Page 10 of Rookie’s Redemption (Iron Ridge Icehawks #5)

Chapter Seven

Ryder

T hree days since the emergency puppy rescue, and I haven't seen Mia for more than five minutes at a time.

She's been living at the shelter, essentially. Those four-week-old pups need round-the-clock care—bottle feeding every two hours, temperature monitoring, constant supervision.

Every time I've stopped by with coffee or food, she's looked more exhausted than the time before, dark circles under her eyes and that stubborn set to her jaw that means she's running on pure determination.

And coffee. Lots of coffee.

The sound of Coach Brody's whistle cuts through my thoughts, bringing me back to the ice where I'm supposed to be focusing on drills instead of thinking about a certain stubborn animal rescuer.

"Scott! Where the hell is your head today?" Coach Brody's voice echoes across the rink, sharp enough to make me wince. "That's the third time you've missed an easy pass!"

"Sorry, Coach!" I call back, skating harder to catch up with Blake, who's shaking his head at me with amusement.

"You look like shit, rookie," he says as we line up for the next drill. "When's the last time you slept?"

"I sleep."

"Bullshit." Connor glides up beside us, effortlessly graceful even while talking. "You've got bags under your eyes that could hold groceries. This about those damn puppies?"

I grunt, not wanting to admit that yes, it's about the puppies.

And Mia. Always Mia.

I've been stopping by the shelter every night after practice, helping however I can. Mostly that means cleaning kennels, restocking supplies, and holding puppies while Mia handles the technical stuff.

But those late nights are catching up with me, and apparently it shows.

Through the arena glass, I catch sight of Logan sitting in Emma's new café space, Chapter & Grind's second location that opened last month in the arena concourse.

He's got his feet up, a steaming mug in his hands, watching us practice with this early retirement grin that says he's exactly where he wants to be.

Warm, caffeinated, and entertained by our suffering.

Blake notices too and flips him off through the glass. Logan just raises his mug in a toast.

"Lucky bastard," Connor mutters, following our gaze. "Emma's got him wrapped around her finger and he doesn't even care."

"At least someone's got their shit figured out," I mutter, then immediately regret it when both guys turn to stare at me.

"Alright, time for an intervention," Blake announces. "You clearly need more advice, and we're giving it to you whether you want it or not."

Twenty minutes later, we're in the players' lounge, still dripping with sweat but finally able to talk without Coach breathing down our necks. I'm sprawled in one of the leather chairs, a protein shake in my hand and the weight of three sleepless nights pressing down on my shoulders.

"So," Blake says, settling across from me. "Talk. What's the plan with Mia?"

"There is no plan," I admit. "I'm just... trying to be there for her. Help with whatever she needs."

Connor snorts. "We already told you… that's not a plan. You're gonna burn yourself out playing the supportive friend angle."

I stare into my protein shake, seeing Mia's face in the snow instead.

Her cheeks flushed pink, snowflakes caught in her hair the other night. We were so close. I could feel her breath on my lips, see that look in her eyes. The one that was giving me permission to do what I've wanted to do ever since I came home.

Fuck, if only her phone hadn't rung.

"What else am I supposed to do? She's drowning, and I'm the asshole who broke her heart eight years ago. I can't exactly sweep in with grand gestures and expect her to fall into my arms. She's a busy woman."

"Actually," Blake says slowly, "that's exactly what you should do."

"Are you insane?"

"Think about it. You've been doing the slow, careful approach for weeks. Volunteering, helping out, proving you're reliable. That's good—it shows you've changed. But it's not moving the needle."

Connor leans forward, warming to the topic. "Blake's right. You need to do something that shows her you're serious. Something that proves this isn't just guilt or nostalgia."

"Like what? Show up with flowers and a boom box?"

"No. Please don't do that," Blake says seriously. "Sometimes life requires big moves. What does she care about most?"

"The shelter. The animals. She's been killing herself trying to keep that place running. I've seen the stack of bills on the desk. She's barely keeping it afloat."

"So help her. Really help her. Not just scooping dog shit and bringing coffee. Do something that makes a real difference."

I sit back, considering the advice.

Blake's not wrong. I've been playing it safe, trying to earn my way back into her good graces through small acts of service.

But maybe what Mia needs isn't another pair of hands cleaning kennels. Maybe she needs someone to fight for her dreams the way she's always fought for everyone else.

"I might have an idea," I say slowly.

"Good." Connor claps me on the shoulder. "Whatever it is, do it big. Do it so she can't possibly miss the message."

As I head for the showers, I spot Sophia and Lucy at a table inside Emma's café, heads bent together over what looks like wedding magazines.

Perfect timing .

The hot water beats against my sore muscles, washing away sweat and the lingering tension from practice. Coach worked us hard today. Montreal's top line isn't a joke, but we're almost ready.

After my shower, I push through the door of Emma's arena café, the bell jingling overhead as I spot Sophia and Lucy still looking over the magazines.

"Ladies," I say, sliding into the empty chair beside them. "I need your help."

Sophia looks up, one eyebrow raised. "Ryder? This should be interesting. What kind of help?"

"The kind that involves making Mia Harper's day."

Lucy immediately perks up. "I'm listening."

I lay out my idea, my grand gesture like my buddies suggested. A fundraising night at The Nest, with proceeds going to Tails & Paws. The kind of event that could raise serious money and give the shelter the financial breathing room Mia desperately needs.

"That's..." Sophia pauses, her marketing brain clearly spinning. "Actually brilliant."

"How soon can we make it happen?" I ask.

"Next home game is Saturday. That's four days." Sophia's already pulling out her phone. "Tight timeline, but doable if we work fast."

"I can handle social media promotion," Lucy offers. "Get the word out, build some excitement in the fan base."

"And I can coordinate with the arena staff, set up the logistics." Sophia's typing rapidly. "But Ryder, this is going to be a lot of work for something you're hoping will impress one person."

"It's not about impressing her," I say, though that's not entirely true. "It's about helping her. She's been carrying this burden alone for too long."

Lucy and Sophia exchange one of those looks that women share when they think they know something you don't.

"What?" I demand.

"Nothing," Lucy says innocently. "Just... this is very sweet. Very thoughtful."

"Don't get ahead of yourselves. This is about the shelter."

"Sure it is," Sophia agrees, but she's smiling. "Don't worry. We'll help you pull this off. But you owe us dinner when this works out."

" If it works out."

"Oh, honey," Lucy laughs. "Trust us. It's going to work out."

After finally getting through to Mia two hours later, I'm standing at the edge of Iron Ridge's outdoor skating rink, watching families glide across the ice under the warm glow of string lights. The evening air is cool but not brutal, perfect for skating.

Steam rises from the hot chocolate cart nearby, and the sound of laughter mingles with the scrape of blades on ice.

I check my phone for the third time. Mia should be here any minute, assuming she actually heard me over the din on the other end of the phone when I called.

That's when I see her.

Walking across the town square, Mia's bundled up in an oversized coat that makes her look like a small, adorable burrito. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and even from a distance, I can see the exhaustion in the way she moves.

"Please tell me this isn't some elaborate apology that involves public humiliation," she says when she reaches me, eyeing the rink warily.

"Would I do that to you?"

"Current you? Probably not. Eighteen-year-old you? Definitely."

I laugh, some of the nervous energy in my chest loosening. "Fair point. But no, no public humiliation. I promise."

"Then what's this about?" She gestures at the rink, where couples and families are skating in circles. "Because I should warn you, I haven't been on skates in probably five years."

"It's not a date," I say quickly. "I mean, it's not not a date, but it's... shit. Let me start over."

Before I can lose my nerve, I step closer and pull her into a hug. She stiffens for a heartbeat, then melts against me, her arms coming up to wrap around my waist.

She feels perfect in my arms. Warm and soft and exactly where she belongs.

"How are you holding up?" I murmur against her hair.

"I'm fine."

"Liar. When's the last time you slept more than two hours straight?"

"I think we both know by now sleep is overrated."

"The puppies doing okay?"

"Getting stronger every day. We might not lose any of them, which is..." She pulls back to look at me, and there's wonder in her eyes. "It's a miracle, honestly. I was sure we'd lose at least one or two."

"You saved them, Mia."

" We saved them. You've been there every night, Ryder. I couldn't have done it without you."

The admission makes something warm unfurl in my chest.

"Come on," I say, tugging her toward the skate rental booth. "Skate with me."

"I told you, I haven't skated in—"

"Five years, I know. But it's like riding a bike. You never really forget."

She looks skeptical but follows me to the booth, where a teenager with impressive bedhead hands over two pairs of skates in exchange for my twenty-dollar bill.