Page 21 of Rookie’s Redemption (Iron Ridge Icehawks #5)

Chapter Thirteen

Ryder

T he locker room before a big game always sounds like controlled chaos.

Blake's doing his pre-game ritual of retaping his stick for the fifth time while muttering what sounds like a very creative string of profanity designed to psyche himself up.

Connor's blasting music through his headphones so loud I can hear the bass line from three lockers away.

Jackson's methodically checking every piece of equipment like he's defusing a bomb.

And me? I'm sitting here trying not to throw up from pure adrenaline.

"You good, rookie?" Logan asks, dropping onto the bench beside me. For someone who retired from hockey to open a bookstore café with his girlfriend, he looks surprisingly happy to be away from the madness today.

"Yeah. Just... you know. Big night."

"Big night for the fundraiser, or big night because a certain animal rescuer is watching you play for the first time in eight years?"

I glance at him, surprised. Logan doesn't usually go for the heart-to-heart stuff.

"Both, I guess."

He nods, like that's exactly the answer he expected. "Good. Means you've got your priorities straight."

Through the locker room walls, I can hear the crowd building. The distinctive rumble of eighteen thousand people filling the arena, voices blending into that white noise that makes my blood sing.

But tonight's different.

Tonight, every single person in that arena is here because of something I organized. Something I put together for Mia.

Shit.

What if it's not enough? What if the fundraiser flops? What if she's disappointed? What if I've built this whole thing up in my head and it doesn't mean as much to her as it does to me?

What if she's sitting up there right now, feeling overwhelmed by all the attention instead of excited? What if this just reminds her of all the reasons she can't trust me with her heart again?

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus.

She's here. That's what matters. She showed up, which means she's giving us a chance.

"Scott." Coach Brody appears beside my locker, and I can tell by his tone this isn't a casual pre-game check-in. "Hallway. Now."

I follow him out to where the sounds of the crowd are even louder. The arena is alive tonight, buzzing with an energy I've only felt in playoff games before.

"How's the head?" Coach asks with steady eyes.

"Ready to play, sir."

"Good. Because this arena looks incredible tonight. I've just been told that some business hotshot already donated fifty grand to your cause before puck drop."

I try to play it cool but my heart is doing fucking backflips in my chest, practically giving my brain a high five.

Fifty grand. Fifty fucking grand!

"Saw your girl out there too, kid."

His eyes bore into mine and my chest tightens. Mia's here. Actually here, watching me play.

"Tonight, you play for this team. For this town." Coach steps closer, his voice dropping to that quiet tone that somehow sounds more dangerous than yelling. "And you also play for that girl up there who's probably nervous as hell right now."

I frown at him. "What are you saying, Coach?"

After his whole lecture the other day about distractions, this is... unexpected. Old guy is giving me mixed messages. One minute I need to focus, the next he wants me to play for her?

"I'm saying hockey's a game, kid. But life? Life's what happens when the game's over." His expression softens just a fraction. "Your call. But whatever you do, make tonight count. On and off the ice."

He claps me on the shoulder and heads back toward the locker room, leaving me standing in the hallway with my heart hammering against my ribs.

An hour later, we're lined up in the tunnel, ready for our entrance. The arena lights have dimmed except for the ice, which gleams like a perfect sheet of possibility under the spotlights.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice booms through the arena, "please welcome your Iron Ridge Icehawks!"

The roar that greets us is deafening.

I skate out as part of the team, but my eyes are already scanning the crowd. Searching for one face among thousands.

The arena is packed. Every seat filled, people standing in the aisles, signs waving from every section.

"SAVE THE PUPPIES!"

"TAILS & PAWS TONIGHT!"

"RYDER + MIA = GOALS!"

That last one makes me grin as I skate around and shake my stick to the crowd.

The ice surface is perfect, freshly zambonied and marked. Our goal nets gleam under the lights. The crowd is a wall of sound that makes my bones vibrate.

But I still haven't found her.

We circle the ice during warm-ups, and I'm trying to look casual while scanning every section. VIP boxes, luxury suites, the expensive seats behind the bench…

"There she is."

My heart stops completely.

Mia's sitting in the VIP section, and she looks... fuck.

She looks absolutely incredible.

She's wearing this sinful midnight blue dress that clings to every gorgeous curve I'm aching to taste again. The neckline dips just low enough to tease me with the swell of her breasts, and the way the silky fabric molds to her hips and cinches her waist makes my cock twitch in my gear.

Fuck. I can't look away.

Her hair, different from her usual messy ponytail, cascades over her bare shoulders, and I can see the nervous way she keeps running her hands down her thighs, smoothing the dress that's short enough to make me wonder what's underneath.

But she's here. She's actually here, watching me play.

Show her what she means to you. Show her everything.

"RYDER!"

Blake's voice snaps me back to reality. He's gesturing toward the bench, where Coach is calling us in for final instructions.

"You see her?" Blake asks with a knowing grin as we skate over.

"Yeah."

"Good. Now show her why she should have never let you go."

We get our final instructions and roar our battle cry along with every fan in the building.

Then… we go to battle.

The first period is pure energy.

Montreal comes out flying, just like Coach predicted. They're fast, aggressive, and clearly trying to intimidate us on home ice. But we're ready for them.

I'm playing the best hockey of my life.

Every pass is crisp. Every check is clean and powerful. Every shift, I can feel the crowd lifting us up, feeding us energy.

But more than that, I can feel her watching.

It's like having a superpower. Knowing that Mia is up there, seeing me do what I love, makes everything sharper. Clearer. Like the ice is bigger and I'm faster and the puck is drawn to my stick by some kind of magnetic force.

Halfway through the first period, Connor makes a spectacular save that brings the entire arena to its feet. As the crowd roars, I catch sight of the jumbotron.

TAILS & PAWS FUNDRAISER: $73,450 AND CLIMBING!

Holy shit. Seventy-three thousand dollars. For Mia's shelter. For the animals she loves.

The number makes something fierce and protective surge through my chest. This is what we can do when we work together. This is what happens when an entire community decides to support something beautiful.

Montreal scores late in the first period on a power play, but we're still buzzing. The crowd never lets up, chanting and cheering and making The Nest sound like the loudest building in the league.

During the first intermission, as we're catching our breath on the bench, I spot Mia on the concourse. She's being interviewed by someone with a microphone, looking poised and beautiful and slightly overwhelmed.

That's my girl, I think, and this time I don't try to correct myself.

She is my girl. Has been since we were seventeen. Always will be, if I have anything to say about it.

We hit the ice again and the second period is when everything changes.

We come out flying, and I'm in that zone where everything slows down and speeds up at the same time. Where I can see plays developing three moves ahead and my body moves without conscious thought.

Connor makes another impossible save. Blake delivers a hit that rattles the glass. The crowd is going absolutely insane.

And then it happens.

Logan Kane might be retired, but he's still got an eye for the game. From his place on the bench, he spots me racing up the left wing with nothing but ice ahead of me. Logan screams at Jackson, who threads a perfect pass through two defenders, the puck sliding across the ice like it's destiny.

I can see the Montreal goalie tracking my movement, trying to read which way I'm going. The defenseman is closing fast, stick reaching to break up the play.

But I'm not thinking about any of that.

I'm thinking about Mia in that gorgeous dress, watching me play for the first time since high school. I'm thinking about the fundraiser total climbing toward numbers that will change her life. I'm thinking about the tree in my backyard and the future I want to build with her.

I shift the puck to my backhand, fake the shot, wait for the goalie to commit—

And then I slide it through the five-hole like threading a needle.

GOAL.

The red light goes on.

The horn blares.

Eighteen thousand people lose their collective minds.

I spin on my skates, looking up at the VIP section where Mia is on her feet, hands pressed to her mouth, eyes wide with shock and pride and something that looks a lot like love.

I blow her a kiss.

The cameras catch it and the entire arena erupts into something that's half cheer, half celebration, half pure fucking romance.

"MIA! MIA! MIA!" the crowd starts chanting, and I watch her face turn bright red as she realizes thousands of toothless hockey fans are calling her name.

I point at the jumbotron, where the fundraiser total has jumped to $94,760.

Almost a hundred thousand dollars. For her. For the shelter. For everything she's worked so hard to build.

The guys mob me at center ice, everyone laughing and shouting and pounding my helmet. But I keep looking up at Mia, who's wiping tears from her eyes while Sophia and Lucy hug her from both sides.

This is what I've been missing for eight years. This feeling of playing for something bigger than hockey. Playing for someone who matters more than any contract or trophy or championship.

I look to Coach Brody who just winks at me without moving an inch.

He's right.

I'm playing for love.

We score two more goals in the third period. Blake gets one on a power play that's pure captain magic. Connor gets an assist that makes him pump his fist like he scored the Stanley Cup winner.

But the goal that matters most comes with three minutes left in the game.

Montreal pulls their goalie for an extra attacker, desperate to tie it up. The arena is on its feet, everyone screaming until their voices give out.

The puck bounces loose in our defensive zone. I scoop it up, see nothing but empty ice ahead of me, and take off.

It's a breakaway with an empty net. Should be automatic. Easy money.

Except as I'm racing toward the goal, I catch sight of the jumbotron one more time.

TAILS & PAWS FUNDRAISER: $107,850!

Over a hundred and seven thousand dollars.

That number is crazy. Not just because it's more money than Mia probably dreamed of raising, but because it represents something bigger.

It represents an entire community coming together for something good. It represents Mia's dream becoming reality. It represents the kind of future where love and hockey and home all exist in the same space for the first time in my life.

I slide the puck into the empty net, and the horn goes off signaling the end of the game.

Icehawks win, 4-1.

But more importantly, Mia's shelter just got handed a future.

The crowd is going absolutely ballistic. Fans are throwing hats on the ice, even though it wasn't a hat trick. Programs, scarves, anything they can get their hands on.

Through the chaos, I look up at the VIP section and meet Mia's eyes.

She's crying. Full-on, mascara-running, don't-care-who-sees-it crying. But she's also smiling like the sun just came up after the longest winter in history.

I skate toward her section, pushing through teammates and officials and photographers who are trying to capture the moment.

When I reach the glass, she's right there. Pressed against the barrier, looking down at me with those hazel eyes that have owned my heart since we were kids.

"Over a hundred thousand dollars!" I shout over the noise, buzzing with adrenaline.

She presses her hand against the glass. I press mine against the other side, matching her palm to palm with only the barrier between us.

"Thank you," she mouths, and I can read her lips perfectly.

"I love you," I mouth back, not caring who sees or what the cameras catch.

The crowd notices our exchange. Someone starts chanting, and within seconds the entire arena has picked it up:

"KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!"

Eighteen thousand people demanding we kiss. On live television. In front of scouts and teammates and the entire town.

Mia's eyes go wide, and for a second I think she might bolt. This is exactly the kind of public attention she's spent years avoiding.

But then she grins. That real, genuine smile that makes her whole face light up.

She leans down toward the glass. I stretch up on my skates.

And even though there's a barrier between us, even though we're surrounded by chaos and cameras and thousands of people, when our lips meet against that glass it feels like the most private, perfect moment in the world.