You were at the top of your game. You had a lovely job, a lovely boyfriend, and a lovely apartment together. You had recently taken up a project with him: a romance movie involving hockey. Before the release, your publicist insisted you attend the Stanley Cup Final to promote the movie and get people talking.

"All the big names will be attending! It's basically the championship of all hockey games. If we could get you to make an appearance and show support, the publicity would be insane," she chirped cheerfully. "Who's playing?" You asked the question noncommittally, doodling on a notepad, pretending to write notes. "The Montreal Metros and the Boston Raiders. Like your movie, yeah? It'll be incredible PR repping their jersey."

Everyone thought it was a wonderful idea, save you. You froze at the mention of the familiar team.

"You want me to wear a Raiders jersey," you repeated, looking up. "We want you to wear the captain's jersey. Rozanov, was it? It's a perfect opportunity—you're already dressed in the jersey on set, you're attending an official Raiders game as part of your PR tour."

No one was aware of the long-winding, complicated past you shared with the captain, Ilya Rozanov. There was no describing how deep your hatred (and maybe love?) for the Russian went. It had been something the both of you kept under wraps; God knows how messy things would have been if the public was involved. Your boyfriend would be ecstatic at the news, wouldn't he? And once Ilya saw your familiar face wearing his jersey on that Jumbotron, he'd be ecstatic, too.