The arena was packed.

Not that he’d expected it to be empty, but it was still busy in a way that Frank Langdon didn’t quite enjoy after a long day of the chaos in the Pitt.

This was a neater sort of chaos though, one that smelled like industrial floor cleaner and shoes and overpriced poutine, popcorn, and alcohol.

He wove his way through with ease borne from work ㅡ even though he’d traded scrubs for jeans and a t-shirt. He nodded to a couple of vaguely familiar faces, half-smile of social politeness as he walked.

He still wasn’t entirely sure why he was here. He could have been in his apartment, quietly arguing with Abby for another weekend with the kids. Trying to figure out how to get fully back into Robby’s good graces (if that was possible).

But he’d gotten the email a couple of days ago – no fanfare, no push. Just a link to a ticket already paid for – close enough to the ice that he tugged his jacket around him a little tighter as he settled into his seat.

Hockey, he knew, was equal parts theatrics and genuine skill – and he watched as the lights dimmed.