Chapter 108 The Last Flood
The backyard rink in Evergreen Hollow had been flooded every winter for over forty years.
Rowan and Holly had started the tradition the winter after the mistletoe bet. They’d built the boards by hand, flooded it with garden hoses, and watched Lily take her first wobbly steps on ice. Every season after that, the rink had hosted goals, laughter, falls, tears, and quiet victories.
Now, with Rowan and Holly gone, the family gathered one last time to flood it.
It was early December, the ground hard, the air sharp. The grandchildren—Harper (twenty-five), Rowan (twenty-three), Luna (eighteen), and the younger cousins—took the lead. They hauled the old boards from the garage, laid the liner, connected the hose, and worked in quiet rhythm. No one needed instructions. The knowledge had been passed down like muscle memory.
The older generation watched from the porch.
Lily leaned against Nathan, eyes wet. “They’re doing it exactly like Dad did.”
Everett nodded, arm around Elise. “Same boards. Same hose.”
Clara stood beside Alex, hand over her chest—Lucas Bennett’s heart beating steady. “Mom and Dad would be smiling.”
Rowie and Jordan sat together, Rowie’s head on his shoulder. “They are smiling.”
The water flowed.
The ice formed—slow, patient, perfect.
When it was ready, they strung the lights.
Harper flipped the switch.
The string glowed—soft, warm, familiar.
No flicker. No pulse. Just steady light.
The family exhaled.
They skated one last time as a full generation.
Harper and Theo hand in hand, Eleanor and Benjamin chasing pucks, Sophia spinning until she fell laughing.
The older ones joined—slow laps, careful steps, memories thick in the air.
Lily skated with Rowie—mother and daughter, both crying quietly.
Everett and Clara raced gently—siblings who’d once fought for the puck, now laughing like kids.
Rowie and Jordan skated close, whispering.
At center ice, they all gathered.
Harper spoke first, voice steady.
“This rink started with a bet. It held our first steps, our first goals, our hardest losses, our greatest wins. It watched Grandpa and Grandma build a family. It watched Mom win Cups. It watched us grow up.”
Tears fell.
“Now it’s ours to carry forward.”
Eleanor stepped up. “I’m going to flood it every winter. For them.”
Benjamin nodded. “And teach my kids.”
Sophia raised her hand. “Me too!”
Laughter through tears.
The family hugged—long, tight, generations tangled.
When the lights dimmed at midnight, they stood together on the ice.
No one wanted to leave.
But they knew.
The rink would wait.
The lights would wait.
The family would return.
Roots deep.
Wings wide.
Love eternal.
They skated off the ice one by one.
Harper last.
She touched the boards—old, weathered, full of stories.
Then she turned off the lights.
The yard went dark.
But the glow remained.
In their hearts.
In their memories.
In the family that would flood the rink next winter.
And the next.
And the next.
Forever.