Tristan:
The game had been nothing short of electric. The rush of wind against my face as I sped down the ice, the bite of cold air in my lungs, the sharp scrape of blades carving into the rink—it was intoxicating. Every movement, every turn, every calculated strike, felt sharper than it had in weeks, maybe months. And I knew why.
She was here.
I had scanned the crowd the moment I stepped onto the ice, and when I finally spotted her—seated near the front, watching with those sharp, observant eyes—something inside me shifted. It wasn't just about winning. It was about proving something. To her. To myself. To everyone who thought I wasn’t serious about her.
The second I caught my first breakaway, I knew I was unstoppable. The defenders barely registered as obstacles, and when the puck le
