"Cap?" Ace says.
The bar holds its collective breath.
I'm holding my breath. Why am I holding my breath? I don't even know these people.
The Adult—the team captain, I imagine. I should have known—is quiet for a long moment. You can practically see him thinking, weighing options, calculating logistics.
Then his jaw sets in a way that makes him look like he's about to declare war on the concept of animal homelessness.
"Then we'll fucking work remotely half the time," he says. "I'll talk to Coach."
The bar explodes.
Everyone's talking at once, shouting ideas, making plans, and the energy is so chaotic and beautiful I want to bottle it.
Hunter's rattling off event ideas rapid-fire: "We can do an ugly sweater night, a karaoke night, a silent auction—"
"We're still understaffed," Frank reminds him, but he's smiling now.
The Russian chimes in immediately. "You hire us. We are good because we are free."
The Giant grins. "We'll do bar rotation. Between games."
"We'll make flyers!" The Comedian yells.
"We need a social media campaign!"
"What about sponsorships?"
"I know a guy who knows a guy who—"
Mama Paws is just sitting there, hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her face. But she's smiling.
"We need organization," The Redhead says, looking slightly panicked. "We need a spreadsheet. We need everyone's information, availability—"
The Captain is already tapping on his phone. "On it."
Of course he is. He looks like the kind of person who has a spreadsheet to manage his other spreadsheets.
I'm watching this unfold, this beautiful disaster of people who were strangers an hour ago coming together to save a bunch of animals they've never met, and I feel something uncomfortably close to emotion trying to claw its way up my throat.
Kayla appears beside me, hip-checking me gently. "Hell of a first day, huh?"
I laugh, and it comes out slightly unhinged. "Yeah. Yeah, you could say that."
"Think you'll come back for day two?"
I look around the bar. At the destroyed Christmas tree. The broken glass. The team of overgrown penguins in expensive suits planning a full-scale rescue operation. At Mama Paws, crying happy tears while Frank holds her hand. At Ace, who's already deep in conversation with the Captain about logistics, his face serious and determined and still ridiculously attractive.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world."
CHAPTER 4
ACE
I MIGHT ACTUALLY die. Not heroically on the ice, scoring the winning goal as the buzzer sounds. No—I'm going to die hunched over my laptop at 11 PM on a Tuesday, killed by the impossible task of finding several dozen oversized Santa hats.
This is how it ends. Death by holiday accessories.
