Chapter Twenty-Three Billie Hartley #2
Billie laughed before she could stop herself.
Max looked satisfied. “That is all.”
He left the microphone to a standing ovation of his own.
Nate shouted, “Youth Ambassador forever!”
Billie considered banning all microphones from the building.
Later.
Dinner began.
The room shifted into that warm, relieved hum that came after a hard thing went well.
People ate. Sponsors talked. Kids compared signs.
Players signed jerseys. Parents found Billie and thanked her until she had to excuse herself twice because gratitude at close range was apparently more dangerous than public criticism.
Mason stayed busy too.
He took photos with families, thanked donors, let under-twelves chirp him, and redirected every question about his career back to the gear fund like a man who had memorised both media training and respect.
Billie noticed.
Of course.
She noticed his limp stayed controlled. Not worse. Not perfect. She noticed he sat when Sophie pointed. She noticed he accepted water from Evie, a donor card from Max, and a quiet shoulder squeeze from Theo.
She noticed Gabe staying near the press table, shutting down career speculation with phrases that did not include temporary. Once, she heard him say, “Mason’s focus tonight is Harbour Ice,” and almost forgave him completely.
Almost.
At 7:42, Billie found herself near the rink boards with an untouched plate in one hand.
She had escaped.
Temporarily.
There was that word again.
She frowned at it.
“Do you glare at all vocabulary, or only emotionally loaded terms?”
Mason’s voice came from beside her.
Billie did not turn. “Depends on the day.”
He stepped to the boards, leaving a proper distance. He held his own plate, also mostly untouched.
She glanced at it. “Sophie will be annoyed.”
“At me or you?”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the ice through the glass.
The event reflected in it behind them: warm lights, people moving, laughter, the donation screen glowing.
“It went well,” Mason said.
“It is still going.”
“Billie.”
“Fine. Yes. It went well.”
He looked at her. “That sounded painful.”
“It was.”
“Thank you.”
“For admitting success?”
“For letting people stand with you.”
Her throat tightened.
She looked down at her plate. “That was not for you.”
“I know.”
“Not only.”
His smile softened. “I’ll take not only.”
Dangerous.
Everything about him tonight was dangerous. His restraint. His honesty. His pride in her. The way he kept letting her define the distance and then making the distance feel warm instead of lonely.
Billie set her plate on the boards’ ledge. “You need to talk to Gabe.”
Mason’s expression sobered.
“I know.”
“And the teams.”
“I know.”
“Soon.”
“Yes.”
She hated that he did not pretend otherwise.
The old Billie would have preferred the lie for five minutes.
Maybe not.
Maybe she never had.
She looked across the ice. “You hit the shot.”
“Yes.”
“Your knee held.”
“Yes.”
“Scouts called.”
“Yes.”
“It’s what you wanted.”
Mason was quiet long enough that she looked over.
His eyes were on the ice too.
“It’s what I wanted when I got here,” he said.
Her chest hurt.
The answer was not a promise.
It was worse.
A possibility.
Billie could not build on possibility.
She had said that.
She meant it.
Mostly.
“What do you want now?” she asked.
The question slipped out before fear could stop it.
Mason looked at her.
The room noise seemed to fall away.
He did not answer quickly.
Good.
Bad.
Honest.
“I want to know if my knee can still carry a career,” he said.
She swallowed.
Good answer.
Terrible answer.
“And I want to know if I’m brave enough not to let that career be the only thing that defines me.”
Her breath caught.
He continued, voice low. “I want to stay long enough to find out what Sydney is when it isn’t temporary.
I want to keep showing up here without needing a camera to justify it.
I want to see Max become even more terrifying.
I want Nate to never run social media again.
I want Theo and Harper to pretend they aren’t already a future disaster.
I want Sophie and Luca to stop looking at each other like a closed file that still bleeds. ”
Despite herself, Billie huffed a laugh.
His eyes softened.
“And I want you,” he said.
Everything stopped.
Not around them.
The room kept moving. Cutlery. Laughter. Voices. The hum of a heater losing an argument with rink cold.
But Billie stopped.
Mason stayed still.
“I’m not saying I know how yet,” he added. “Or what it looks like if a team calls. Or how to be fair to you while figuring it out. I’m not asking you to wait on maybe.”
Her fingers curled against the boards.
“Then what are you asking?”
His voice went rough. “For the chance not to run from wanting you just because I don’t have every answer tonight.”
Billie looked at him.
He was serious.
No charm.
No grin.
No public Mason.
Just the man who had stopped at the loading bay because she said beside. The man who had told his agent not to make her smaller. The man who had not promised forever but had texted always and kept meaning it one careful action at a time.
She wanted to say yes.
She wanted to say no.
She wanted to be the kind of woman who could step into uncertainty without already calculating the exit strategy.
“I’m scared,” she said.
Mason’s eyes softened.
“I know.”
“No, I need you to hear me.” Her voice lowered. “I am scared that you will leave and I will understand all the reasons. I’ll be proud. I’ll be practical. I’ll tell everyone it’s a great opportunity. I’ll probably organise your goodbye media if Harper doesn’t restrain me.”
His mouth twisted.
“But I’ll still be the one here,” Billie said. “And I have spent a long time being the one here after everyone else has somewhere else to go.”
Mason did not move.
His face looked like the words had hit exactly where she aimed them.
Good.
They needed to.
“I hear you,” he said.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t get to ask for your trust with pretty words. It means if I take the calls, I tell you. If I think about leaving, I tell you. If I want to stay, I tell you before I turn it into a grand gesture. It means you get truth before headlines.”
Billie’s eyes stung.
She blinked hard.
He added, quieter, “And it means if you tell me you can’t do this with uncertainty, I will respect that.”
That was the worst thing.
Not the offer.
The respect.
Billie looked down at their hands on the boards.
His rested inches away.
Same as Wednesday.
This time, she did not move closer.
Not yet.
“I can’t be your distraction,” she said.
“You’re not.”
“I can’t be your Sydney story.”
“You’re not.”
“I can’t be the thing you use to prove you’re changed.”
Mason’s voice went soft and fierce. “Billie, you are not proof of me. You are you.”
Oh.
That nearly did it.
She closed her eyes.
For one second, she let herself feel the full weight of wanting.
Then she opened them.
“I need time.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“And truth.”
“Yes.”
“And no public romance moment tonight.”
His mouth curved faintly. “Strict.”
“Mason.”
“I promise. No grand gestures. No kissing under the donation tracker.”
Her cheeks warmed. “I did not say kissing.”
“You implied romance moment. I was clarifying categories.”
“You are very close to losing speaking privileges.”
His smile was tired and beautiful. “Worth it.”
She shook her head, but her mouth betrayed her.
A little.
He saw.
Of course.