"That's not even slightly true," Becker says, "but keep up the energy."
"Everyone start texting," Washington orders, already typing on his phone. "Get everyone here by nine. Tell them to bundle up. Tell them this is happening."
The next few hours are a blur.
I help Becker do final checks on the streaming equipment, making sure everything's weatherproofed as much as possible. We add extra tarps, secure cables, test backup power. Devon's on his phone constantly, coordinating with what feels like seventeen different people at once. Mama Paws and Washington are updating the adoption station, printing more information sheets.
By 9 AM, the team starts arriving, fighting through the storm that's somehow gotten even worse. They show up in groups, trudging through knee-deep snow, looking like arctic explorers returning from an expedition.
Everyone's bundled in layers. Thick coats, winter gear, faces barely visible behind scarves and hats. But they're here. Every single one of them.
The firefighters arrive at 10 AM, in their trucks, sirens blaring for no reason except that it's cool.
Marcus climbs out first, surveying the backyard setup. "Heard you needed rescuing."
"Something like that," Washington says.
Marcus gathers everyone around. "Alright, listen up. We've been monitoring conditions. This is doable, but we need protocols. Medical team on standby. Warming stations set up and ready. Nobody stays on the ice for more than two minutes at a time. We rotate constantly. Frostbite is real, and we're not risking anyone's fingers or toes for this."
"Two minutes?" Becker asks. "That's barely enough to—"
"Two minutes," Marcus repeats firmly. "Andeveryonewho can skate plays. All hands on deck. Well, feet. Or feet on deck." His eyes land on Devon. "That means you too."
Devon's eyes go wide. "But—I don't know the rules. I can barely skate."
"Barely's good enough. We need bodies."
By 11 AM, the backyard looks like something out of a dream. The rink is perfect, somehow, despite the blizzard. The ice gleams under the industrial lights, snow falling around it in thick sheets, flakes constantly blown off by three massive leaf blowers set up by the makeshift boards. The cameras are positioned and ready, and there's a palpable energy in the air that feels electric.
Frank, Kayla, and Hunter have the beverage station fully operational in the garage. Coffee makers bubbling away, hot chocolate on tap, soup in slow cookers, enough caffeine and calories to fuel us.
Next to them, Leila and Mama Paws are manning the adoption station, laptop set up and ready for virtual tours. They're both wearing matching Pucks for Paws t-shirts over their coats that someone printed overnight, and they look ready for war.
The energy is incredible. Everyone's moving with purpose, faces set with determination, and despite the freezing temperatures and the storm raging around us, nobody's complaining.
I find Devon in the garage, pulling on layer after layer—thermal underwear, sweatpants, a hoodie, another hoodie, a jacket. He looks like he's preparing to climb Everest.
"You ready?" I ask.
He looks at me, and I can see the nerves in his eyes. "I don't know. Are you?"
I step closer, taking his face in my hands. "Look at me."
His eyes meet mine.
"We've got this," I say firmly. "Together. Okay?"
He takes a shaky breath, then nods. "Okay."
"Good. Now come on. It's almost time."
We head outside, joining the rest of the team gathering on the ice. The storm is at its peak now, snow coming down so thick it's hard to see more than a few feet. The wind is brutal, cutting through every layer, making my eyes water.
But we're all here. Team, firefighters, bar staff. All of us together, standing on a backyard ice rink in the middle of a blizzard because we decided that some things are worth fighting for.
Becker gives the signal. "Stream's going live in thirty seconds!"
Everyone gets into position. Mixed teams—Wolves with firefighters, some volunteers scattered throughout, all in full gear plus multiple layers and oversized Santa hats. Coach Martin is playing too, along with one of the refs. Devon's on the opposing team, looking terrified but determined.
