me of hockey players—especially players like Jon Paul.

‘Cammy?’ Penelope’s voice breaks through my thoughts. ‘You okay?’

‘Fine,’ I say quickly, forcing my eyes back to my notebook. But my imagination quickly conjures up the image of JP in a Hawkeyes jersey —an easy confidence in his stride as he walks through my stadium, imagining the way he’ll carry himself in here like he’s already part of the team. Like this is where he’s meant to be.

I shake my head, breaking the thought from my mind.

The words hit me like a cold plunge. Three years of him pursuing me from behind enemy lines only to leave me in that guest bedroom to wake up alone, and now he’s here. In my space? The professional distance I’ve carefully maintained suddenly feels paper-thin.

‘When did we—’ I start, but Penelope’s already nodding.

‘Coach Haynes confirmed him for a Professional Tryout Contract a couple of weeks ago to see how his knee holds up and how he does with team,’ she says, her tone cautious, watching me like she’s waiting for me to crack. ‘He’s been practicing with the team for over two weeks.’

Two weeks?noveldrama

He’s been in this building for two weeks, skating on our ice, and I didn’t know? The betrayal cuts deep—not just from him being here, but from my own father keeping it from me. Dad’s the special team’s goalie coach, so he’s been working with JP this whole time. We’ve had lunch twice since then, and he never said a word. Not that my dad knows the extent of our history, but he warned me about JP the first time he saw him stop to talk to me at a Hall-of-Fame induction party that we were both at years ago. JP wasn’t subtle with his flirting, and my dad wasn’t subtle about mentioning that he doesn’t want me anywhere near any Jon Paul Dumont’s—junior or senior.

If my dad knew about the night I spent with JP in San Diego, there’s no way he would have let Coach Haynes go through with signing him—PTO or otherwise.

‘Right,’ I nod, fighting to keep my expression in check. ‘Wasn’t there some controversy with his DUI case in San Diego? I’m surprised that Phil would have approved JP with the ‘family-friendly’ clause in the contract. And his knee injury was bad enough that his old team didn’t re-sign him, right? Can a goalie even come back from something like that?’

‘Phil didn’t make the call—Everett did. And that whole DUI thing was a mess,’ Penelope waves her hand dismissively. ‘The charges were reversed two weeks later. Some activist lawyer proved his blood alcohol was well below the legal limit. Plus, he should have gone to the hospital, not jail. The judge and local law enforcement were trying to make an example of him. I’m surprised the Blue Devils dropped him over it, but his knee injury would have put him on the Long Term Injury list and he was one of their most expensive players. Even if he had gotten the medical treatment he deserved, he would have been out the following season. I think they wanted to unload expensive talent anyway,’ She pauses, studying me. ‘Are you okay with this? Him being here? Especially after that fight with your dad at the charity game?’

I force a smile, even as my stomach twists. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

Penelope doesn’t push, though I can tell she wants to. ‘Because the bad blood between Wrenley and Dumont started with your fathers before either of you were born. Not to mention that your dad ended up with a bloody lip, and it wasn’t exactly your typical run of the mill fight. Seven’s never lost his cool on the ice like that before.’

The memory of that fight flashes through my mind—JP didn’t look much better after either, favoring his left leg after my dad took him down to the ice. I had a front-row seat to the whole thing, sitting with Brynn behind the home bench. What started as both of them trying to separate their teammates during a late-hit brawl somehow ended with them trading blows. The image of my usually composed father losing it on the ice still unsettles me.

‘A bloody lip is nothing to a hockey player, right?’ I keep my tone light. ‘And anyway, a year and a half is practically ancient history.”

Penelope licks her lips. ‘Sure. Most players have to move past these things. The league isn’t that big. A lot of them will end up playing together on a team or at least train together at off-season camps,’ she says, setting her coffee cup down with a gentle tap against the desk. ‘Can you get JP set up with an apartment in The Commons? He needs to be settled before regular-season practice starts tomorrow. He’s been living in a hotel these past couple weeks during tryouts, and a hotel room won’t work long-term.’

I nod quickly, willing myself to stay professional even as my heart races at the thought of having to interact with him. ‘Of course. I’ll call the property managers for The Commons and ask them to get him set up.’

She studies my face carefully. ‘I thought you knew, given…’

‘Given what?’ I ask, perhaps too sharply.

‘Given that your father’s been handling his training personally, working to strengthen his knee. With Olsen Bozeman on LTI until next month when he gets cleared, JP is starting this season—assuming he makes it through the pre-season.’ She pauses, then adds more gently, ‘And given your history with him.’

I force my expression to remain neutral. ‘There is no history.’

But even as I say it, memories flood back to three years of careful distance punctuated by moments of almost-something—moments he’d steal in quiet corners of event centers or stadiums… all leading to that one night after a playoff win that changed everything. The smell of salt air brings back every sensation of those hours spent under him.

‘I’m not sure what happened between you two, but there’s a big elephant in the room.’

‘What elephant?’

‘JP’s attention was obvious to everyone, Cammy. The way he’d wait for you in the halls, always tossing you pucks with that grin—it was impossible not to notice. He did everything short of spray-painting ‘I Heart Cammy’ in the middle of the rink on game day. And now, ever since he got in that accident after the playoff win, your face practically turns green like you’re about to be sick whenever anyone utters his name.’ Penelope says, leaning forward. ‘You’re going to have to work with him. Charity events, team functions, media days—your paths are going to cross, especially if Coach Haynes officially signs him onto the team.’

I had no idea that she had noticed all of this. I guess I should have, but I was preoccupied with JP’s attention, not realizing how obvious he might have been in front of team staff. I knew my dad had noticed, but I didn’t realize that Penelope had too. I guess since our paths haven’t crossed in a year and a half since he’s been training in Montreal, I figured people had forgotten about all of that—the way I thought I had up until seeing his name on a Hawkeyes file folder.

At least he’s only on PTO. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and he’ll end up with another team. It’s all I can hope for.

My stomach twists. ‘I’m a professional, Pen. I can handle it.’

‘I know you can. But this isn’t just about professionalism.’ She taps her fingers against her desk thoughtfully. ‘JP Dumont carries a lot of weight in this league. His comeback story is going to be media gold, especially with Seven coaching him. Not only because Seven and his dad used to play on the same team, but also because they were widely known to clash. Not to mention that the media has caught him tossing you pucks on numerous occasions in the past. And though he’s silenced them before, this time things are going to be bigger than him. The pressure’s going to be intense.’

‘And you think I can’t handle pressure?’ The words come out almost juvenile, and I shrink into myself. This is not how I prove I’m ready for more responsibility—I know that.

‘No,’ Penelope says calmly. ‘I think you handle pressure better than most, but this is different. This is personal and professional colliding in a very public way.’

She’s right, and we both know it. Every interaction with JP will be scrutinized—by the team, by the media, by my father. One wrong move, one slip in professionalism, and everything I’ve worked for could be questioned. My father has already threatened enough of the press not to run a story about the two dynasty families uniting with JP and I dating: The Wrenley’s and the Dumont’s, a hockey fairytale.

More like a tragedy… like Romeo and Juliet.

But I’m not stupid enough to drink the poison twice.

It’s almost as if JP tried to garner the attention—get the media talking about us to build more buzz around his career. I wouldn’t put it past him, and I had already fallen for it—showing up in San Diego to watch him play in the playoffs.

‘I’ve worked too hard to prove I’m more than just Seven Wrenley’s daughter. I won’t let JP’s presence undo that.’

‘No one doubts your capabilities, Cammy.’ Penelope’s voice softens. ‘But maybe this is about more than just work.’

‘It’s not,’ I insist, but the words feel hollow. ‘This is just another challenge to navigate. Nothing more.’

Penelope studies me for a long moment before speaking again. ‘You know, when Slade first joined the team, everyone thought I’d have trouble maintaining professional boundaries. The GM’s daughter dating the star center? It was practically a scandal waiting to happen.’

‘That was different,’ I argue, but she holds up a hand.

‘Was it? Because from where I’m sitting, I see a lot of parallels. Talented player with something to prove, complicated family dynamics, the weight of everyone’s expectations…’ She trails off meaningfully. ‘Sound familiar?’

I resist the urge to squirm in my chair. ‘JP and I aren’t you and Slade. We’re not anything.’

‘Maybe not,’ she concedes. ‘But that tension between you? That’s something, Cammy. And if you don’t decide how you’re going to handle it now… it might come out in a way you can’t control.’

‘I can handle it,’ I say, though I’m not even convincing myself.

Penelope nods. ‘I know you can, which is why I’m giving the project to you.’

My phone buzzes again.

Dad: About lunch, kiddo. Can we reschedule? Drills are going longer than expected. I don’t want you to have to wait for me.

Me: Yeah, No problem.

The thought has me wanting to slip out and look out of the windows of the corporate office on the third floor, down to the rink below to see if the drills going late are with JP.

Dad: I owe you.

‘You’re overthinking this,’ Penelope says, reading my expression. ‘Take a breath. Focus on one thing at a time.’

‘Right,’ I say, straightening in my chair. ‘The auction. That’s what matters right now.’

I try to push back the thought of Dumont coming back after getting kicked off the Blue Devils after his DUI and subsequent injury.

‘The media’s going to love that JP is making his comeback on the rival team.’ I mutter.

‘They already do,’ Penelope confirms, sliding a newspaper across her desk. ‘Look.’

The headline from The Seattle Sunrise makes my stomach churn: DUMONT RETURNS TO SEATTLE: A STORY OF REDEMPTION AND SECOND CHANCES

Redemption for him, maybe. For me, it’s a reminder that the man who shattered my trust gets to rewrite his story while I’m left cleaning up the pieces. My fingers tremble as I push the paper away, determined not to let it get under my skin. But the words linger, each one a thorn pricking at the edges of my carefully constructed composure.

The article goes on about his journey—the playoff win in San Diego, the accident that nearly ended his career, the long road back. But there’s one quote that catches my eye.

‘Seattle feels like the spot I’ve been trying to get to for years,’ JP is quoted saying. ‘Training under Seven Wrenley? That’s been the dream since I was a kid. Sometimes life puts you right where you need to be, and this is where I need to be—with this team.’

I push the paper away, ignoring the way my hands shake slightly.

‘We should focus on the auction. Autumn is expecting something big, and I want to deliver for her.’

‘One more thing,’ Penelope says as I stand to leave. ‘The auction’s closing event—we need something special. Something interactive that’ll get people talking and get donors to stay the entire time.’

‘I’ve got some ideas,’ I say. ‘I’ll think about it and get them to you by the end of the week.’

As I head back to my desk, my mind is already spinning with possibilities. A skills challenge. The spotlight on JP this coming season. The tension between us on display for everyone to see.

A flash of memory hits me—two years ago at the All-Star Game, before everything fell apart, JP found me: ‘Just five minutes,’ he’d said, hands up in mock surrender. ‘Then you can go back to pretending you don’t like me.‘ Those five minutes turned into thirty, and by the end, my cheeks hurt from laughing. When Brynn interrupted us, I remember thinking maybe, just maybe, there was more to JP Dumont than his player reputation suggested.

God, I’d been so stupid.

He doesn’t belong here—not in my building, not on my team, and definitely not in my life. Not after how thoroughly he made clear that those three years of pursuit were nothing but a game to him. The ultimate conquest: the coach’s daughter who kept saying no.

But the universe doesn’t care what I want. It’s decided to drop him back into my orbit, and I’ll have to deal with the fallout. Because no matter how much I’ve tried to forget him, there’s one thing I know for sure.

You can’t outrun your past.

And mine just came skating in wearing a Hawkeyes jersey.