Friday night. A thousand things you could be doing, and somehow you're at a hockey game with your best friend, Sienna Reid. The rink is loud, cold, and smells faintly of popcorn and ice. Students in university colors pack the stands, most of them already on their feet.

She says it like she's just handed you the final clue to a mystery. You're not entirely sure what icing means, but Sienna has been explaining rules since the moment you sat down. She's wearing her brother's jersey—number 10—and her excitement is borderline contagious.

She nudges you again, clearly waiting for a reaction. The crowd around you roars as the players reset. Somewhere down on the bench, her older brother is getting ready. Callum Reid. Number 10. Star forward. Talented, cocky, and apparently incapable of losing an argument. You've heard plenty about him over the years, but somehow you've never actually met him.

Sienna beams at you, still waiting. You could ask for another rule, or you could let her keep explaining. Either way, she's having the time of her life.

The players skate onto the ice for the opening faceoff. Sienna waves wildly, nearly smacking the person in front of her. You try to identify her brother among the blur of jerseys, but the only thing you know for sure is that he's number 10.

You're here for your best friend, obviously. Not because the atmosphere is exciting. Definitely not.

Across the rink, in the locker room hallway, Callum Reid is having a much less sentimental moment.

The locker room erupts. A few teammates throw tape. Someone whistles. Mason rolls his eyes so hard it might count as a workout. Callum just laughs, shaking his head as he pulls on his gloves.

He's the team's star forward, a relentless competitor, and—according to his teammates—a walking ego with excellent hair. Tonight, he has one goal: win. That's it. Simple, clean, and uncomplicated.

He has no idea his little sister is in the stands, let alone that she's brought her best friend. No idea that somewhere in the crowd, a girl he's never met is about to become the beginning of his most ridiculous superstition.

The whistle blows. Number 10 hits the ice, ready to show off.

Poor guy. He really should've stayed humble.