CHAPTER 33
ACE
THE HOUSE HAS transformed from a war room into a full-blown celebration. Every corner is packed with people. Someone's started music. Mariah Carey, because of course. It's December, and that's the law.
I'm navigating through the chaos, Devon's hand in mine, weaving between bodies and discarded winter gear, pulling him through the living room where Becker's reenacting his goal with elaborate hand gestures while Wall provides unnecessary commentary.
"Where are we going?" Devon asks, squeezing my hand.
"You'll see."
We pass through the kitchen where Frank, Kayla, and Hunter are distributing soup and hot chocolate and coffee like they're running a field hospital. The smell of cinnamon hangs thick in the air, mixing with wet wool and that specific scent of too many people in too small a space.
I lead him toward the garage, the noise level decreasing slightly as we move away from the main party. My heart's hammering against my ribs, and my palms are sweating despite the lingering cold.
The garage is warmer than the rest of the house, portable heaters still blasting, and the adoption station is somehow still operational. Leila's at the laptop, video-chatting with what appears to be a family on the other end, gesturing enthusiastically at photos of a tabby cat.
Mama Paws is nearby, phone pressed to her ear, and when she spots us, her face lights up. She holds up one finger—wait—and finishes her conversation. "Yes, of course. We'll send you all the information. Thank you so much. Merry Christmas." She ends the call and walks over, beaming. "Ready?"
Devon looks between us, brow furrowed. "Ready for what?"
I catch Mama Paws's eye and nod.
She moves to the mudroom door, a small space off the garage that Washington uses for coats and boots, and opens it slowly.
There she is, sitting patiently in the doorway, her cloudy eyes pointed in our general direction but her tail already wagging like she knows exactly who we are.
Devon gasps, the sound punched out of him. "Candy!"
He's on his knees before I can blink, crawling across the garage floor, and Candy's whole body starts wiggling with joy, her tail going into overdrive.
The second Devon's hands touch her, she's all over him, licking his face, pressing into his chest, making these happy whining sounds that dogs make when they've been reunited with their person.
"What are you doing here, babes?" Devon's voice is muffled against her fur. "Huh? What are you doing?"
I crouch down beside them, my knee protesting slightly, and reach out to scratch behind Candy's ears. She leans into the touch without taking her attention away from Devon, like she can love us both at once.
"So," I start, and my voice comes out raspy. I clear my throat. "I know it's not Christmas yet."
Devon looks up at me, confusion written all over his face.
"But I wanted to—" God, this is harder than I thought it would be. The words are stuck somewhere between my brain and my mouth, tangled up with fear and hope and this overwhelming need for him to understand what I'm trying to say. "She's yours."
Devon blinks. Once. Twice. "What?"
"Candy. She's yours. Your family now."
Tears form in the corners of his eyes and immediately start spilling over, tracking down his cheeks, and he's shaking his head. "Ace, I can't. You know I can’t. I live in a dorm. I can't have—I'm not allowed—"
"I know." I reach out, taking his hand, threading our fingers together. Candy's between us, pressed against both our legs, and it feels right. It feels like this is how it's supposed to be. "But there's room at my place. For both of you."
He goes completely still, his hand frozen in mine, his eyes wide and searching my face like he's trying to figure out if I'm serious.
"I know it's crazy," I continue, the words coming faster now, tumbling out before I can second-guess myself. "I know we've only known each other for a few weeks. I know it's fast and impulsive. But I have that spare bedroom that's just sitting there, and Candy needs a home, and—"
I stop, take a breath, look him directly in the eyes.
"I want you there. Both of you. I want to come home and find your stuff everywhere. I want to trip over your shoes and argue about what to watch on TV and share my space and my life and everything. No pressure," I add quickly. "You can think about it. Take your time. I just—"
"Yes."
"—wanted to offer because it makes sense and—wait. Really?"
"Yes." Devon's crying for real now, tears streaming down his face, and he's laughing at the same time. "Yes, I'll move in. Yes to Candy. Yes to everything. Just—yes."
Candy barks, like she's adding her agreement, and her tail is wagging so hard her whole back end is moving.
I'm pretty sure I stop breathing for a moment. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He launches himself at me, and I barely have time to brace myself before his arms are around my neck, his face buried against my shoulder, and he's laughing and crying, and I'm holding him so tight I'm probably cutting off his circulation, but I can't make myself let go.
Candy's between us, trying to get closer, her cold nose pressing against any exposed skin she can find, and we're a tangled mess of limbs and dog and emotions on the garage floor.
When we finally pull back, both of us are grinning, faces wet with tears, and Mama Paws is standing a few feet away with her hands clasped over her heart, also crying.
"You boys," she says, voice wavering, "are going to make an old woman's heart give out."
"You're not old!" Devon protests, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Hush." She's smiling through the tears. "Let me have my moment."
We sit there on the cold floor for a while, just us and Candy. Devon can't stop petting her, running his hands over her head, her ears, down her back, like he's making sure she's real. Candy's in heaven, leaning into every touch, her tail never stopping.
"This is—" He stops, swallows hard. "This is the best present anyone's ever given me."
"And it's not even wrapped."
He laughs, the sound wet and happy. "Shut up."
I lean in and kiss him, soft and slow, and Candy wedges herself between us, demanding attention, and we break apart laughing.
"Jealous girl," Devon says, scratching under her chin. "Can't let us have a moment, huh?"
The mudroom door opens and Leila pokes her head in. "Guys. Sorry to interrupt this very sweet moment, but there's a news crew outside. They want interviews."
Devon and I look at each other.
"You ready for this?" I ask. "To go public-public?"
He grins. "With you? Always."
***
THE NEXT HOUR is a blur of cameras and microphones and questions.
We do interviews with local news stations—two different channels, both wanting the "human interest" angle.
Then there's a sports reporter from ESPN Chicago who's way too excited about the whole thing.
A podcast host who showed up with portable recording equipment.
Someone from a morning show who wants to schedule a follow-up interview next week.
Through all of it, I keep Devon's hand in mine. Not hidden, not subtle, just there. Our fingers threaded together, visible to everyone, to the cameras, to the internet that's apparently decided we're their new favorite thing.
At one point, a reporter from Channel 7, a woman with kind eyes and a professional smile, looks at me and asks, "Ace, is this your boyfriend?"
I look at Devon, at his messy hair and bright eyes and the smile that makes my chest feel too full, and I say, "Yep. He is. I'm dating the most incredible, insane, bossy person I've ever met, and I'm loving every second of it."
Devon turns to look straight at the camera, and says, "He thinks I'm bossy. Can you believe?" drawing a burst of laughter from everyone around.
The reporter's smile widens. "And how does it feel to have raised so much for the shelter?"
I'm still looking at Devon when I answer. "Honestly? It feels like a fever dream. A really good fever dream."
Devon's smiling at me, eyes shining, and he leans into the microphone. "What he's trying to say is that we're all still processing. This whole thing has been surreal from start to finish."
"But you're happy with the outcome?"
"Happy?" Devon laughs. "Ecstatic. We saved a shelter. We found homes for animals who needed them. We—" His voice cracks slightly. "We did something good. Something that matters."
More questions follow. About the game, about the shelter, about how we met, about what's next. We answer as best we can, trading off, finishing each other's sentences sometimes.
By the time the last interview wraps up, the sun's starting to set, which at this time of year means it's barely 4 PM, and the party's migrated back indoors.
Someone's pushed all the living room furniture against the walls to create more space, and music is playing from a speaker somewhere—a mix of Christmas songs and random pop hits.
And then, comes a familiar opening guitar riff.
‘Someday We'll Know,’ by New Radicals.
Devon's head whips around, his whole face lighting up, and he looks at me with this expression of pure delight. "Did you—"
"Maybe," I admit.
He grabs my hand, pulling me toward the center of the room where a few people are already swaying to the music, and for a second I think he's going to make me dance, which—no. Absolutely not. I don't dance.
But instead he just pulls me close, wrapping his arms around my waist, and we stand there in the middle of Washington's living room, surrounded by the team and friends and found family, just swaying gently to a song about not knowing things but believing anyway.
"It makes me think of you," Devon says quietly.
"Why?"
"Because you're full of questions you don't have answers to yet. And you're okay with that. You're figuring it out as you go."
I press my forehead against his. "That's pretty deep."
"I have my moments."
The song fades into something else, upbeat and poppy, and we drift toward the edge of the room where there's an armchair that's somehow remained unclaimed.
I drop into it and Devon settles onto my lap like it's the most natural thing in the world. His weight is solid and warm and perfect, and I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him closer.
Candy appears from somewhere and settles at our feet, her head resting on my shoe, her body pressed against Devon's leg.
"This is the weirdest day of my life," Devon says, his head resting against my shoulder.
Petrov walks past, beer in hand, and spots us. "You two are disgusting," he announces. Then grins. "I love it."
"We love you too, Petrov," Devon calls after him.
Becker appears next, apparently on a mission to harass us. "Get a room!"
"We have a room," Devon says without missing a beat. "Well, Ace has a room. Which is now my room. Technically we have several rooms. An entire apartment's worth of rooms."
I laugh, the sound rumbling in my chest, and Devon shifts to look up at me. "What?"
"Nothing. You're just—" I search for the right word. "You."
"Eloquent."
"Shut up."
He grins and settles back against me, and we watch the party happen around us.
This is it. This is what we fought for. Not just the money or the adoptions or the viral moment, but this—this feeling of community, of people coming together because they decided that something mattered.
"Ace?" Devon's voice pulls me back.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you." His voice is soft, almost shy. "For everything."
"You saved the shelter. I think I should be thanking you."
He shakes his head. "I mean for more than that. For—" He gestures vaguely at the space around us, at Candy sleeping at our feet, at everything. "All of it."
Something in my chest tightens. "You don't have to thank me for loving you."
"Well, I'm going to anyway." He shifts to look at me properly, his eyes serious. "So deal with it."
I chuckle. "Bossy."
"Damn right," he says, then settles back against me.
And everything feels exactly right.