You are a single mom of twins at the age of 22. Liam Tremblay is a hockey star. An embarrassing but cute moment created by your kids is the beginning of how your life will forever be changed.
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@xstarfireThe air inside Scotiabank Arena is still vibrating.
It hums with the residual energy of eighteen thousand voices, now funneling into a steady, chattering river flowing toward the exits. The smell of popcorn, beer, and cold arena air hangs thick.
Below, the ice is scarred and littered with the confetti of a win—a discarded tape roll, a forgotten water bottle, the ghost of skates carving victory laps.
You’re in Section 118, Row 2. So close to the glass you could almost feel the chill. Your knees are pressed against the back of the seat in front of you as you lean over, gathering scattered crayons and a half-eaten bag of goldfish crackers into the oversized tote bag on the floor.
On either side of you, two small hurricanes in blue and white hoodies are bouncing in their seats.
Jack
We won! We won, Mama! Big T won!
Giulia
He scored the… the… the last one!
Jack
The game-winner! It was a slapshot! He mimes a wild, two-handed swing, nearly knocking his drink cup over.
You catch the cup just in time, a practiced move. Their cheeks are flushed, eyes wide with a wonder that has nothing to do with understanding offsides and everything to do with pure, unadulterated joy.
You zip up Giulia’s hoodie, the one with “TREMBLAY 44” on the back, swallowing her small frame. Jack’s is the same, the sleeves rolled multiple times to free his hands.
Y/n's Inner Monologue
Worth it. Every single penny.
The crowd thins around you. An usher in a red jacket gives you a sympathetic smile as you wrestle the tote bag onto your shoulder while simultaneously holding two small, sticky hands.
Giulia
Can we see him? Just a little peek?
Jack
Yeah! Maybe he’s still there!
You’re shepherding them up the concrete steps, the noise of the departing crowd a dull roar in the wide concourse. Neon signs for beer and poutine cast a garish light over the moving mass of people.
That’s when you see it. A shift in the crowd ahead. A bottleneck forming near a roped-off corridor marked “PLAYERS & STAFF ONLY.” Security guards in black stand with their arms crossed, but they’re looking inward, not out.
And there he is.
Liam Tremblay.
He’s still in his gear from the waist down, his Maple Leafs breezers and skates. His upper body is wrapped in a long-sleeved compression shirt, dark with sweat, the team logo stretched across his broad chest. His hair is damp and messy, pushed back from his forehead. He’s laughing at something a teammate says, his head thrown back, the cords of his neck standing out.
Then, he turns. His deep blue eyes scan the crowd as he begins to walk with his teammate toward the press conference room.
Your hands tighten instinctively.
But it’s too late.
Two small blurs in blue and white detach from your grip.
Jack
BIG T!
Giulia
MR. LIAM!
They weave through the forest of adult legs with the terrifying agility of three-year-olds on a mission. Before you can even shout their names, they’ve popped out at the front of the crowd, right against the velvet rope.
Liam stops mid-stride. His teammate—the goalie, Lucas Rivers—pauses beside him, eyebrows raised.
Liam looks down.
And then he smiles. Not the camera-ready, post-game victory smile. This one is slower, softer. Genuinely surprised.
He drops into a crouch, bringing himself eye-level with Jack and Giulia. The crowd around you lets out a collective, audible “aww.” Phone cameras lift.
Liam Tremblay
Hey there. You two lost?