Page 9 of Rookie’s Redemption (Iron Ridge Icehawks #5)

Chapter Six

Mia

I 'm crouched in the snow, my hands already numb as I pack the base of what's going to be the most architecturally superior snowman Iron Ridge has ever seen.

The snow falls heavier now, fat flakes that drift down like confetti in the glow of the parking lot lights.

"You're overthinking it," Ryder calls from his side of the lot, where he's clearly just mashing snow together with zero artistic vision.

"I'm not overthinking anything. I'm creating art." I sit back on my heels, surveying my work. "Unlike some people who are just... making a lump."

"A lump?" He straightens up, mock offense written all over his face. Snow clings to his dark hair, and his cheeks are pink from the cold. "This is going to be a masterpiece. You're just jealous because yours looks like it's having an identity crisis."

I glance at my snowman's slightly lopsided middle section and frown.

"It's... architectural. Modern. You're a man. You wouldn't understand."

"Uh-huh." He's grinning now, that boyish smile that used to make my heart skip beats. And apparently still does. "Need help?"

"I don't need—" But as I try to lift the head I've been working on, it immediately crumbles in my hands. "Shit."

Ryder's laugh echoes across the empty parking lot.

"Come here, Miss Stubborn. Let me show you how it's done."

Before I can protest, he's beside me, his hands covering mine as he helps me pack the snow properly.

His body heat radiates through his jacket, and I catch that scent that does wicked things to my insides. His broad chest presses close, muscles evident even through his winter coat.

I try not to stare at his strong jawline or the way his biceps flex as he moves, but it's impossible not to notice how perfectly built he is, how his athletic frame towers over my smaller one in a way that makes heat pool in my belly.

"See? You have to pack it tighter," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "Like this."

His hands guide mine, and suddenly we're not talking about snowmen anymore.

"There," he says softly, but he doesn't move away. "Now it's perfect."

I turn my head to thank him, and suddenly his face is inches from mine. Those warm hazel eyes that used to be my everything are focused on my lips, and for a heartbeat, the world stops.

Kiss me. Please just kiss me and put me out of my misery.

But then my brain kicks in, reminding me of the years of hurt, and I scramble backward so fast I nearly topple over.

"We should, um." I gesture vaguely at our half-built snowmen. "Finish the competition."

He nods and returns to his side of the lot, attacking his snowman, packing snow like he's trying to punch his frustration into submission.

We work in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds our breathing and the soft plop of snow hitting the ground.

It's peaceful in a way I haven't felt in... God, maybe years.

"So," Ryder says eventually, adding stick arms to his surprisingly decent snowman. "Eight years. That's a lot of time."

"It is." I focus on perfecting my snowman's face, using pebbles from the landscaping for eyes. "You've been busy. Three teams, two championships. Pretty impressive."

He stops working and stares at me. "You followed my career?"

Heat floods my cheeks, and I'm grateful for the darkness hiding my blush.

"Iron Ridge follows all its hometown heroes. It's not like I had a choice. Your face was on the front page of the Iron Ridge Gazette every time you won something."

And that's not even counting how Eli nearly broke the ceiling fan at Ridgeview when he jumped on the bar during Ryder's first championship. The man screamed "THAT'S MY BOY!" so loud they probably heard him in Canada, then poured free drinks until 2 AM.

For someone who claims the Icehawks are the only team worth following, that scrapbook he keeps behind the bar sure has a lot of Ryder's clippings glued inside it.

"Mia." His voice is softer now. "Did you... I mean, were you proud of me? Even a little?"

The honest question in his voice makes my chest tight, like someone's wrapped their fist around my heart and squeezed.

His hazel eyes are fixed on me with that earnest, hopeful expression.

Even in the dim moonlight reflecting off the snow, I can see the vulnerability written across his features, waiting for an answer that means more to him than it should after all this time.

"Of course I was proud of you, Ryder. I always knew you'd make it big."

"But…?"

I sigh, sitting back in the snow. "But it wasn't what I thought it would be. Watching you succeed without me. It was like... like watching someone else live the life I thought we'd have together."

Ryder slumps down in the snow beside his half-finished snowman, wrapping his arms around his knees and staring off toward the dark mountains.

The way his shoulders curve inward makes him look younger somehow, like the eighteen-year-old boy who used to sit exactly like this when something was eating at him.

"It wasn't what I thought it would be either," he admits quietly. "Debuting in the NHL, I mean."

"What do you mean? You got everything you wanted."

"Did I?" He abandons his snowman and comes to sit beside me in the snow. "Yeah, I played professional hockey. Made more money than I knew what to do with. Had my name in lights and fans screaming when I stepped on the ice."

"Sounds terrible," I say dryly.

"It was empty , Mia." His voice is raw with honesty.

"Every goal, every win, every trophy... It was great…

but I kept looking for you in the crowd.

Kept wanting to call you and share it with you.

" He sighs so heavily steam swirls in the night sky.

"But I'd fucked up so badly, I didn't think I had the right. "

My throat constricts. "Ryder..."

"The only time it felt real was when I came back here. To Iron Ridge." He looks at me, and there's something vulnerable in his expression. "Being back here, it's like I can finally breathe again. Like now I have made it. Like I remember who I actually am."

Don't do this. Don't let him back in. You can't survive losing him again.

But my heart is already betraying me, melting like snow in sunshine.

"I tried to forget you," I whisper. "I dated other people. Told myself I was over it. Over you."

"And?"

"And I suck at lying to myself, apparently."

He laughs, but it's not entirely happy. "Same. Want to know something pathetic? I still have your old high school number memorized. The first one you had. Never changed it in my contacts. Just in case."

"That is pathetic." But I'm smiling despite myself. "Want to know something equally pathetic?"

"Always."

"I still wear your hoodie. The green one you left at my house senior year."

His eyes widen. "No way."

"Way. It's embarrassing, really. A grown woman wearing her high school boyfriend's clothes."

"That thing was falling apart at the seams!"

"I know." I can't look at him as I admit this. "But it still smells like you. Well, like you used to smell. Back when you bathed yourself in that awful body spray."

"Hey!" He bumps my shoulder with his. "That was Cool Ice, and it was the height of sophistication."

"It was chemical warfare, Ryder. I'm surprised my nose didn't fall off every time I hugged you."

"You never complained at the time."

"I was in love. Love makes you stupid."

Present tense. Love. Not loved.

Shit.

"Okay!" I say quickly, scrambling to my feet. "This is getting too heavy. We need a mood lightener. Something fun and ridiculous."

"What did you have in mind?"

I grin and throw myself backward into the snow, arms and legs spread wide. "Snow angels, obviously. Come on, don't be a chicken."

"A chicken?" He drops beside me in the snow with a smack. "I'll show you a chicken."

We flap our arms and legs in the snow like complete lunatics, laughing until our sides hurt. The cold seeps through my jeans, but I don't care.

This feeling, this ridiculous, childish freedom, is worth the chill.

"I haven't done this since I was twelve!" I gasp between fits of giggles, my ponytail splayed out in the snow beneath me.

Beside me, Ryder's deep laugh rumbles through the quiet. His snow angel is going to be massive compared to mine. His wingspan alone takes up twice the space of my petite frame.

"You're doing it wrong," I tease, watching him struggle to coordinate his long limbs. "Your angel looks like it had a tragic accident."

"Oh, is that right?" he challenges, his breath coming out in visible puffs. "Snow angel expert now, are we? I don't remember that being on your resume at the animal shelter."

I snort and redouble my efforts, working my arms harder just to prove a point. Our laughter echoes through the trees, totally uninhibited and completely free, like we've shed years of history and hurt for just this perfect, ridiculous moment.

My arms eventually give way and when I turn my head to look at him, he's just watching me, snowflakes caught in his eyelashes.

"What?" I ask breathlessly.

"You're beautiful," he says simply. "I know I don't have the right to say that anymore, but... you are. Even more than I remembered."

My heart does something acrobatic in my chest. "Ryder..."

"I know. I know I hurt you. I know I gave up the right to say things like that when I left." He turns on his side to face me fully. "But I need you to know that I meant what I said at the shelter. I am sorry. And leaving you was the biggest mistake of my life."

"Don't." My voice is barely a whisper. "Please don't say things like that."

"Why not? It's true."

"Because..." I struggle to find the words. "Because I can't go through that again. I can't let myself hope and then watch you leave."

"I'm not planning to leave, Mia. I told you… I'm home now."

"Everyone leaves eventually, Ryder. That's what people do."

"Not everyone." His hand finds mine in the snow, fingers intertwining. "Not me. Not this time."

"How can you say that? Your whole life is hockey. What happens when the season ends? When you get traded? When some bigger, better opportunity comes along?"

"Because I can prove that I'm not going anywhere." His voice is urgent now, like he needs me to understand something important. "There's something I've been going to tell you. About why I came back here. About why I bought my house."

"Your house?" I ask, brows scrambling together.

Ryder opens his mouth, but my phone erupts in shrill rings, shattering the moment like glass.

"Ignore it," Ryder says, but I'm already fumbling for the device with numb fingers.

It's the emergency contact number for the shelter.

"I have to take this." I sit up, snow falling from my hair. "Hello?"

"Mia! Thank God." It's Janet Morrison, the elderly woman who sometimes helps with overnight emergencies. "I'm so sorry to call so late, but we have a situation. Someone dropped off a box of puppies behind the building. They're so young, and it's so cold—"

"Shit. How young?" I'm already standing, brushing snow off my clothes.

"Maybe four weeks?"

Fuck. Four-week-old puppies in this weather could die within hours. They need constant care or they won't make it through the night.

"I'll be right there." I end the call and look at Ryder apologetically. "I have to go. Emergency at the shelter."

"What happened?"

"Some asshole has abandoned puppies. In this weather. They're too young to regulate their body temperature." I'm already pacing back and forth, my mind racing through everything I'll need to do. "I need to get there now."

"You've been drinking." He catches my shoulder and steadies my steps. "I'm driving."

"Ryder, you don't have to—"

"Yeah, I do." He's already pulling out his keys, clicking the remote to unlock his truck across the lot. "Besides, you'll need help, right? Newborn puppies are a lot of work."

I want to argue, to maintain my independence, but the truth is I could use the help.

And despite everything—the hurt, the fear, the walls I've built—there's no one I'd rather have beside me in a crisis than Ryder Scott.

"Thank you," I say quietly as he holds the passenger door open for me.

"Thank me after we save some puppies," he says simply.

As I climb into the truck, surrounded by the scent of leather and that cologne, I can't shake the feeling that everything is about to change.

Again.