Chapter Eight Mason Reed #2
It hit harder than praise.
Harper’s fingers clicked fast against her keyboard.
“Second message came two minutes after the station posted the segment teaser. Similar wording to comments from three accounts pushing the romance angle. Could be a fan. Could be someone trying to steer content. Could be a burner tied to no one important.”
Billie nodded. “Screenshot everything.”
“Already done.”
Mark looked at Billie. “Do we still do the interview follow-up clips this afternoon?”
Billie hesitated.
Mason could see the machine in her head recalculating. Public energy was high. Donations were climbing. The story had momentum. But anonymous messages changed the risk. Sophie changed the risk. Luca had crossed a line before even stepping in the building.
Billie looked at the whiteboard.
At the donation tracker.
At Sophie.
Then, finally, at Mason.
“We continue,” she said. “But we tighten control. No unscripted romance content. No one responds to Luca without approval. No personal-history bait. No using Sophie’s name. No surprise guests. No private access.”
Harper nodded. “I’ll update social rules.”
Mark said, “I’ll notify Vale and the station.”
Alby grunted. “I’ll notify Luca’s coach that if his captain acts like a clown, I’ll make him watch training video from 2009 until he begs for mercy.”
Billie considered. “Make that sound professional.”
“No.”
“Alby.”
“Fine. Professionally merciless.”
Mason almost smiled.
Billie caught it.
This time, she did not glare.
The meeting broke with controlled urgency. Harper moved to the hallway, already typing. Mark called Vale. Alby barked for Nate and Theo to go be hockey players instead of furniture. Sophie slipped toward the physio room, and Billie followed her with a quiet word Mason could not hear.
He stayed back.
For once, he did not follow.
He wanted to.
That was exactly why he didn’t.
Nate fell into step beside him as they headed downstairs. “You look like you’re thinking serious thoughts.”
Mason sighed. “That scare you?”
“Deeply. I prefer men of your build to remain decorative and emotionally shallow.”
Theo walked on Mason’s other side. “Ignore him.”
“I try,” Mason said.
“Nobody succeeds,” Theo said.
Nate pressed a hand to his heart. “Team unity.”
They reached the lower corridor. The rink beyond the glass was bright with late-morning sessions now, a group of adult beginners skating carefully while an instructor demonstrated stops.
Nate stopped walking.
His joking expression faded.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “Sophie’s good people.”
Mason looked at him. “I know.”
“And Billie.”
Mason’s jaw tightened. “I know.”
Nate studied him with unexpected sharpness. “Good. Because they’ll both tell you they’re fine while carrying knives in their teeth and a building on their backs.”
Theo gave a faint nod.
Mason looked between them. “You two always this protective?”
Nate’s grin returned, but it did not reach full wattage. “Of them? Yes.”
“Of the rink,” Theo said.
Nate nodded. “Of the rink.”
Mason glanced through the glass toward the ice.
He understood that better now.
The rink was not a building to them. It was history. Family. A stubborn little country of cold inside a hot city, guarded by people who made jokes because the alternative was admitting how much everything mattered.
“I’m not trying to hurt anyone,” Mason said.
Theo looked at him calmly. “Most people aren’t.”
That landed.
Nate winced. “Mate, that was bleak.”
“It was accurate.”
Mason nodded slowly. “Fair.”
Theo held his gaze. “Billie doesn’t need saving. Sophie doesn’t either.”
“I know.”
“But if you’re going to stand with them, stand steady.”
Nate pointed at Theo. “That was gorgeous and terrifying. He does this once a quarter.”
Mason let out a short laugh.
“Stand steady,” Mason repeated.
Theo nodded. “That’s all.”
They kept walking.
For the first time since landing in Sydney, Mason felt like he was not being tested because they wanted him to fail.
He was being tested because the bar mattered.
That felt different.
Better.
He wanted to clear it.
By noon, the morning show clip had crossed half a million views.
By twelve-thirty, the donation tracker had hit seven thousand without the sponsor match.
By one, the official Blades response to Luca had been reposted by nearly every local sports account in Sydney.
By one-fifteen, Graham Vale sent coffee service mockups.
By one-twenty, Max submitted revised language for a youth-facing donor thank-you card that began, Dear financially responsible legends.
Billie approved it with edits.
Mason found this out because Harper had added him to a group chat labelled OPERATION TALL REGRET REDEMPTION, which Billie immediately renamed HARBOUR FUNDRAISER, OFFICIAL.
Nate renamed it TALL FUNDRAISER.
Billie changed it back.
Evie renamed it KANGAROO LEGAL DEFENCE.
Billie removed Evie.
Evie reappeared within two minutes.
Mason did not understand how.
He was starting to suspect Harbour Ice Centre had supernatural properties.
At two o’clock, Billie found him in the stands with an ice pack again, watching the women’s development session warm up.
He had not been scheduled to attend until later in the week, but after the anonymous messages and the morning show chaos, the rink felt better than the locker room. He wanted to see the parts of Australian hockey he had dismissed. Not for content. Not for apology points.
For himself.
Billie paused two rows below him. “You’re not required to be here.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
He kept his eyes on the ice. “Curriculum.”
“That session is Thursday.”
“I’m reading ahead.”
She climbed one row and sat at the opposite end of the bench.
A safe distance.
He liked that she sat anyway.
On the ice, Sophie spoke to a group of teenage girls near the boards, demonstrating something with her hands. A few women in Blades development jerseys skated gentle laps. The session looked focused. Serious. Full of ages and skill levels, some nervous, some fierce, all showing up.
Mason watched a woman in her thirties attempt a crossover, wobble, catch herself, then laugh with the girl beside her.
No cameras.
No viral pressure.
Just hockey.
“I was an idiot,” he said.
Billie looked at him. “Yes.”
“No hesitation?”
“I thought honesty was your new thing.”
He smiled faintly. “It is.”
“Then yes. You were.”
He nodded. “I didn’t know this existed.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“No.”
The words were plain. No defence. No excuse.
Billie leaned back against the bench behind her. “Most people don’t. They think hockey here is either a novelty or a punchline. Too hot. Too far away. Too small. Too expensive. Too weird. Then people come in here and realise the rink is full.”
Mason watched a young girl in a ponytail receive a pass and fumble it, only for Sophie to clap and reset her with patient precision.
“It should be bigger,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You sound tired.”
“I am tired.”
He looked at her.
She kept watching the ice.
The admission felt significant because Billie did not hand out weakness. Not even weakness. Truth.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She looked at him then. “For what?”
“For being one more thing you had to fix.”
Her face softened in a way that made him want to earn it every day and also leave the country for self-preservation.
“You’re trying,” she said.
“Low bar.”
“Popular bar to trip over.”
“Fair.”
They sat in quiet for a while.
Below them, Sophie laughed at something one of the girls said. It was a small laugh, rare enough that Billie’s attention sharpened. Then Sophie looked toward the glass, and whatever ease had touched her face disappeared.
Mason followed her gaze.
Luca D’Amato stood in the lobby.
Not on Friday.
Not at the event.
Now.
He wore black jeans, a Melbourne Kings training jacket, and the effortless arrogance of a man who knew exactly how much attention cost and could afford it. His dark hair was neat, his smile mild, his posture relaxed.
Beside him stood a man Mason recognised from the Kings staff and a woman with a press badge around her neck.
Unscheduled media.
Billie was on her feet before Mason had fully processed it.
“No,” she said.
One word.
Flat. Cold. Final.
Mason stood too, ice pack falling to the bench.
On the ice, Sophie had gone completely still.
Luca lifted one hand through the glass.
Not to Mason.
Not to Billie.
To Sophie.
Mason felt the whole rink change.
Billie was already moving.
He followed.
This time, she did not tell him not to.
By the time they reached the lobby, Harper was coming from the office, Mark from the corridor, Alby from the bench, and Theo and Nate from somewhere that suggested they had been running.
Harbour Ice Centre did family fast.
Billie stepped in front of Luca before anyone else could speak.
Her voice was calm enough to be dangerous.
“Luca. You’re early.”
Luca smiled. “I like to make an entrance.”
“You made it at the wrong time.”
His gaze slid to Mason. “Tall Regret.”
Mason smiled without warmth. “Too Pretty and Therefore Suspicious.”
Nate made a strangled noise behind him.
Billie did not move.
Luca’s smile widened. “Creative.”
“Borrowed from management.”
“Of course.” Luca’s eyes returned to Billie. “I was in Sydney for a sponsor meeting. Thought I’d stop by, show support, maybe give media a little preview.”
The woman with the press badge shifted eagerly.
Billie’s gaze snapped to her. “No filming inside without approval.”
The woman lowered her phone halfway. “I’m with SportNow. We were told there might be availability.”
“By whom?”
Her eyes flicked to Luca.
Luca shrugged. “Miscommunication.”
Billie’s smile was all blade. “Noted.”
Mason felt the impulse rise. Step forward. Get between. Make Luca look at him instead.
He stayed where he was.
Stand steady.
Not save. Not posture.
Steady.
Billie continued. “Friday’s event is scheduled and controlled. Today’s development session is private. You will not film it. You will not enter rink-side areas. You will not speak to medical staff without prior approval.”
Luca’s gaze drifted past her toward the rink.
Toward Sophie.