Chapter Ten Mason Reed #3
“To trusted media contacts. Nothing inflammatory. The goal was to keep the Sydney situation positioned as a disciplined comeback, not some circus romance charity stunt that could damage your market.”
Billie’s face went still.
Mason’s voice dropped. “Did you send them anything about Billie?”
“No.”
“Did you send a photo?”
“What photo?”
The confusion sounded real.
Mason hated that relief came with more dread.
“A private photo of Billie from inside the rink was posted by an anonymous account. PuckSideDoor boosted it in under a minute.”
Gabe swore.
Not polished.
Real.
“I didn’t send a photo. Mason, listen to me. I would not expose a civilian to fix a hockey problem.”
Billie’s eyebrows lifted slightly at civilian.
Mason said, “But you did push the romance angle.”
“I pushed the idea that you are in a controlled PR situation, and that Sydney is temporary.”
The word temporary landed badly.
Billie looked away.
Mason’s grip tightened around the phone.
“I never said Sydney was temporary.”
Gabe made a rough sound. “That was the plan.”
“Your plan.”
“Our plan. Your comeback plan.”
Billie started to step away.
Mason shook his head once.
Please stay.
He did not say it.
She stopped anyway.
Gabe continued, “You need to be smart. You can raise money, apologise, do the charming local thing, fine. But do not let this turn into you becoming emotionally tangled with a rink manager and a city that can’t get you back to the league.”
Mason went very quiet.
Billie’s face became unreadable.
The archive corridor felt too small for the words.
“Careful,” Mason said.
Gabe paused. “Mase.”
“Careful,” he repeated. “You don’t talk about Billie like she’s a complication.”
Billie’s breath changed.
Gabe’s voice softened. “I’m trying to protect your career.”
“I know.”
“Then act like it.”
Mason looked at Billie.
At the open archive cupboard.
At the missing space where her flying photo had been.
At the rink around them, old and stubborn and full of people who kept choosing it.
“I am,” he said.
Gabe went silent.
Mason ended the call.
For a moment, neither he nor Billie spoke.
Then she said, “That was professionally unwise.”
“Yes.”
“You should not antagonise your agent while your career is unstable.”
“Probably.”
“You should not make decisions because you feel guilty.”
“I’m not.”
“Or protective.”
“I’m trying not to.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Trying is not the same as succeeding.”
“No,” he said. “It isn’t.”
He stepped closer, then stopped, leaving space.
“Billie, I’m not going to pretend I know what I’m doing. I don’t. Everything I thought was simple is turning complicated. Sydney. The rink. You. But I know I don’t want my comeback built on making you smaller.”
Her eyes shone.
Not tears.
Never tears.
A storm held back by sheer will.
“You barely know me,” she whispered.
“I know enough to start.”
That did it.
Not dramatically. Not with a kiss or a confession or any of the things the internet kept trying to write for them.
Billie simply closed her eyes for one second.
One tired, unguarded second.
When she opened them, she was herself again.
Mostly.
“We need to tell Mark about Gabe’s media calls,” she said.
“Okay.”
“And find out who opened this cupboard.”
“Okay.”
“And you need to ice your knee.”
He almost smiled. “There she is.”
She pointed at him. “Do not be charmed by my operational priorities.”
“Too late.”
“Mason.”
“Sorry.”
She gave him a look.
He corrected, “Respectfully withdrawing the apology.”
“Better.”
They stood there, surrounded by old photos, missing proof, and a grief someone had turned into content.
Then Billie reached for the frame of her and her father.
Mason moved instinctively to help.
She let him.
Together, they placed it carefully back into the box.
It was not much.
It felt like something.
When they walked back toward the main rink, the noise grew with every step. Voices. Skates. Phones. The living, chaotic machine of Harbour Ice Centre still moving.
At the corridor corner, Billie stopped.
Mason stopped too.
She looked toward the ice, then at him.
“Friday is no longer just a fundraiser,” she said.
“I know.”
“Someone inside or close enough to this rink is willing to use private things.”
“I know.”
“We keep the event controlled. We protect Sophie. We protect the kids. We protect the fund.”
“Yes.”
“And Mason?”
He looked at her.
She held his gaze.
“We protect each other from becoming headlines.”
His chest tightened.
He nodded once.
“Deal.”
Her phone buzzed before either of them could move.
Billie checked it.
Her face changed.
“What?” Mason asked.
She turned the screen toward him.
A new post.
PuckSideDoor had just reposted the morning show clip with a headline:
MASON REED’S AUSTRALIAN REBOUND: CAREER RESET OR RINK-SIDE ROMANCE DISTRACTION?
Under it, a quote from an unnamed source close to Reed:
Sydney is a stop, not a destination.
Billie’s hand went very still around the phone.
Mason stared at the words.
Stop, not a destination.
Gabe’s voice echoed in his head.
That was the plan.
The plan had just gone public.
And Billie, standing beside him in the hallway of the rink she had spent her life keeping alive, looked like she had finally remembered exactly why temporary men were dangerous.