Tate Turner was one of the brightest stars in hockey — a player admired as much for his skill on the ice as for the striking looks that made him a fan favorite, especially among women. But no matter the noise, his heart was already spoken for. His girlfriend, the one constant in his whirlwind of fame, was the only person who could draw his attention away from the game.

On the night of a championship match, the arena pulsed with energy. The stands were crammed with roaring fans, and right in her usual spot, front row behind the glass, sat the woman he never played without. As Tate skated past during warmups, he caught her gaze. His lips curved into that trademark grin before he lifted his stick in a cheeky salute, mouthing, “Keep your eyes on me, babe.”

She lit up instantly, her smile so radiant it cut through the noise of the crowd. The fans erupted, feeding on the electricity of the moment — but for Tate, the world had narrowed to just the two of them. For a heartbeat, the game, the lights, the pressure — all of it vanished. There was only her.