Chapter Twenty-Two Mason Reed #2
The community challenge ended with laughter, donations, two missed shots, and Max declaring that both men were “less disappointing than expected.”
The donation tracker crossed thirty thousand.
With the match, fifty-five.
Then came the final round.
Redemption shot.
Mason took one final shot for the match total, while Luca took one for the Kings’ added donation pool.
If Mason hit, his private pledge doubled.
If Luca hit, the Kings’ contribution doubled.
If both hit, Graham had quietly agreed to add another five thousand, because polished money apparently enjoyed drama when it had receipts.
The crowd was on its feet.
Harbour Ice Centre shook.
Mason stood at centre ice and felt the whole week inside his body.
The podcast clip.
Billie’s glare.
Max’s sign.
The apology.
The birthday girl and half a cupcake.
The first coffee.
The stolen photo.
The cracked frame.
Ryan’s voice.
Gabe’s arrival.
Billie’s video.
Tom Hartley’s legacy.
Her hand sliding into his on the boards.
Beside.
Always.
He looked toward Billie.
She was near the bench gate now, closer than before. Her eyes were on him. Not the tracker. Not the cameras. Not Luca. Him.
Her expression said, Be smart.
Her eyes said, Come back intact.
His heart said things that had no business being said on a rink full of people with phones.
He tapped his stick against the ice once.
For her.
Then he lined up.
Gabe stood near the media zone, arms folded, face tight.
Sophie stood with her tablet, ready to murder him medically if required.
Alby watched like a man daring him to prove he had a brain.
Nate held a sign that read DO IT FOR THE GEAR.
Theo held Nate’s hoodie so he could not run onto the ice.
Max held his own sign.
NO PRESSURE BUT CHILDREN ARE WATCHING.
Helpful.
Mason breathed.
Skated.
Knee steady.
Weight balanced.
Shot clean.
The puck flew.
For one terrifying second, it looked high.
Then it clipped the top target and dropped into the net.
The rink detonated.
Mason barely heard it.
Because Billie’s face broke open.
Not fully.
Not for everyone.
Just enough.
Joy.
Relief.
Pride.
All of it.
For him.
He coasted toward the boards, grinning despite himself.
Nate jumped the gate, remembered the no-contact rule mid-air, and stopped with both hands raised like he had been arrested.
“I was emotionally airborne!” Nate shouted.
Theo caught him by the back of the jersey. “Land quietly.”
Luca took his final shot after the noise settled.
Hit.
Of course.
Graham’s extra five thousand unlocked.
The tracker jumped.
$35,214 raised.
With match and bonus: $65,214.
Sixty-five thousand dollars.
Mason stared at the number.
The crowd chanted again, but this time not Tall Regret.
“SYDNEY ICE! SYDNEY ICE! SYDNEY ICE!”
Billie covered her mouth with one hand.
Evie hugged her from behind.
Harper was crying and filming anyway, because some people contained multitudes and cloud storage.
Mason skated to the bench gate.
Billie met him there.
No one else existed properly.
“You hit it,” she said.
Her voice shook.
Barely.
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m relieved.”
He leaned on his stick, careful not to crowd. “That sounds like almost praise.”
“It is full praise. Do not make me regret it.”
His heart nearly cracked.
Full praise from Billie Hartley could power small cities.
Behind them, the announcer began thanking donors, sponsors, players, volunteers. The team swarmed around Max. Luca shook Theo’s hand, then Nate’s, then Mason’s.
When Luca reached Mason, his grip was firm.
“Good shot,” Luca said.
“You too.”
Luca’s gaze shifted briefly to Billie, then Sophie.
“Your rink has teeth,” he said.
Mason smiled. “Skate blades.”
Luca laughed once. “I deserved that.”
“Yes,” Billie said.
Luca looked at her, amused. “Congratulations, Ice Queen.”
Billie’s eyes narrowed.
Sophie stepped closer. “Luca.”
He sobered immediately.
“I mean it,” he said. “This place is impressive.”
Billie studied him, then nodded. “Thank you.”
Luca looked at Sophie again. “Can I talk to you after?”
Sophie’s face stayed unreadable.
Billie’s eyes flicked between them.
Mason could almost see her filing the moment into Book Three.
Sophie said, “After the event. Five minutes. Public area.”
Luca nodded. “I’ll take it.”
That tiny line carried enough history to make Mason want popcorn.
But he had bigger problems.
Because Gabe was approaching with a phone in hand and the expression of a man carrying career news.
Mason’s stomach tightened.
Not now.
Please not now.
Gabe stopped near the bench, eyes flicking to Billie before returning to Mason.
“Mase,” he said quietly. “We need to talk when you have a minute.”
Billie’s face closed by half.
Mason saw it.
Temporary had walked back into the rink wearing Gabe’s voice.
“What is it?” Mason asked.
Gabe hesitated.
Bad sign.
“Two teams reached out after the morning coverage and today’s stream. One wants medicals. One wants a formal skate next week if Sophie’s reports look stable.”
The rink noise faded.
Next week.
North America.
Back.
The old dream stepped onto the ice in the middle of the new one.
Mason looked at Billie.
She smiled.
That was the worst part.
She smiled like someone professional, proud, and completely prepared to be left before anyone could see it hurt.
“That’s good,” she said.
Mason’s chest tightened. “Billie.”
“It is.” Her voice stayed even. “It’s what you came for.”
There it was.
The knife neither of them had wanted to pick up.
Gabe looked uncomfortable.
Good.
He should.
Mason’s knee ached. His chest ached worse. The crowd roared around them, celebrating the money, the fund, the rink, the day. Sixty-five thousand dollars. A win. A huge one.
And Billie was already putting him back in the temporary column because a scout had called.
He wanted to say no.
Right there.
Too fast.
Too reckless.
Too emotional.
He heard Gabe’s warning.
Do not promise her something you haven’t decided.
He heard Billie’s.
I’m not building anything on maybe.
So he did the hardest thing.
He did not make a speech.
He looked at her and told the truth.
“I need to understand what they’re offering.”
Her smile flickered.
Just once.
Then held.
“Of course you do.”
Ouch.
He deserved that.
Maybe.
No.
Not deserved.
But caused.
The announcer called the players to centre ice for the final photo.
Billie stepped back. “Go. They need you.”
He did not want to move.
She lifted her chin, Ice Queen fully in place now.
“Go, Mason.”
He went.
Because the photo mattered.
Because the fund mattered.
Because he had promised beside, and sometimes beside meant not forcing a woman to bleed in front of donors.
The final photo was chaos.
Max in front holding a donation sign. Mason and Luca on either side.
Billie near Mark and Graham, slightly behind the kids even though everyone tried to pull her forward.
Evie in her hoodie. Harper filming while being dragged into the frame.
Nate making an illegal face. Theo preventing him from holding bunny ears behind Alby.
Sophie standing at the edge until Luca quietly shifted enough to make space for her beside the group, then looked away like he had not done it.
Mason smiled for the cameras.
He had no idea what his face looked like.
After the photo, the rink shifted toward sponsor dinner mode.
Public guests filtered out. Volunteers directed families. Kids collected donor stickers. Security remained at the doors. Ryan had not returned.
A win.
A massive win.
So why did Mason feel like he had just lost something?
He found Billie near the lobby, checking the dinner transition list.
Of course.
Work as armour.
He knew the move too well now.
“Billie.”
She did not look up. “You need to shower before dinner. Sponsor photos at six-twenty. No jokes in the opening remarks unless Harper approves.”
“Billie.”
She looked up then.
Her face was calm.
Too calm.
“You got calls,” she said.
“Yes.”
“That’s good.”
“You said that.”
“Because it is.”
He stepped closer, stopping a safe distance away. “Are you happy for me?”
Her eyes flashed.
There.
Finally.
Something real.
“Yes,” she said. “And I hate that you asked like I’m not capable of being happy for you just because it hurts.”
The words hit hard.
Mason froze.
Billie froze too, like she had not meant to say the second half.
But it was out now.
Between them.
Breathing.
Mason’s voice went rough. “It hurts?”
Her jaw tightened.
“Forget it.”
“No.”
“Mason.”
“No,” he said, softer. “You don’t get to hand me truth and then take it back because you’re scared I’ll use it.”
She stared at him.
The lobby moved around them. Volunteers with bins. Sponsor staff with flowers. Harper glancing over and then deliberately turning away. Gabe standing near the media area, watching but not interrupting. Good man. Finally.
Billie’s voice dropped. “You may leave.”
“I may.”
“Next week.”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s worse.”
“I know.”
Her eyes shone.
Not tears.
Almost.
“You came here to get back,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And you might.”
“Yes.”
“Then I need to be smart.”
“Smart means pretending this didn’t happen?”
“No. Smart means remembering that happening doesn’t equal staying.”
Mason took that like a hit.
Clean.
Fair.
Devastating.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
“That’s not always enough to prevent it.”
He looked down.
Because she was right.
Again.
Because wanting was not enough.
Because always was not enough if it had no plan under it.
Because beside was not enough if he left her standing alone after teaching her to reach.
He lifted his eyes. “I won’t decide without telling you.”
Her mouth tightened.
“That is the bare minimum.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
“I’m giving it to you anyway.”
For some reason, that landed.
Her face softened and broke at the edges.
“You are very frustrating when you’re honest.”
“I learned from a terrifying woman with markers.”
Her mouth curved despite herself.
Small.
Sad.
Beautiful.
Then a security radio crackled.
Talia’s voice cut through.
“Billie, front entrance. Ryan Vale is back.”
The softness vanished.
Mason turned instantly.
Billie grabbed the access packet and moved.