Marcus and Coach Martin are in deep conversation near the adoption counter, both gesturing animatedly, and I catch snippets as we pass.
"—spring fundraiser—"
"—we would be on board—"
"—maybe a different sport this time—"
"—definitely not curling—"
Kayla, Hunter, and Frank have set up a hot chocolate station. There are at least four different flavors, a mountain of marshmallows, and Frank's wearing a Santa hat even though Christmas was a week ago.
"Never too late for festive headwear," he says when he catches me staring.
Leila and Washington are at a table with a young couple, going over adoption paperwork, their heads bent together, voices low and patient. Washington's explaining something, pointing at a form, while Leila adds encouraging comments. The couple looks nervous but excited, and I recognize that look—it's the same one I had when Ace told me Candy was mine.
I squeeze Ace's hand, and he squeezes back, like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.
We keep walking, Candy leading the way with confidence. She knows this place by heart, every turn, every doorway, every corner where someone might give her scratches.
A bell rings, clear and bright, cutting through the chatter.
Mama Paws is standing on a small platform near the adoption counter, holding the bell, her face glowing with happiness.
"Everyone!" she calls out. "Can I have your attention for just a moment?"
The room gradually quiets, conversations trailing off, people turning to face her. Even the animals seem to sense something important is happening, the barking and meowing dialing down to a low hum.
"First," Mama Paws says, her voice strong and clear, "I want to thank every single person in this room. Whether you donated, volunteered, adopted, shared our story, or just sent good thoughts our way—you saved this shelter. You saved these animals. You savedus."
Her voice cracks on the last word, and Papa Paws moves to stand beside her, taking her hand.
"When we thought we were going to lose this place," she continues, "I didn't know how I was going to tell the animals. How do you explain to a senior dog that she doesn't have a home anymore? How do you tell a cat with medical needs that you can't afford to care for him?"
She pauses, wiping her eyes with her free hand.
"But then these crazy boys—" she gestures at the team, scattered throughout the room, "—these absolutelunaticsdecided to play hockey in a blizzard. And you all showed up. In ways we never could have imagined."
Applause breaks out, building, and Mama Paws has to raise her voice to be heard over it.
"The shelter is now fully funded for the next two years!" she announces, and the applause turns into cheers. "We're expanding our capacity! We're hiring additional staff! We're going to be able to help more animals than ever before!"
More cheers, louder now, and I'm clapping so hard my palms sting, and Ace's arm is around my waist, pulling me close.
"But I have one more announcement," Mama Paws says, and the room quiets again, everyone leaning in.
She takes a breath, her smile wobbling slightly, and when she speaks again, her voice is thick with emotion.
"We're renaming the medical wing."
A pause. The room holds its breath.
"It will be called the Pucks for Paws Medical Center."
The shelter erupts.
People are cheering, hugging, high-fiving. The team is going feral, whooping and hollering. Wall's still on the floor with the puppies, but he's pumping his fist in the air. Becker's tearing up and trying to hide it. Petrov's given up on the cat and is now hugging Groover, who's hugging him back.
I'm crying too. Ace pulls me closer, his own eyes shining, and we just stand there in the middle of it all, holding each other.
