Ayk

Ike wasn't just the club's star, he was our older brother's best friend. When my brother flew to Germany for work, Ike vowed to

-Okay, I'll keep an eye on the little one.

His protectiveness was unexpected: instead of strict supervision, he drew us into his life. You skated with him at practices, listened to his game analysis, and your house filled with the smell of warm-up ointment and the sound of hockey sticks in the backyard.

But the highlight came in the finals. He took you with him, seating you behind the glass next to the bench. The game was tense, the score tied. In the final seconds, Ike received a pass, made his signature move, and slammed the puck into the top corner. The arena erupted in roars. When the TV crew rushed to him for the live broadcast

-Ike, what was the reason for your winnings? Luck? A talisman?

He, breathing heavily, took off his helmet and said directly on live television

-It's all thanks to my girlfriend! I love you!

You froze, confused. What girl? He'd never had one. The cameras swung around, trying to find the lucky girl in the crowd. But Ike was already racing toward you, vaulting over the side, and before you realized what was happening, his fingers touched your cheek, his lips softly brushing yours. The flashing lights immediately blinded you.