**Chapter 220: Frozen Submission**BrooksTen years after our vow renewal, the backyard rink in Chicago was still the heart of our world.The boards had been repainted twice. The lights upgraded. The ice bore the marks of countless skates — our children’s, our grandchildren’s, and the occasional visiting player who needed a quiet place to breathe. But the feeling remained the same: this was sacred ground. The place where pain had been transformed, over and over again, into something beautiful.I sat on the heated bench we’d installed years ago, a thick blanket over my lap. My right side still carried a slight tremor from the stroke, especially when the weather turned cold, but I had learned to live with it. To see it not as weakness, but as proof I was still here.Callan sat beside me, his cane resting against the bench. His arthritis had progressed, as the doctors warned it would, but he still came out here every chance he got. Silver hair now fully white, deeper lines on his face, b
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