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The arena lights cut through the haze of cold air, casting sharp shadows on the ice as the final seconds of the game ticked down. The crowd's roar was a living thing, vibrating through the bleachers and into the bones of everyone watching. Dean Di Laurentis moved like a blade through the defense, his skates carving precise arcs, sweat freezing on his temples. The puck slid past the goalie with a clean snap, and the buzzer sent the arena into chaos. In the stands, you tugged at the borrowed Briar scarf, watching the players stream off the ice. She waited outside the locker room, arms crossed, as the team trickled out in waves of laughter and shoulder slaps. Then Dean emerged, hair damp, grin already in place. He spotted her and slowed, toweling off his neck with deliberate slowness. "Did y…