Another part responded:Let her.
He worked in silence, the only sounds his breathing and the occasional scrape of tools. Outside, the parking structure was empty. Practice didn't start until eight. He had two hours before anyone might wonder where he was.
Two hours to make her home safe.
Two hours to give her a reason to leave him.
The insulation went in panel by panel. Each one added another layer of protection, another barrier between her and the cold. By the time he finished, the interior temperature had already risen several degrees despite the heater not yet being operational.
Electrical was last. It was the part that had kept him up at night, researching and planning and triple-checking specifications. The camper's electrical system was a nightmare of spliced wires and overloaded circuits. One bad connection could start a fire. One power surge could?—
Stop.
He took several deep breaths until his pulse stopped racing.
The electrical work took longer than anything else. He traced every wire, replaced every connection, installed a new breaker box with proper surge protection. His hands, scarred from years of hockey, moved with unexpected delicacy. This wasn't about strength. This was about precision.
When he finished, the camper's electrical system was safer than most permanent homes. He tested everything twice, then a third time just to be certain. The heater kicked on immediately, filling the small space with warmth. The lights worked without flickering. The outlets registered proper voltage.
Done.
He sat back on his heels and surveyed his work. The camper looked the same—the same chaotic charm, the same personal touches, and the same evidence of a life designed for constant motion. But underneath, it was transformed. Safe. Warm. Functional.
She could leave now.
The thought struck him like a blade between the ribs. She could leave. The camper worked. The heater was better than new. She had no reason to stay in his condo anymore, no practical excuse to sleep in his bed, no justification for the routine they'd built together.
He could tell her tonight. Show her what he'd done. Watch her face light up with that surprised delight that made his heart stutter.
And then watch her pack.
His hands were shaking.
Ridiculous,he thought savagely.I’m being ridiculous. This is her home. I have no right to keep her from it. The repairs were necessary.
But he'd done more than necessary. He'd done optimal. He'd made this cramped metal box as safe as he could possibly make it, which meant she had every reason to return to her life of motion and freedom and thirty-seven cities.
Minus him.
He stood abruptly, nearly hitting his head on the low ceiling, as he made a decision. He wasn't going to tell her. Not yet. He needed more time. More mornings making her coffee. More evenings eating dinner together. More nights with her warm weight pressed against him, and her ridiculous hair tickling his chin.
The camper wasn't going anywhere. The repairs would keep. And if she asked—if she specifically asked about the heater or the insulation or the electrical work—he would tell her.
But she wouldn't ask. Because she wasn't thinking about leaving.
Not yet,the dark voice in his head whispered.Not yet. But she will. She always does.
He carefully gathered his tools, restoring the camper to its original appearance. By the time he finished, there was no visible evidence he'd been here at all. Except now, when winter storms hit, she would be warm.
He locked the camper door behind him and walked towards the arena. He had another project to complete.
The mural site was a disaster of cold and inadequate lighting. He had noticed it days ago. She often worked late into the evening, her breath visible in the frigid arena air, and her fingers stiff and clumsy from the cold. She never complained. She just layered on more sweaters and kept painting.
It was intolerable.
He'd submitted a facilities request through proper channels, which had gotten him a response promising "review within 10-14 business days."Unacceptable. He'd escalated to Sam, who'd promised to "look into it."Also unacceptable.
So he'd taken matters into his own hands. The industrial space heaters had arrived yesterday, along with professional-grade LED panel lights. He'd arranged for installation during the overnight hours, coordinating with the facilities team to ensure everything was in place before she arrived in the morning.
