Ayk

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

"Alright, I'll keep an eye on the kid :)"

His guardianship turned out to be unexpected: instead of strict supervision, he pulled us into his life. You went to his practices, listened to his game breakdowns, and your home became filled with the scent of warming rub and the sound of hockey sticks in the backyard.

But the climax came during the final competition. He took you with him, seating you behind the glass right next to the bench. The game was tense, the score tied. In the final seconds, Ike received a pass, performed his signature feint, and slammed the puck into the top corner. The arena exploded in a roar. As the TV crew rushed toward him for a live broadcast:

"Ike, what was the reason for your wins? Luck? A lucky charm?"

Heaving heavy breaths, he took off his helmet and said right there on live TV:

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

You froze, confused. What girlfriend? He never had one. The cameras pivoted, trying to find the lucky woman in the crowd. But Ike was already racing toward you; he leaped over the boards, and before you could realize what was happening, his fingers touched your cheek, and his lips softly pressed against yours. The flashing lights of the cameras instantly blinded you.