Page 6 of Rookie’s Redemption (Iron Ridge Icehawks #5)

"You know what?" I grab a leash from the hook by the door. "I'll take the goat outside and you get Buster bathed before he adds to the chaos. You can help with that. How much damage can you possibly do with soap and water?"

Ten minutes later, I have my answer: a lot.

A shocking, impressive amount of damage.

Ryder looks like he went swimming fully clothed. His shirt clings to every ridge of muscle across his chest and abs, and water drips from his hair onto shoulders that should be classified as weapons of mass distraction.

And Buster, a golden retriever mix with trust issues and a fear of water, is somehow the driest one in the room.

"Well," he says, wringing water from his sleeve, "that went well."

"You're supposed to keep the dog in the tub, not redecorate the entire room with bath water."

"He's stronger than he looks."

"He's twelve pounds."

"Twelve very determined pounds."

Despite everything—the chaos, the stress, the fact that my shelter looks like a crime scene—I almost smile. Almost.

Then I remember the phone calls I still need to return, the medication schedule I'm behind on, the adoption paperwork piling up on my desk, and the grant application that's due tomorrow that I haven't even started.

The weight of it all crashes down at once. And suddenly, I can't breathe properly.

"I need to..." I gesture vaguely toward nothing. "I have to..."

But I can't finish the sentence because I don't know how to explain that I'm drowning. That every day feels like running uphill in quicksand. That I love this place, these animals, this life I've built, but some days it feels like it's going to bury me alive.

I try to push past him, to escape to somewhere I can fall apart in private, but my foot hits the wet floor and I slip.

Ryder's hands shoot out, catching my wrist before I can face-plant into the wall.

"Mia. Whoa. Steady there, babe."

"Let go." My voice comes out shakier than I want. "I'm fine."

Babe. Shit. I used to love it when he called me that. My ovaries just exploded.

"No." His grip tightens, steadying me on shaky legs in a way that only he has ever been able to. "You're not."

"I said I'm fine!" I try to jerk away, but he doesn't let go.

Instead, he steps closer, using his free hand to cup my face. His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, and I realize I'm shaking. When did I start shaking?

"Stop, Mia," he says quietly. "Just... stop for a second. Breathe."

"I can't." My lips betray me, the confession spilling out between ragged breaths. "I can't keep up. There's too much, Ryder. And I'm just one person, and everyone needs things, and I can't—"

"Hey." His voice is soft now, gentle in a way that makes my throat tight. "Come here."

Before I can pull away, he's guiding me away from the chaos, through the maze of kennels to the small storage room in the back. It's barely bigger than a closet, lined with shelves of old towels and dog treats, but it's quiet.

Blessedly, impossibly quiet.

I try to pull away again, to maintain some shred of dignity, but Ryder doesn't let me. Instead, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest.

For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other.

His eyes drop to my mouth, then back up, and I feel that familiar pull low in my stomach. The same magnetic force that used to draw us together in high school, in stolen moments just like this.

My lips part involuntarily, and his breath hitches.

"Mia..." His voice is rougher now, and one hand comes up to cup my face, thumb tracing my bottom lip.

The simple touch makes me shiver, makes me remember what it felt like when he used to kiss me breathless against my locker, against his truck, against—

That's when the weight of everything really crashes down.

And I break.

Loudly. Dramatically. An exhausted unraveling releasing into the warmth of his body. His arms tighten around me, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other rubs gentle circles on my spine as I let the weight of the day, the week, the months of way too much finally… release.

He smells like his old soap. And that unfairly good cologne he wears. It's that scent that makes my body remember things I've been trying to forget for eight years.

"Mia… It's okay," he murmurs against my hair. "I've got you."

Despite the comfort of his strength and gentleness, I want to argue. I still want to push him away and insist I don't need anyone.

But his chest is solid and warm beneath my cheek, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can actually breathe.

My fingers curl into his damp shirt, holding on like he might disappear if I let go. Like he disappeared before.

But right now, in this moment, he's here.

He's real. And warm. And steady in a way I'd forgotten anyone could be.

When I finally pull back just enough to look at him, the air between us shifts. His eyes are darker than I remember, fixed on my face like he's memorizing every detail.

"Mia," he whispers, and my name sounds different in his voice. Rough and raw and full of things we're not supposed to feel anymore. "I've been doing some thinking, you know, ever since I've been coming here. And there's something I've been wanting to tell you."

"Th-there is?"

His eyes lock with mine, so close I can see the flecks of gold around his pupils. My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to escape, to run before I get hurt again.

Don't do this, Mia. Don't fall for this again.

But my body remembers him. The way his hands feel against my back. The rhythm of his breathing. The exact distance between us before a kiss that is guaranteed to melt my heart.

He left once. He'll leave again.

I should step back. I should remember the nights I cried myself to sleep. The way he chose everything else over me. The way he walked away without looking back.

But what if he's different now?

His thumb traces my cheekbone, sending electricity down my spine. Eight years of building walls, and they're crumbling with a single touch.

This is dangerous. This is stupid. This is...

Ryder leans in, resting his forehead against mine. His breath is warm against my lips, so close I can almost taste him. The world narrows to just this… his eyes, his hands, the tiny space between our mouths that's achingly familiar.

"I'm sorry, Mia," he whispers, his voice breaking on my name. "I'm sorry for leaving you like I did."