Chapter Twenty-Two Mason Reed
Australian Hockey Had a Very Loud Heart
Mason Reed had skated into NHL preseason arenas, packed junior barns, hostile road games, and one charity match where a mascot had fallen through a sponsor banner, but nothing in his career had prepared him for Harbour Ice Centre chanting Tall Regret like it was both an insult and a blessing.
“TALL REGRET! TALL REGRET! TALL REGRET!”
The sound shook the boards.
Kids banged signs against the glass. Parents waved donation cards. Volunteers in Ice Queen hoodies lined the concourse. The Sydney Blades stood along the bench, grinning like idiots, while the Melbourne Kings contingent tried to look above the noise and failed by degrees.
Mason stood at the gate with his helmet tucked under one arm and his knee taped like Sophie Chen had been personally insulted by ligaments.
Sophie stood in front of him, tablet in hand, expression calm.
“Say it,” she said.
Mason looked down at her. “Right now?”
“Yes.”
“The crowd is chanting my emotional damage.”
“Then you should be very motivated to remember.”
He sighed. “No hard pivots on the left. No contact. No chasing loose pucks if the knee feels unstable. If pain spikes, I stop.”
“And?”
He glanced toward the ice.
Billie stood across the rink near the donor table, headset in one ear, hands full of event notes because she refused unnecessary props as a lifestyle principle. Her hair was pulled back. Her Blades polo was tucked into black jeans. Her face was sharp, focused, bright with pressure.
Ice Queen hoodie sightings had multiplied in the stands.
She looked like the whole building had chosen her.
His chest tightened.
“And,” he said, “I do not make stupid choices because Billie is watching.”
Sophie’s mouth twitched. “Good.”
Mason looked at her. “Did she add that?”
“No.”
“So you did?”
“Medical intuition.”
He shook his head. “Terrifying.”
“Correct.” Sophie stepped back. “Go be useful.”
Useful.
Once, that word had sounded like a consolation prize.
Here, it felt like purpose.
Mason pulled on his helmet and stepped onto the ice.
The crowd got louder.
Too loud for a community rink.
Too loud for a place people had called small.
Too loud for anyone who thought hockey in Australia was a joke.
He took one slow lap, feeling the ice under his blades, the pull in his knee, the heat of bodies around the rink, the weird electric joy of a building that had been attacked all week and responded by donating more money.
Australian hockey had a very loud heart.
He had insulted it before he ever heard it beat.
By the time he reached centre ice, Luca D’Amato glided in from the visitor side.
The man looked absurdly calm.
Of course he did.
Black Melbourne Kings warmup jacket. Perfect hair. Smooth edges. Smirk set at a level just under punishable.
Mason had disliked him on principle.
Now he disliked him with nuance.
Progress, maybe.
Luca stopped a few feet away. “Big crowd.”
Mason looked around the rink. “Turns out Sydney is serious.”
Luca’s smile flashed. “You learned.”
“Painfully.”
“I heard children were involved.”
“They’re harsh here.”
“They should be.”
Mason’s gaze flicked toward Sophie.
She stood near the Blades bench, speaking to a young player and not looking at Luca.
Luca was looking at her.
The smirk slipped.
Only a second, but Mason saw it.
That was not rivalry.
That was history with unfinished edges.
Mason turned back. “She set the rules.”
Luca’s attention sharpened. “Sophie?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll follow them.”
Simple.
No joke.
Good.
Mason nodded once. “Smart.”
Luca’s mouth curved. “You care about your physio’s rules, or Billie’s?”
Mason’s smile stayed easy because he had been trained by the best.
And by the best, he meant Billie Hartley threatening to feed him to Australian hockey.
“The fund,” Mason said. “The kids. The rink.”
From the bench, Nate shouted, “MEDIA TRAINING WORKED!”
Coach Alby barked, “Callow!”
Nate shouted back, “Positive reinforcement!”
Mason did not look away from Luca.
Luca laughed softly. “Well played.”
“Trying.”
“And Billie?”
There it was.
The hook.
Subtle enough for cameras. Sharp enough for a man. Designed to get under skin without leaving a mark.
Mason glanced toward Billie again.
She was looking at him now.
Not warning.
Trusting.
Beside.
He looked back at Luca.
“Billie runs the rink,” Mason said. “I try not to make her job harder.”
Luca’s eyebrows lifted. “That sounds humble.”
“It’s been a week.”
The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers.
“Welcome, Sydney, to the Charity Shootout supporting the Harbour Ice Junior Gear Fund!”
The roar swallowed whatever Luca might have said next.
Mason skated toward the centre circle, where Mark Delaney stood with Graham Vale, Harper, Max, and a microphone. The donation tracker glowed on the big screen.
$27,842 raised.
With Vale match: $52,842.
Mason stared at it.
Fifty-two thousand dollars.
Before a puck had even been shot.
All because a community had decided a bad joke would not get the last word.
Mark spoke first, thanking sponsors, families, volunteers, the Blades, the Kings, and every person who had donated. Graham followed, polished but warmer than Mason expected, confirming the match and saying Harbour Ice Centre’s independence was part of why Vale supported it.
Then Max took the microphone.
A dangerous choice.
A brilliant one.
Billie stood very still near the boards.
Max cleared his throat. “Hello. I am Max, youth ambassador, age eleven and three-quarters.”
The crowd cheered.
Max nodded, accepting it like a small mayor. “Adults have made this week weird.”
The crowd laughed.
Mason bit his cheek.
Billie closed her eyes.
Max continued, “But kids still need gear. Also, Mason Reed has improved from Tall Regret to Tall Regret Under Review.”
More laughter.
Mason put a hand over his heart.
Max pointed at him. “This is not forgiveness yet.”
Mason nodded solemnly.
“And if Luca D’Amato wants coffee, he has to donate like everyone else.”
The rink exploded.
Luca laughed, head tipped back.
Sophie looked down, but Mason saw her smile.
Max lifted the microphone with both hands. “Thank you for helping kids say yes to hockey.”
That line did it.
Not in a loud way.
In a deep one.
Parents clapped. Volunteers wiped eyes. Evie openly cried behind the skate rental counter. Even Alby looked away.
Billie stood near the boards with both hands pressed together, her face bright and tight with emotion.
Mason wanted to go to her.
Instead, he tapped his stick once against the ice.
Then again.
Theo joined.
Then Nate.
Then the whole bench.
Soon the rink filled with sticks tapping ice, boards, floor, the sound growing until it became thunder.
For Max.
For the kids.
For the rink.
For Billie.
The shootout began.
Round one was accuracy.
Mason versus selected Blades and Luca.
Simple targets hung in the net corners. Each shot attempt carried a sponsor pledge. Each miss from Mason triggered a personal donation he had agreed to quietly that morning, capped because Gabe had looked faint at the first number.
Billie did not know he had raised the cap later.
Gabe did.
He had called Mason reckless, then handed him the updated pledge sheet anyway.
Progress.
Theo shot first.
Clean.
Top left target.
The crowd cheered.
Nate shot next.
Missed by a mile.
He threw both arms up. “For fundraising!”
Alby shouted, “That was not strategy!”
Nate skated past Mason. “It is now.”
Luca took his first shot with maddening elegance.
Top right.
Perfect.
He barely celebrated.
The crowd booed with admiration.
Mason stepped up.
The chant started again.
“TALL REGRET! TALL REGRET!”
He looked at the net.
Then at Billie.
She stood behind the glass near the bench, headset on, eyes steady. She made a small motion with her hand.
Breathe.
He did.
He set his weight carefully.
No hard left push.
No hero.
No proof.
Just the shot.
He released.
The puck snapped into the lower left target.
The rink erupted.
Mason’s chest loosened.
Nate tackled him in a hug before remembering Sophie existed and immediately released him.
Sophie pointed two fingers at her eyes, then Mason’s knee.
Mason nodded.
Round one continued.
Mason hit two of three.
Luca hit three of three.
Of course.
The Melbourne fans, all twelve of them, cheered loudly enough to be annoying.
Luca skated past Mason. “Pressure?”
Mason smiled. “Donation link?”
Luca shook his head, amused despite himself.
Round two was the community challenge.
Kids called the shots.
This was where Max and Isla became terrifying.
Isla took the microphone first, wearing a Blades jersey and the expression of a child who had waited her whole life to judge grown men.
“Mason,” she said, “left turn into shot. But not too dodgy.”
The crowd oohed.
Sophie’s head snapped up.
Billie pointed at Isla.
Isla lifted both hands. “Controlled left turn.”
Sophie considered, then nodded once.
Mason looked at Isla. “Your mercy overwhelms me.”
Isla said, “Earn it.”
The kid was a menace.
He loved her.
He started from the blue line, took the turn gently, felt the knee pull but not spike, and released low.
Hit.
Not clean centre.
But hit.
The crowd roared.
Billie’s shoulders dropped.
He saw it.
Worth everything.
Max took the microphone next.
“Luca,” he said, “shoot while saying one nice thing about Sydney hockey.”
The rink howled.
Luca put one hand over his heart. “This is cruel.”
Max stared. “Respect has layers.”
Mason laughed so hard his knee almost objected.
Luca skated into position. “Sydney hockey is loud.”
The crowd booed.
Max shook his head. “Not nice enough.”
Luca sighed. “Sydney hockey is stubborn.”
Billie lifted one brow.
Max considered. “Closer.”
Luca looked toward Sophie.
His face shifted again.
“Sydney hockey protects its people,” he said.
The rink quieted.
Sophie’s eyes lifted.
For one second, their gazes locked across the ice.
Then Luca shot.
Hit.
The crowd cheered, but Mason barely heard it.
Book Three was going to be a war.
He did not know why the phrase entered his head in Billie’s voice.
He really needed to stop absorbing her operational language.