Page 1 of Rookie’s Redemption (Iron Ridge Icehawks #5)

Chapter One

Ryder

M om's roast beef sits half-eaten on my plate as Dad leans back in his chair, eyebrows raised in that way that means I'm about to get the third degree.

"So, that cabin of yours." He takes a sip of his beer, casual as can be. "Didn't you say the roof was going up in March? It's June, son."

I stab at a potato. "Had some delays with the contractor, Dad."

"Delays?" He chuckles. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

The truth is I've been spending more time at the local animal shelter than at my own property. Which isn't something I'm eager to explain to the family dinner table jury tonight.

I bought my crappy house hoping to build a fresh start after moving back to my hometown. I picked the worst house in the best street. Dad's advice, of course.

But the place is a mess. Mattress on the floor, no curtains, one working outlet. Yep. It's the five-star accommodations of a professional hockey player who makes millions to get his teeth knocked out on national television.

Living the dream, one exposed electrical wire at a time.

Cam swoops in from across the table, like a hawk spotting weakness. My little sister has perfected the art of the well-timed kill shot over twenty-three years of practice.

"Well, maybe you'd finish your cabin if you weren't busy playing volunteer at the animal shelter." Her smile widens. "What's her name again? Oh right… Mia . The same girl you've been in love with since… forever. "

Heat crawls up my neck.

"Shut up, Cam. I'm helping with the community program. The team expects it."

"Mhmm. The program that finished last month? " Cam smirks from behind her fork and I try to kick her under the table. "And isn't that the program where you just happened to pick the one place where your high school sweetheart works?"

"It's Iron Ridge. There is only one animal shelter."

Mom slides another helping of green beans onto my plate without asking. "Oh, that reminds me. The Hendersons' retriever had puppies. I did text Mia and say you might stop by to see them."

"You told—wait, you text Mia?!" My face looks like I just licked a lemon. "Is this a regular occurrence, Mom?"

"Only when we miss our regular catch up at the Farmers market on Thursdays."

Mom says this like I should obviously know her weekly Mia Harper intel-gathering schedule.

She catches my expression from across the table and shrugs. "What? You think because you left town I'd stop caring about that girl?"

I push food around my plate, remembering how Mom used to teach Mia to bake on Sunday afternoons. How they'd giggle in the kitchen while Dad and I watched hockey.

"She doesn't have a family like this, dear," Mom says softly, reading my mind like always. "Just because you broke her heart doesn't mean I had to."

The truth lands like a body check against the glass.

"Great." I push the beans around. "So you're all just... talking about me volunteering there behind my back?"

Dad snorts. "Son, the whole town's been talking about you two since you came back. Old Mrs. Peters at the pharmacy asks me weekly if you've 'sealed the deal yet.'"

My father wiggles his brows suggestively and Cam mirrors the shudder that crawls through my body.

"Jesus, Dad." I smash a palm to my forehead. "Please don't say seal the deal like that ever again."

Cam's eyes gleam. "Disgusting as he is, Dad's right. You should've seen your face when she showed up at your community service assignment. Like you'd seen a ghost and won the lottery at the same time."

I had. When Coach said we were doing outreach at local businesses, I never expected to walk in and find Mia. Not with her hair pulled back, work shirt rolled to her elbows, giving me that cold stare that said I was the last person she wanted to see.

Turns out, eight years had changed nothing. Nothing… and everything.

"Christ. She hated me that first day," I mumble.

"Can you blame her?" Cam shrugs. "You left Iron Ridge without looking back."

"That's not—" I start, but the defense dies in my throat.

Because it's true, isn't it?

I left her with tears streaming down her face as I drove away into the sunset.

I chased the bright lights and the roaring crowds, the NHL contract that everyone said I couldn't pass up.

I was barely an adult. Barely old enough to know better. Hell, I didn't even have the guts to ask her to come with me. I just dumped her and left. Like some goddamn coward who walked away from the only person who ever really knew him.

Mom stands from the table, gathering our empty plates. Dad chats about some work investments with Cam and when I'm about ready to make my move to leave, Mom returns from the kitchen.

She drops a blue Tupperware container in my lap.

"These are for Mia. Lemon and blueberry muffins. They're her favorite." She gives me a pointed look. "Do not let them go stale this time, Ryder Scott. I'm warning you."

Jeez.

To be fair, that look Mom's drilling into me is warranted. Last time, I carried them around for three days before working up the nerve to actually give them to her. By then, they were hard as hockey pucks.

"You do know I'm not her delivery boy," I protest weakly, despite already planning in my head how best to hand these to her.

"No, you're the boy who broke her heart." Mom's voice softens. "But you're trying to fix it, aren't you?"

"Mom, I—"

" Aren't you , dear?" Mom leans on the table and glares at me until I nod. "Good boy."

I stare at the container like it might explode.

These past few weeks at the shelter, washing kennels, hauling food bags, building the new fence all as part of the Icehawks Community Program… it's the happiest I've been since coming back to Iron Ridge.

And weirdly… it's not because of hockey.

It's because of her.

Because sometimes, when she thinks I'm not looking, Mia, my old high school girlfriend… she lets her guard drop. And in that sweet moment, I catch a glimpse of the girl who used to look at me like she did when we were younger.

That softening in her eyes, that almost-smile that flickers across her face before she remembers she's supposed to be mad at me.

It's like watching the sun peek through storm clouds. It's brief, breathtaking, but gone before you can really appreciate it.

Like yesterday, when I was wrestling with this massive Saint Bernard who decided my face needed cleaning.

When I finally escaped the tongue bath and looked up, there she was…

leaning against the doorframe, eyes crinkled at the corners, that dimple I used to kiss appearing for just a heartbeat before she schooled her expression back to professional indifference.

Those moments are worth all the heavy lifting, all the early mornings, all the ribbing I take from the guys in the locker room about spending my off-days scooping dog shit instead of sleeping in.

I live for those unguarded seconds, collecting them like precious souvenirs. Because they give me hope that maybe—just maybe—I haven't completely destroyed what we had.

Twenty minutes after saying goodbye to my parents, I'm sitting in my truck outside the shelter, muffins on the passenger seat, trying to convince myself this is a normal thing to do.

Just drop them off. Quick in and out. Don't make it weird.

Except everything about this is weird.

I've been circling the block for ten minutes like some kind of baked-goods stalker, and I'm pretty sure Mrs. Henderson has been watching me through her window.

The shelter's mostly dark except for the warm glow from the main room.

Mia's car is still here. That beat-up Honda with the rescue organization stickers covering half the bumper.

She's probably doing evening rounds, making sure everyone's settled for the night, taking care of everyone else except for herself like she always does.

I could just leave the muffins on the doorstep. Knock and run like I'm twelve years old.

But that would be the coward's way out.

And I've been a coward for eight years already.

" Fuck it ," I grunt to myself, grabbing the Tupperware and forcing myself out of the truck before I lose my nerve.

The bell above the door chimes when I walk in, but there's no sign of Mia at the front desk.

I look around and peer through the narrow hallway until I can hear her voice coming from the kennel area. She's got that soft, soothing tone she uses with scared animals tonight… The same voice she used with me the night I told her about my dad's heart attack junior year.

I take a quiet step closer, letting her voice lure me forward.

"I know, baby. I know it's scary being somewhere new. But you're safe now, okay? No one's going to hurt you anymore."

I follow the sound and find her crouched beside a kennel in the back corner, coaxing a trembling pit bull mix with gentle fingers through the chain link.

Her hair's falling out of its ponytail, and there's a mysterious smudge of what might be kibble.

.. or dirt... or— sweet baby Jesus , is that animal shit?

The forensic evidence on her cheek suggests this woman tackles literal crap that most people run from. Whatever it is, it's smeared on her left cheek and I just want to reach out and help her clean it off.

She's wearing that same faded flannel she had on in high school, the one that's too big and tousled at the edges. She's completely in her element. Beautiful in that effortless way that used to make me forget my own name.

Still does, apparently.

She looks up and sees me standing there like a goofy idiot, and something flickers across her face.

Surprise, maybe. Or annoyance.

Whatever it is, it's gone too fast for me to read.

"Well, well." She sits back on her heels, wiping her hands on her jeans. "If it isn't Iron Ridge's golden boy, making house calls again."

Her tone is dry as bone, but not cruel. Just careful. Like she's handling something that might bite.