Chapter Twenty-One Billie Hartley #2
He stepped from a black car wearing a dark Melbourne Kings jacket, trousers, and the exact hair Billie had previously described as professionally insured. Beside him were two Kings staff members and no surprise media.
Good.
He could follow directions.
Mildly disappointing.
Sophie stood near the rink entrance, tablet in hand. She did not move when Luca walked in.
But Billie saw her fingers tighten.
Mason saw too.
He was beside Billie near the donor table, lanyard straight, expression neutral. Too neutral.
“Do not,” Billie said under her breath.
“I’m standing.”
“You are emotionally leaning.”
“That’s not real.”
“It is today.”
His mouth twitched. “Understood.”
Luca entered with a smile that turned every head in the lobby, which was annoying but not surprising. The man looked like he had been designed by a committee that hated peace.
Talia checked his name.
Luca presented ID without complaint.
Another point.
Still suspicious.
He approached Billie first, because of course he did.
“Billie Hartley,” Luca said. “Your rink looks ready.”
“It is.”
His gaze flicked to Mason. “Tall Regret.”
Mason smiled politely. “Too Pretty.”
Nate, from ten metres away, made a pained sound of joy.
Billie did not turn. “Nate.”
“I said nothing.”
“You breathed commentary.”
Luca’s smile deepened. “I see my nickname travelled.”
“It has not been approved for public use,” Billie said.
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“It is a warning.”
His eyes warmed with amusement, then shifted past her.
To Sophie.
The amusement fell away.
Just for a second.
Enough.
“Sophie,” Luca said.
Sophie nodded. “Luca.”
No old warmth.
No open wound either.
A boundary with shoes.
Luca took a breath. “I’ll follow event terms.”
“Good,” Sophie said.
“I mean it.”
“I heard you.”
His mouth tightened, but he nodded.
Mason stayed still beside Billie.
No posturing.
No Luca face.
Billie noticed.
Her chest warmed.
Traitor.
Luca looked back at Billie. “No Ryan?”
“No Ryan.”
“I saw his posts.”
“Most people did.”
“He’s desperate.”
“Yes.”
“And dangerous?”
Billie held his gaze. “We’re prepared.”
Luca nodded once. “If he comes, my people will not engage unless your security asks.”
That was useful.
Billie hated useful from smug men.
“Thank you.”
Luca’s eyes flicked between her and Mason, too observant for comfort.
Then he smiled faintly. “Interesting.”
“No,” Billie said.
Mason coughed.
Luca’s smile widened. “I didn’t say what.”
“You were going to.”
“Perhaps.”
“Do not.”
“As you wish, Ice Queen.”
Mason stiffened.
Billie put one finger against his wrist.
Barely a touch.
Under the table edge.
No one saw.
Except Mason.
His entire body stilled.
Luca saw anyway.
Damn him.
His eyes sharpened.
Sophie said, “Luca.”
He looked at her.
Whatever he saw in Sophie’s expression made him step back from the joke.
“Apologies,” he said.
Billie nodded. “Player room is down the hall. Mark will brief your staff.”
Luca walked away with one last glance at Sophie, not Billie.
Good.
Book Three problem could remain Book Three problem until after Friday.
Mason looked down at Billie’s hand near his wrist.
She removed it immediately.
“Operational touch,” she said.
His voice was low. “Of course.”
“Crowd control.”
“Absolutely.”
“Do not make this a thing.”
“I’m too busy being controlled.”
Her eyes snapped up.
His smile was tiny.
Private.
Illegal.
Billie turned away before her face could do something career-ending.
By noon, the rink was fully awake.
Players arrived. Volunteers moved. The sponsor zone filled with flowers, signage, and enough polished table settings to make Coach Alby mutter that dinner had become a hostage situation with napkins.
Gabe redirected a reporter who asked whether Mason’s “Australian romance” had improved his public image.
Harper nearly hugged him for it, then remembered he was Gabe and offered a crisp nod instead.
At one-thirty, Graham Vale arrived.
He came through the front doors with his assistant, no entourage, no Ryan, and no visible family drama. He shook Mark’s hand first, then Billie’s.
“Billie,” he said. “The rink looks excellent.”
“Thank you.”
His gaze softened, awkwardly. “Tom would have liked the post.”
Billie’s throat tightened.
She nodded once. “Yes.”
Graham looked like he wanted to say more.
Billie did not help him.
He cleared his throat. “Security has my full cooperation.”
“Good.”
“And Ryan is not welcome in any Vale capacity.”
“Also good.”
“I spoke to Amelia this morning. She is worried.”
Billie’s eyes sharpened. “About Ryan?”
“Yes. She thinks he may come anyway.”
Of course.
Billie glanced toward Talia.
The guard saw and nodded once.
Prepared.
Mason appeared at Billie’s side, as if summoned by tension.
Graham noticed.
“Mr Reed,” he said.
“Mason.”
“Mason,” Graham corrected. “I should thank you. Your public apology became more expensive than expected.”
Mason smiled slightly. “Happy to be financially humbled.”
Graham’s mouth twitched. “You and Billie have handled this week well.”
Billie said, “Harbour Ice handled this week well.”
Mason said, “She’s right.”
Billie looked at him.
He did not smile.
Just backed the truth and let it stand.
Her chest did the thing again.
At two-thirty, public entry lines formed outside.
The donation tracker sat at twenty-one thousand, six hundred dollars before the event even began. With the sponsor match, they were already pushing toward numbers Billie had not let herself imagine.
The thought made her hands cold.
She was checking the front table when Priya arrived with Max in a freshly printed youth ambassador badge.
Max walked up to Billie and presented himself for inspection.
The badge read:
MAX Youth Ambassador Fog Machine Denied
Billie stared at it.
Harper, behind him, looked extremely guilty.
Priya sighed. “I tried.”
Max said, “It’s factual.”
Billie looked at Harper.
Harper said, “It tested well with parents.”
“Everything is not content.”
“No. But this is.”
Max lifted his chin. “I accept my duties.”
Billie crouched to his level, which made his eyes widen.
“This is a big day,” she said. “You can be funny. You can be helpful. You can be honest. But you cannot run off, argue with security, talk to Ryan, or post anything without Harper and your mum approving it.”
Max nodded.
“I mean it,” Billie said.
“I know.”
“Good.”
He hesitated. “Are you scared?”
The question landed in the middle of her chest.
Behind her, Mason went still.
Billie looked at Max.
Eleven and three-quarters. Sign maker. Menace. Child who loved hockey enough to turn apology into accountability and chaos into money for other kids.
“Yes,” Billie said.
Max blinked.
Adults lied to children too often.
Billie did not have the energy.
“But prepared,” she added.
Max nodded slowly. “That’s okay then.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Coach Alby says scared is fine if you keep your stick down and your head up.”
Billie glanced toward Alby, who stood near the rink gate pretending not to listen.
He grunted. “I said that once.”
Max smiled. “It was good.”
Billie stood.
Her eyes burned.
Ridiculous.
Mason moved closer once Max ran to Priya.
“You okay?” he asked.
She looked at him.
He corrected immediately. “Prepared?”
She breathed out. “Yes.”
His smile softened. “Good.”
At three, doors opened.
Harbour Ice Centre filled.
Not politely.
Completely.
Families came in wearing Blades scarves and Ice Queen hoodies already picked up from the pre-order table.
Kids carried signs. Volunteers pointed people toward QR codes.
Sponsor guests mingled with junior parents.
Local media set up in the approved zone.
The air smelled like coffee, popcorn, cold ice, and summer heat rushing in every time the doors opened.
The rink felt alive.
Not because of drama.
Because people had chosen it.