Page 105 of Rookie's Redemption
When I pull up to the Scott house, the porch light glows warmly against the darkness. Ryder's truck sits in the driveway, confirmation that my instincts were right.
He's here, in the place where he always felt safest.
I sit in my car for a moment, gathering courage. The walk to the front door feels like crossing a threshold between my old life and whatever comes next. I knock softly, and within seconds, Carol opens the door.
She takes one look at my face and her expression softens with understanding.
"He's upstairs, honey. In his old room," she says, stepping aside to let me in.
The house smells the same as always. Like cinnamon and fresh laundry, the scent of a real home.
Family photos line the hallway, chronicling Ryder's journey from gap-toothed kid to hockey star. I spot several pictures of us together—prom night, graduation, his eighteenth birthday—preserved as if Carol always knew we'd find our way back to each other.
"He was so excited, you know," Carol says quietly as I reach the bottom of the stairs. "About tonight. About asking you."
Guilt slices through me. "I didn't know. I didn't realize until it was too late."
She studies my face for a moment, then reaches out to squeeze my hand. "It's not too late, Mia. It's never too late. Not if you still want this."
"I do," I whisper. "More than anything."
"Then go get him, dear." She gives me a gentle push. "He needs you."
Each step triggers a memory. Sneaking up these stairs after curfew. Tiptoeing past his parents' room, stifling giggles.The countless nights I climbed through his bedroom window because I couldn't bear to be apart from him.
I've walked these halls a thousand times, both as a teenager and in the months since Ryder and I found our way back to each other.
I reach the landing and pause, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The door to Ryder's childhood bedroom is cracked open, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway. Through the narrow opening, I see him sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands.
I can see his hockey trophies still lining the shelves. The same faded posters clinging to the walls. The twin bed where we first whispered "I love you" to each other at sixteen. Where we mapped out futures on late summer nights, our bodies tangled together, dreams bigger than the small town outside his window.
I'd forgotten how much of our story lived in this room.
Ryder looks up, and I see the devastation on his face. His eyes are red-rimmed, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
The sight of him like this breaks something loose inside me. All the fear, all the doubt, all the years of protecting myself from loving him again.
He's still the boy who carved our initials into that oak tree. Still the man who came back for me. Still the only person who's ever seen me, seen meandloved every complicated, stubborn, passionate part.
I push the door open fully, and he stares at me like I'm an apparition.
"Dammit. I knew you'd find me here," Ryder says, his voice rough with emotion.
I take a tentative step forward.
"It was either here or the arena," I say, aiming for lightness but failing miserably. "This seemed more likely."
He lifts his gaze to mine, and the hurt in his eyes nearly breaks me. "Mia, I'm sorry I got angry—"
"Don't." I cross the room quickly, dropping to my knees in front of him so we're eye to eye. "Don't you dare apologize. After everything you've done for that place, for the shelter, forme... I shouldn't have even considered it."
I reach into my purse and pull out the Tiffany box, holding it between us like an offering.
"And I'm not, Ryder. I'm not considering it. I'm not taking their offer."
"Mia—"
