Chapter Twenty-Three Billie Hartley #3
Gabe appeared at the edge of the dining area, spotted Mason, and lifted his phone slightly.
Mason looked at Billie.
“Calls?” she asked.
“Probably.”
“Go.”
“I don’t want to leave this conversation here.”
“We’re not finishing it tonight.”
“No?”
“No.” She looked back at the room. “Tonight belongs to the rink.”
Mason followed her gaze.
Then nodded. “Tomorrow?”
Billie’s pulse kicked.
Tomorrow.
Not after the season. Not after the calls. Not someday.
Tomorrow.
“Yes,” she said. “Tomorrow.”
His eyes warmed.
No smile big enough for cameras.
Just enough for her.
Then he walked to Gabe.
Billie stayed by the boards until she trusted her legs.
Unfortunately, Evie found her there.
Her cousin leaned against the glass beside her, still wearing the oversized hoodie, eyes suspiciously knowing.
“Was that the conversation?”
Billie stared at the ice. “Which conversation?”
“The one where he says something emotionally devastating and you pretend to be a traffic controller.”
“I regret helping raise you.”
“You didn’t. Mum did. You just taught me emotional repression and skate sizing.”
“Useful skills.”
“Debatable.”
Billie sighed.
Evie softened. “You okay?”
Billie did not snap this time.
Progress.
“No,” she said. “But not bad no.”
Evie’s smile turned gentle. “That’s annoying, isn’t it?”
“Deeply.”
Across the room, Mason stood with Gabe. Gabe spoke. Mason listened. Then Mason looked back at Billie.
Not because he had to.
Because he wanted her to know he would.
Truth before headlines.
She nodded once.
He nodded back.
Evie made a tiny squeak.
Billie pointed without looking. “Do not.”
“Fine.”
The dinner moved into dessert.
Max gave unsolicited feedback on the sponsor cake.
Nate attempted to start a chant and was stopped by Theo placing a bread roll in his hand as a distraction.
Harper cornered Gabe and made him approve a media boundary sheet for Mason before midnight.
Sophie disappeared toward the lobby with Luca for their five-minute public conversation, while Billie clocked them from across the room with the focus of a future book manager.
At 8:36, Billie allowed herself to believe the worst of the night had passed.
At 8:41, she learned better.
A glass clinked near the front.
Not from the stage.
From the sponsor table.
Graham Vale stood.
The room quieted.
Billie froze.
This was not on the schedule.
Mark looked surprised.
Harper’s head snapped up from her phone.
Gabe murmured something to Mason.
Graham lifted both hands. “I promise this will be brief.”
Billie did not trust brief.
“I want to say something beyond the official statement,” Graham said.
“Earlier this week, parts of Harbour Ice Centre’s past were twisted into rumours.
Some of those rumours involved my family.
Some involved this rink’s finances. Some involved a draft investment agreement that never became real because Tom Hartley told me no. ”
The room went very still.
Billie’s stomach tightened.
Mason moved to the edge of the room, eyes on her.
Graham looked toward Billie.
“Tom told me this rink was not something to collect. It was something to serve. At the time, I thought he was being sentimental.”
A faint ripple moved through the room.
Graham smiled ruefully. “He was not. He was being accurate.”
Billie swallowed.
“I regret that my family’s name was used this week to harm people who have served this place better than most. Billie Hartley most of all.”
Oh no.
No.
Public gratitude again.
Billie’s eyes widened slightly.
Evie took her hand under the table.
Graham continued, “So Vale Community Partners will honour the match tonight. And we will add an annual Tom Hartley Independence Grant, separate from sponsorship, with no naming rights and no operational control, to support youth and women’s hockey access at Harbour Ice Centre for the next five years. ”
The room went silent.
Billie stopped breathing.
Five years.
Youth and women’s hockey access.
No naming rights.
No control.
Tom Hartley Independence Grant.
Then the room exploded.
People stood.
Evie screamed.
Harper dropped her phone, then grabbed it again while crying. Mark sat down like his knees had failed. Alby actually said something that might have been a prayer or a swear. Sophie came back from the lobby mid-applause, Luca behind her, both staring.
Billie could not move.
Five years.
Not one fundraiser.
Not one emergency.
Five years of yes.
Her chest cracked open so hard she nearly folded.
Mason crossed the room.
Not fast.
Not dramatic.
He stopped beside her.
Not touching.
Just there.
Beside.
Always, if she let it mean one night at a time.
Billie turned to him, vision blurred despite all her discipline.
“Mason,” she whispered.
He looked at her like the room did not exist.
“I know,” he said.
This time, when his hand lifted, she met it halfway.
In the middle of the standing ovation, with the rink watching and Tom Hartley’s name glowing on the screen, Billie Hartley let Mason Reed hold her hand.
No hiding.
No caption needed.
No performance.
Just choice.
And when Harper started crying harder across the room, Billie did not even yell at her.