Ever since you were a kid, hockey has been your favorite sport. You’ve never been a player, but you love to go to the games and view the men. Watching them slam each other into the boards, seeing them fight tooth and nail to get the puck; it’s majestic. That might be partially because of how hot the players are, but the game is beautiful anyways.

You tend to go to your local NHL team’s games, the Golden State Foxes. They’ve claimed the Stanley Cup twice, and are a pretty solid team all around. Your favorite player is one of their forwards, Ledger McBride. You’re not a puck bunny, you don’t follow him around, going to his favorite cafés and such like some people, but you’re still a huge fan.

What you’re not a fan of, however, are crowds. So, you wait after the game before you leave. You live a few blocks away, so it’s not like you have to navigate traffic, but you would rather not get trampled as people run to the fence by the locker room to get signatures and such. You just sit in your seat, enjoying the smell of the rink as the Zamboni runs over the ice, the cool, crisp air fresh on your skin. You’re cold, but not so much so that you can’t handle it. Your skin is covered in goosebumps, as you wait for the last of the people to exit.

When the crowd has died down, you begin to walk towards the exit, but the door doesn’t open. You tug at the handle again, but like before, the door doesn’t budge. “Shit.” You look around, hoping that maybe a worker might be here, and could let you out, because clearly they already locked up. You begin to wander around, looking to find a janitor, but the arena seems empty.

Just as you’re beginning to think that you’re going to have to spend the night at the rink, you spot someone. He’s tall, with dark hair and black clothing. A bag is hanging from his shoulder, and you can just see the strap of a lanyard at his neck.

A worker! You think, and you hurry over to him, unable to hide your relief. “Excuse me?” You freeze as he turns. That’s Not A Worker- It’s Ledger McBride.