Page 7 of Rookie’s Redemption (Iron Ridge Icehawks #5)

Chapter Five

Ryder

I 'm sorry, Mia.

The apology lingers like a confession I've been keeping locked away since I left town and broke her heart.

And fuck, it feels good to finally say them.

She's looking at me with those hazel eyes that used to see straight through to my soul, and I swear I can see something crack in her armor. Some tiny fissure that lets me hope.

This is it. This is my moment.

I lean in, drawn by some gravitational pull that's been constant since we were seventeen. My heart pounds inside my chest as my lips brush hers, the barest whisper of contact, and it's like coming home and catching fire all at once.

She tastes like coffee and heaven and—

"No, Ryder!" She jerks back like I've burned her.

Her hands push against my chest with enough force to send every pound of air from my lungs, deflating me in an instant.

"No! You don't just get to kiss me and pretend everything is okay!"

"Mia—"

"Don't." She steps back and escapes the small room, putting distance between us that feels like miles. "You think you can just waltz back into town, ignore me for a year and then volunteer at my shelter for a few weeks. Then suddenly we're picking up where we left off?"

"That's not what I—"

"It's been eight years, Ryder! Eight years of nothing. No calls, no texts, no 'hey, Mia, I'm sorry I broke your heart and ran off to chase my dreams without you.'"

Each word is a direct hit, and I deserve every single one.

But before I can respond, there's a distinctive crunch-crunch-crunch sound from behind us.

We both turn to see our goat friend standing in the middle of the office, methodically chewing on what looks like a stack of adoption paperwork.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Mia throws her hands up. "STOP EATING EVERYTHING!"

The goat looks up at us with those weird rectangular pupils, bits of very important-looking documents hanging from his mouth like confetti.

"I'll get him," I start forward, but Mia's already moving.

"No! Just—don't! You've helped enough for one day."

She herds the goat back toward his temporary pen while I watch, feeling useless.

But this is exactly what I'm talking about.

She's drowning here, trying to manage everything alone, and she won't let anyone help.

"Look," I say when she returns, brushing goat hair off her shirt. "Mia, I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you. But that doesn't mean—"

"Doesn't mean what?" She whirls on me, eyes blazing. "That I should just forgive and forget? Move on like nothing happened?"

"I'm not asking you to forget. I'm asking you to give me the chance to let me make it right."

"Some things can't be made right, Ryder." Her voice cracks, and it guts me. "Some damage is permanent."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"Is it?" She laughs. "The night before you drove off. You told me we'd figure it out, that nothing would break us apart. That distance wouldn't change anything because we loved each other. And then, the very next day, you just disappeared!"

I cringe at the memory that circles back to the front of my mind.

Her standing on my parents' porch in that yellow sundress, tears streaming down her cheeks as I drove away. How I kept checking my rearview mirror until she was just a speck, then nothing at all.

"I was eighteen and scared shitless," I say quietly. "Everyone was telling me I had this one shot, and if I screwed it up—"

"So you screwed us up instead."

"Yeah. I did. And I've regretted it every single day since."

She stares at me for a long moment, and I see the war playing out on her face. Part of her wants to believe me. I can see it in the way her shoulders soften, the way her breath catches, the way she just let me hold her and soothe her anxiety attack just like I used to.

But then, like always, her walls slam back up.

"I don't have time for this," she says, turning away.

"This place is falling apart. The AC's broken, the vet canceled, I'm behind on paperwork, and I've got sixteen dogs who need dinner and medication and—" Her voice rises with each word until she's practically shouting.

"I'm falling apart, Ryder! And I can't handle you on top of everything else! "

The raw honesty in her voice stops me cold. She's not just talking about today. She's talking about the weight she's been carrying alone for who knows how long.

And suddenly, I know exactly what I need to do.

"Fine," I say, and she looks up, startled by my calm tone. "If you won't let me kiss you, at least let me take you to dinner."

She blinks up at me. "What?"

"Dinner. You know, that meal people eat when they're not surviving on coffee and stress?"

"Are you insane?" She stares at me like I've suggested we rob a bank, her lips parting in shock. "I can't just leave. There's too much to do, and—"

I step closer, close enough that I can see the exhaustion etched in the lines around her eyes. "Babe… When was the last time you ate a proper meal?"

She shoots daggers right into my eyes. "Stop calling me babe ."

"That's not an answer."

"I eat!"

"Granola bars and whatever pastries Emma forces on you don't count."

The fact that she doesn't immediately argue tells me I'm right.

When's the last time someone took care of her? Made sure she ate something that wasn't grabbed between crisis management sessions?

"The animals need—"

"The animals will be fine for two hours." I'm already guiding her toward the office to grab her coat. "You've got that teenager—Zoe?—coming back tomorrow morning, right? And it's not like you're leaving them alone. I'll help you get everyone settled first."

"Ryder, I can't just—"

"Yes, you can." I hold up her jacket, and after a moment's hesitation, she turns so I can help her into it. "When's the last time you did something just for you?"

She's quiet for so long I think she's not going to answer.

Then, so softly I almost miss it, she says, "I-I don't remember."

And that's all I need to hear.

Ridgeview Tavern is exactly what you'd expect from a place owned by a former hockey enforcer.

Dim lighting, mismatched furniture that's seen better days, and walls covered in hockey memorabilia that tells the story of Iron Ridge's obsession with the sport.

Oh, and it's also packed. Like it is every night.

"You've got to be kidding me," Mia mutters as we step inside, the warm air hitting us along with the sound of laughter.

I follow her gaze and see Blake's holding court at the big table in the corner, gesturing wildly while telling what I'm sure is a highly embellished story. Connor's at the bar, charming Eli Thompson, the bartender, into free shots for the team.

And sitting around the table, like this is some kind of cosmic joke I've orchestrated, are Sophia, Natalie, and Lucy.

Shit. I totally forgot the team was heading here tonight.

"We could go somewhere else," I offer, but Mia's already straightening her shoulders.

"No. I'm not going to be run out of my own town's bar by a bunch of overgrown children who play with sticks for a living."

Damn, I love it when she gets feisty.

"Hey, it's the dog whisperer!" Blake calls out, raising his beer in our direction. "And our favorite rookie! Glad you guys came!"

Every head in the place turns toward us, and I resist the urge to grab Mia's hand and run. Instead, I place my palm on her back, feeling her spine stiffen at the contact.

"Ignore them," I murmur near her ear. "They're like aggressive gorillas in the wild. Don't make eye contact and they'll lose interest."

That earns me a snort of laughter, and some of the tension in her shoulders eases.

Eli appears from behind the bar, all grins and enthusiasm. "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Miss Mia Harper, as I live and breathe."

"Hi, Eli." Mia's smile is genuine for the first time all day. "How's the hip?"

"Oh, you know. Creaks like an old ship, but it gets me where I need to go." He gestures toward an empty high-top table near the back. "You two want somewhere quiet? I can threaten the rowdy table with my best baseball bat if they get too loud."

"That won't be necessary," I say, though the offer is tempting. "We'll just—"

"MIA!" Lucy's voice cuts across the tavern like a battle cry. "Get your ass over here!"

Mia looks at me with raised eyebrows, but before we can make our escape, the girls are descending on us like well-dressed vultures. Sophia reaches us first, her sharp business suit somehow looking perfectly at home in the rustic tavern.

"Mia! Thank God you're here. I've been meaning to stop by the shelter. Blake keeps threatening to adopt a dog, and I need to see what we're working with before he brings home something the size of a small horse."

"We have several lovely pit mixes that would be perfect for you," Mia says, and I can hear the professional warmth creeping into her voice. This is her element… talking about the animals she loves. "They're great with kids if you're planning—"

"Oh God, no kids yet," Sophia laughs nervously. "I can barely handle Blake."

Natalie joins us, looking slightly flushed as she swirls in the straw in a way over-the-top cocktail that's a mess of bright colors.

"Mia, you look exhausted. Are you sleeping?" Natalie gives Mia the once over and sips on the straw.

"I sleep," Mia protests, but even I can see the dark circles under her eyes.

"Uh-huh." Lucy appears at Natalie's shoulder, looking skeptical. "When? Between the three a.m. feedings and the five a.m. kennel cleanings?"

"Lucy! How do you even know about—" Mia starts, then stops. "Never mind. Small town. Of course you know."

"We know because we care," Natalie says gently. "And because Emma's been worried about you."

As if summoned by her name, Emma appears from the direction of the bathrooms, looking slightly disheveled. Her lipstick is suspiciously absent, and there are finger-shaped wrinkles in her blouse.

She's followed closely by Logan, who's doing that thing where he pretends he doesn't see us while clearly trying to fix his hair and adjust his belt back in place.