Chapter Twenty-Four Mason Reed
The Wrong Dream Had Excellent Timing
Mason Reed had spent most of his life chasing chances, the next roster spot, the next contract, the next clean shift, the next proof that he still belonged, but holding Billie Hartley’s hand in a room full of cheering people made one thing painfully clear.
Some chances did not feel like chasing.
Some felt like finally stopping in the right place.
The applause rolled around Harbour Ice Centre’s dining area, loud enough to shake the glasses on the tables.
People stood clapping for Graham Vale’s announcement, for Tom Hartley’s name, for five years of youth and women’s hockey access, for a community that had spent all week refusing to be made small.
Mason stood beside Billie.
Her hand was in his.
Warm.
Firm.
Real.
No hiding.
No public statement.
No performance.
He knew cameras were probably pointed their way.
Harper was crying with her phone in one hand, which meant several angles existed already.
Nate had both hands clamped over his own mouth, physically restraining himself from announcing something illegal.
Theo stood beside him like a parole officer.
Evie was crying openly. Max had climbed onto his chair and was clapping above his head while Priya tried and failed to make him sit down.
Sophie had paused near the doorway with Luca at her side, both of them watching like the room had shifted under their feet too.
And Billie did not let go.
Mason barely breathed.
Because Billie Hartley did many things with force. She corrected, planned, defended, organised, glared, loved, carried, and occasionally threatened men with rink-related consequences.
But this?
This was quiet.
This was trust.
This was her saying, I am not hiding this small part of wanting you.
Mason’s chest hurt with it.
Graham finished his remarks and stepped down from the sponsor table.
The applause softened into conversation, then swelled again as people moved toward Billie, toward Mark, toward the donation display, toward the old photo of Tom Hartley smiling like he had known stubborn love could outlast almost anything.
Billie looked down at their joined hands.
Mason waited.
If she pulled away, he would let her.
She did not.
Her fingers tightened once.
Then she looked up at him, eyes bright and wet, mouth trembling in a way she clearly disliked.
“Five years,” she whispered.
“I heard.”
“Five years.”
“I heard that too.”
Her laugh came out small and broken. “That is so much yes.”
The sentence hit him harder than the donation total.
So much yes.
Yes to kids.
Yes to girls.
Yes to families.
Yes to ice in a hot city.
Yes to the rink her father had protected.
Yes to Billie not having to turn every crisis into a personal sacrifice before anyone noticed.
Mason’s thumb moved once over her knuckles before he could stop himself.
She looked at the motion.
Then back at him.
Not angry.
Not warning.
Soft.
That was new enough to be dangerous.
“I’m happy,” she said, like she was confessing a crime.
His throat tightened. “Good.”
“I don’t know what to do with it.”
“Hold it for a minute.”
Her eyes searched his face.
Then she nodded.
“Okay.”
The word barely reached him.
But it landed everywhere.
Gabe appeared at Mason’s shoulder a moment later, holding his phone and wearing the expression of a man who had learned the hard way that timing mattered and was about to fail anyway.
Mason looked at him.
Gabe grimaced. “I am sorry.”
Billie’s hand shifted in Mason’s.
There it was.
The old dream arriving with a ringtone.
Mason’s jaw tightened. “Not now.”
“It is time-sensitive.”
“Gabe.”
Billie let go.
Mason hated how fast the absence registered.
She stepped back half a pace and smoothed her expression into something professional.
It killed him.
Not because she was wrong.
Because he understood why.
“Take it,” she said.
“No.”
“Mason.”
“No,” he repeated, calmer this time. “Not like that.”
Gabe looked between them. “One of the teams wants to schedule medical review and a skate. They’re asking for Tuesday.”
Tuesday.
Four days.
Mason felt the word settle into the room.
Billie’s face stayed composed.
Too composed.
The kind of composed that meant she had already started packing him in her head.
He could see it happening.
Temporary column.
Next to flight risk.
Under men with somewhere else to go.
Gabe cleared his throat. “It’s a real opportunity.”
Mason looked at him. “I know.”
“And you need to answer.”
“I know that too.”
Billie’s voice came even. “You should take the call.”
He turned to her.
She held his gaze.
Proud. Hurt. Brave. Already bracing.
“I mean it,” she said. “It’s your career.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
His mouth twisted. “Fair.”
Gabe lowered his voice. “Mase, they need to know if you’re willing to travel for the evaluation.”
Travel.
Leave Sydney.
Leave Harbour Ice.
Leave before the week had even cooled.
Mason looked toward the rink beyond the glass.
The ice glowed under the dinner lights. Kids were pressed to the boards, still wearing donor stickers.
Max was explaining something to Graham with both hands.
Evie had her arm around Amelia. Harper was showing Priya the donation tracker.
Alby stood near Tom’s photo, head bowed.
Sophie and Luca had stepped apart but still looked like gravity had opinions.
This place had been a punchline to him once.
A stop.
A rehab hiding place.
A way to control a damaged story.
Now it felt like the first place in a year where his worth had not depended on becoming who he used to be.
That did not erase the dream.
That was the hard part.
He still wanted to know.
Could his knee hold?
Could he play at that level again?
Could he skate into an arena and not hear washed before anyone said his name?
Could he return?
But return to what?
A version of himself that had existed before the injury?
Before fear?
Before Billie Hartley had looked at him and demanded he become useful instead of impressive?
Mason looked at Gabe.
“Set the medical review,” he said.
Billie’s face flickered.
Just once.
Mason caught it.
Gabe nodded. “Tuesday?”
“No.”
Gabe paused. “No?”
“Not Tuesday.”
Billie’s brows drew together.
Mason kept his eyes on Gabe because if he looked at her too soon, he might turn honesty into a speech, and Billie had specifically banned public romance moments. Probably still binding.
“Tell them I’ll send Sophie’s report Monday, video from today, and my current training restrictions. I am not flying out next week.”
Gabe stared. “Mase.”
“I’m not saying no to the opportunity.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying if they’re serious, they can evaluate the actual recovery timeline, not force me into a rushed skate because the internet likes a comeback story today.”
Gabe’s expression changed.
Not disappointment.
Not exactly.
Assessment.
Mason continued, “I came back too early once because I thought relevance had an expiration date. I’m not doing that again.”
Sophie, several feet away, looked over sharply.
Alby did too.
Billie had gone very still.
Gabe lowered the phone slightly. “This could cost momentum.”
“Yes.”
“It could cool interest.”
“Yes.”
“You understand that?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to push for a later window?”
“I want you to be honest with them. If they want me healthy, they wait. If they want a clip, they can watch today’s.”
A slow smile touched Gabe’s mouth.
Tiny.
Reluctant.
Proud, maybe.
“You sound like someone with boundaries.”
Mason glanced toward Billie.
She was looking at him like he had just changed the rules of gravity.
“Yeah,” Mason said. “I know people.”
Gabe followed his gaze and, for once in his life, did not ruin it.
“I’ll make the call,” he said.
“Thank you.”
Gabe stepped away.
Mason stayed where he was.
Billie did not move.
The noise of the dinner came back in layers. Laughter. Cutlery. Kids. The low buzz of a room after a major announcement. Somewhere, Nate shouted, “I was calm for twenty whole seconds!” and Theo replied, “No one measured that.”
Mason looked at Billie.
“Billie.”
Her voice was quiet. “You don’t have to do that for me.”
“I didn’t.”
Her face closed a little.
He stepped forward, then stopped.
No crowding.
No proving.
Beside, even now.
“I didn’t only do it for you,” he said.
She looked back at him.
“I need to know what kind of career I still have,” he said. “But I need to know that as the man I am now, not the scared one who flew here thinking a quick exit was the only smart plan.”
Her throat moved.
“That is still an answer that could take you away.”
“Yes.”
Good.
Tell the truth.
Even when it hurt.
Especially then.
Mason forced himself to hold her gaze. “It could.”
She nodded once.
A careful nod.
A devastating one.
“But not next week,” he said. “Not rushed. Not hidden. Not without telling you before headlines. And not because my agent or some team or one good shot decides my life for me.”
Billie’s eyes shone.
“I can’t be the reason you stay.”
“You’re not.”
Her mouth tightened.
He saw the doubt.
So he gave her the sharper truth.
“You’re one of the reasons I want to become the kind of man who chooses well.”
Her breath caught.
He did not touch her.
Not yet.
The words had to stand on their own.
“Today, choosing well means not hurting my knee to please a team that liked a clip. It means finishing this weekend here. It means talking to you tomorrow like I said I would. It means letting Sydney be more than a stop before I decide what leaving or staying even means.”
Billie blinked fast.
“Mason.”
“I’m not asking you for a promise tonight,” he said. “I’m not giving one I haven’t earned. But I’m also done acting like wanting you is a complication to manage.”
Her face cracked open.
Barely.
Enough.
“And what is it?” she whispered.
He smiled faintly, heart pounding. “A privilege, apparently. Terrifying. Poorly timed. Highly inconvenient for both scheduling and knee rehab.”
A laugh broke out of her.
Wet.
Soft.
His favourite sound in any arena.
“Also,” he added, “very serious.”
Her smile trembled.
“You’re mocking my hockey outrage now?”
“Respectfully.”
“You are still on probation.”