Mama Paws is crying, happy tears this time, as she arranges photos of Candy, making sure she's front and center.
"She's going to get so many applications," she says, wiping her eyes. "They all are."
Papa Paws arrives with tools and lumber and immediately starts building a small platform near the rink for the announcer.
I'm running between locations—backyard, garage, kitchen, back to backyard—coordinating, troubleshooting, putting out small fires (metaphorical ones, thankfully, because we don't need to distract our firefighters right now).
My phone keeps dying from the cold. I've started keeping it tucked inside my coat, against my body, just to keep the battery alive.
At one point, I'm hauling another box of supplies toward the garage when I pass Ace coming from the opposite direction, arms full of lighting equipment.
We stop and look at each other, and he smiles. "Hey."
"Hey yourself."
We stand there for maybe five seconds, just looking at each other, grinning like idiots, before we both remember we have jobs to do and keep moving.
But I'm smiling for the next twenty minutes.
By 10 PM, everyone's exhausted. We've been going for eight hours straight, working in increasingly brutal conditions, and we're all running on caffeine and fumes.
Washington gathers everyone in the backyard, and we huddle together against the cold and wind, a small army of freezing, determined people.
"The stream goes live at noon tomorrow," he says, voice carrying over the wind. "We've got fourteen hours to make this perfect."
"The storm's supposed to peak right around game time," Jinx adds, looking at his phone.
"So we'll be playing hockey in a blizzard," Groover says.
Becker throws his arms up. "Like a bunch of absolute legends!"
Everyone cheers, the sound swallowed by the wind but no less genuine for it.
I slip away from the group, needing a moment to myself, and to just breathe. I end up behind the garage, in a small sheltered area where the wind isn't quite as brutal. I lean against the wall, close my eyes, and try to remember the last time I felt this alive.
I can't.
"There you are."
I open my eyes.
Ace is there, snow caught in his dark hair, cheeks flushed from the cold, looking at me with those impossibly intense eyes.
He moves closer, into the small sheltered space, and we're standing maybe a foot apart. I can see my breath in the cold air, then his, mingling together in the space between us.
"You know this is insane, right?" he says.
"Completely."
"And it might not work."
"It'll work."
"How do you know?"
I step closer, closing the gap, feeling the warmth radiating off him despite the cold. "Because you're here. The team's here. Everyone who matters is here. How could it not work?"
He cups the back of my neck, his hand warm, and pulls me in.
