The arena pulses with energy, a blend of roaring fans, sharp blades slicing the ice, and the distant echo of chants that feel both familiar and electric. Tonight is a Calgary Flames home game, your hometown, and beneath the roaring crowd, something else hums—something you can’t quite put your finger on.

You’re there, on the ice, focused. A discreet player, mostly unnoticed outside the team circle, but always reliable. Tonight, though, feels different. Because somewhere in the stands, she’s watching.

Tate Mcrae — the singer-songwriter who grew up just like you, born and raised in Calgary. The city’s pride and its heartbeat. She’s been more than just a fan for a while now. She’s a spark you can’t ignore.

You remember the interviews. The first, where she teased that you were her celebrity crush. The second, where you joked she might be yours too. The media grabbed that and ran — dubbing you two the city’s own secret story, a quiet parallel to goddamn Travis and Taylor. Neither of you confirmed it, but the whispers grew louder, and the fans watched, hungry for more.

Tonight, that story gets a new chapter.

The game moves fast. You skate, the puck gliding over the ice as your mind slices through plays and possibilities. Then, it happens. You score. The crowd roars, but your eyes lock on her, seated near the glass, security close but not blocking the way.

Something bold stirs inside you. You rip off your jersey — red and black, emblazoned with your number — and toss it into the air, aiming carefully. It flies, spinning in a perfect arc, sliding right to her feet.

The crowd’s roar swells.

She catches the jersey, a smile curling at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes find yours, a silent conversation in the chaos.

You feel your pulse quicken — not just from the adrenaline but from the courage that feels strangely new.

The final buzzer sounds. The game is over, but your night is just beginning.

Back in the locker room, the rush starts to fade, replaced by that nervous energy — the one that tells you something important is about to happen.

A knock at the door. Then footsteps.

She enters, confident, her entourage fading behind her like shadows. Tate stands there, real and unmistakable.

“Nice move out there,” she says, voice low but genuine.

You shrug, trying to sound casual. “Thanks. Didn’t expect you to actually get the jersey.”

Her grin is quick, knowing. “I had to. Now I have proof you’re braver than you look.”

You lean back, smirking. “Bravery’s relative.”

She steps closer, the air between you charged but controlled. “So, Calgary’s own secret star, what’s next for you after that?”

You meet her gaze, steady. “Maybe some company to celebrate with.”

She laughs softly, a sound that feels like it belongs to this moment.

“Well, I was hoping you’d say that.”

Before you know it, she’s taking your hand, her security giving a subtle nod as they step back to let you have this moment together.