Page 50 of Rookie's Redemption
But she's reaching out. She's thinking about me.
Coach might be right about hockey, but I also know some battles are worth fighting twice as hard for.
Because losing Mia again isn't an option. Not when I finally know what it feels like to have her back in my arms.
Not when I can finally see a future that includes more than just hockey.
I type back:Wouldn't miss it.
I grab my gear bag and head for the parking lot, already planning my next move. I should go home, rest up for tomorrow's final tactical planning session in the Player's Lounge, maybe work on the kitchen renovation I've been putting off.
Instead, I'm already mentally mapping the fastest route to Tails & Paws.
Some things are worth the risk.
Some things are worth everything.
Chapter Twelve
Mia
Icarefully check on the four puppies who've somehow managed to survive their rough start in life. Each tiny ball of fur is breathing steadily, their little bellies round with this morning's successful feeding.
"Come on, Zeus," I murmur to the runt of the litter, a scrappy little guy who's been fighting harder than anyone expected. "Just keep growing for me, okay?"
Zeus responds by trying to chew on my finger with his needle-sharp puppy teeth, which I'm choosing to interpret as a good sign.
"How are our miracle babies doing?" Zoe appears beside me, cradling Princess in her arms like the pug is her own personal therapy animal.
"Better every day. Dr. Martinez says if they keep gaining weight like this, they'll be ready for adoption in a few weeks."
"That's amazing." Zoe settles into the chair beside me, scratching Princess behind the ears. "You saved them, Mia. All four of them."
Wesaved them. Ryder and I, working together through those first critical nights. Him holding bottles while I monitored temperatures, both of us taking turns with the two-hour feeding schedule that nearly killed us both.
"Speaking of saving things," Zoe says with that mischievous teenage girl glint in her eye that means trouble. "How's your neck feeling today?"
My hand flies instinctively to my throat, where I've been strategically arranging my hair all week to hide what is definitely, absolutely,nota hickey.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Mhmm." Zoe's grin is pure evil. "Must be a really aggressive mosquito bite. During a snowstorm."
"Shut up you. Help me with this checklist." I grab the clipboard, scanning the endless list of things that need to happen before tonight's game.
My phone buzzes for what feels like the hundredth time today. Another interview request from a sports blogger who somehow got wind of the "heartwarming story behind tonight's Icehawks fundraiser event."
God, when did my life become a heartwarming story?
"You know," Zoe says, watching me decline yet another call, "for someone who's about to have the best night of her life, you look like you're about to throw up."
"I'm not about to throw up. I'm just... processing."
"Processing the fact that Ryder Scott organized an entire charity event for this shelter? Or processing the fact that half the town is going to be watching you two tonight like you're the main entertainment?"
Both. Definitely both.
The radio interview this morning was bad enough. Sitting in the local station's tiny studio while the DJ asked increasingly personal questions about my "relationship" with Iron Ridge's golden boy. Then the surprise visit from theIron Ridge Gazettephotographer who wanted to capture "the woman behind the cause."
