Edmonton, Canada

Western Conference, Sutton Place

So remember how I didn't know I was being watched at the game? Well...as I'm walking the halls of the hotel, trying to find out where Brock Boeser has gone, I halt mid-step to a familiar ice cold voice.

"Well, well, well, Canuckling...you're out, wandering the halls of the hotel alone again. Congrats on moving on. I was watching you closely at the game. Too bad it won't last for y'all though." The curly headed Calgary Flame steps closer toward me.

Is he gay for me? No...I can't move though. My face twitches with worry and the only thing I can do is snap my head to both sides, hoping for someone to come and rescue me. Please...

After seeing no one around, I turn back and muster a little bit of strength. "I-I'm not scared of you, Tkachuk!" I manage to squeak out. It's pitiful sounding, but I can't help it with my heart pounding rapidly inside of my chest.

"Is that so? Your face says differently." He stamps his foot right in front of mine and I jump out of my skin with a soft 'eep'. "Where's your friends, Canuckling? They get knocked out or abandon you?"

I shake my head and bite my lip.

"It's a shame, but I can understand..." He begins to round me like a predatory shark. "I wouldn't wanna be babysitting either."

"I do NOT need babysitting! I can fend for myself!" I muster enough energy and bravery inside of me to launch out and shove him backward.

That was a bad idea.

He chuckles and it's the kind of evil chuckle villains make before the victim is backed into a corner and attacked in movies. I have to force myself to move.

But before I can, I see something black fly over my head and come down, trapping me inside of it. I scream, but it's muffled as then I feel a dozen pairs of hands on me. Someone is wrenching them before me and another is tying something rough and scratchy around my wrists.

Then they are all dragging me somewhere.

"Where are we putting him, Chucks?" someone growls out. It sounds like the voice of Sam Bennett.

"Just shove him in the Janitor's closet," the response comes as a sharp command.

"Shouldn't we tape his mouth or something?" another voice that sounds like it belongs to Milan Lucic snarls out.

"Nah," a third snickers. "It'd be nice to prolong the find of him, but we're not trying to kill him." This one belongs to Zac Rinaldo.

I struggle, working the binds around my wrists and tossing my head, trying to get the black bag thing off. But I am soon thrown into the closet.

They snicker as they close the door and lock it shut.

I scream and kick at the ground.

That's when I pause as I hear a familiar, "Flames! What are you doing about the lobby?"

It's Millsy! And he's got Brock and Quinn with him!

"Millsy! Millsy, help!!" I try to shout out, managing to toss the bag off of my head finally.

He can't hear me, apparently. But I can hear him...great.

Tkachuk's sneering voice sarcastically remarks, "Why, JT Miller, we're just looking around for shenanigans of course."

I can see through a one way square glass-fixture on the bottom of the door that Tkachuk is pacing back and forth with a hand up. His index finger is tapping his chin. His minions, Sam Bennett, Zac Rinaldo and Milan Lucic stand before the closet door.

"You wouldn't happen to know where Petey is, would you troublemaking Calgary idiots?" Millsy demands, his face stern and serious. A tint of concern is there as well.

"Not at all. We were looking for him ourselves."

"I told you to LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Millsy growls.

"Touchy, touchy. We'll go find and pick on Blackhawks instead then," Tkachuk says, throwing his hands out before him.

"Yeah, we can dump that Dach kid into the dumpster!" Lucic suggests, rubbing his hands together.

"Oooh," Bennett echoes.

"It's a plan then, boys. Come on, we'll let the Canucks look for their lost Canuckling child in peace." With that, Tkachuk signals the other three to follow him and they walk away from the closet.

Millsy remains behind with Brock and Quinn. They watch the Flames leave and then Millsy looks at the closet for a moment, before he shakes his head. "Come on, let's find him before those assholes actually manage to!"

"Petey!!" I hear Brock shout out as they walk away in the opposite direction.

I scramble to my feet (as best as one can with bound hands) and lunge at the door. I begin to bang at the door, hoping that someone outside might at least hear that. And I shout at the top of my lungs, "HELP! SOMEONE! ANYONE!!"

As I'm about to give up, the door unlocks and opens. I step back and tense up, thinking the Flames jerks are back.

But instead, I'm looking into the concerned faces of Alex DeBrincat, Clayton Keller, Barrett Hayton, Alex Nylander and Dylan Strome.

"Told you I heard banging, guys," Stromer grunts out with a roll of his eyes.

"Whoa! You okay, Petey?" Brinksy questions.

I walk out and Clayton and Nylander help me out with my wrists. I nod, unable to find words. My heart is pounding and my mouth is dry.

"We were actually looking for Kirby, but Stromer swore he heard banging coming from over here," Nylander explains.

"Who did this to you?" Brinksy asks.

"Who else, Brinksy?" Stromer remarks with another roll of his eyes. "Clearly Tkachuk and his stupid Flame posse."

I nod at him.

Brinksy sighs. "Right...and they've probably gone after Kirby now...they love to pick on him or Kuby and I know Kuby is in the hotel room playing games with Olli. It's like rookie hazing, but worse..."

"C'mon," Clayton says. "Let's keep searching. You're welcome to join us, until we can find your friends, Petey." He has a warm smile on his face.

I feel a lot better and I join them. We walk in the direction the Flames went in and reach the front lobby doors.

That's when we're geeted by a, "Hey, can't we just talk this out...my friends will be here soon enough and I don't think you wanna deal with all of them."

"Shut up, Dach!" Lucic snaps.

We look outside the front, toward where the dumpsters sit to the side of the hotel. Tkachuk, Lucic, Bennett and Rinaldo have cornered Kirby and are closing in on him as he stands alone before one of the big blue dumpsters.

We keep back and duck behind a series of plants by the window. We peer over the tops of them to watch the scene and plan our attack. Even though we outnumber the Flames. We are talking about FOUR of the most ruthless NHLers to ever grace the ice.

We decide to keep back and wait.

Then Lucic, Bennett and Rinaldo grab Kirby and lift him up. He screams and kicks and flails to get free from their holds. But they toss him into the trash. And we can hear him hit the bags inside.

Being locked in the Janitor closet looks much better to me now.

The Flames all laugh and share highfives with one another and then turn to come back into the hotel, leaving Kirby in the dumpster.

They re-enter and walk around to the elevators. Good, they're leaving the lobby. We get up and race outside to help Kirby out.

"Kirby! Kirby!" Nylander shouts out.

"I'm okay!" he calls back. "Covered in garbage, but I'm okay! I hate Flames."

Join the club, I think to myself.

We all team up to help get Kirby out of the garbage can and then we return to the lobby to get him cleaned off. As soon as we step inside, Millsy, Brock and Quinn walk around the corner of one of the pillars in the lobby.

"Oh thank goodness you all found him!" Millsy gasps.

"Yeah, we found him locked in a closet with his wrists bound together," Brinksy says. "And then we found Kirby in the dumpster. Those stupid Flames need to stop terrorizing all of us! They don't run this hotel!"

"I agree," Millsy says, hugging me. "You okay?"

I nod at him and rest my head on his shoulder.

"I say we help the Stars out. Knock them out and get them away from us forever!" Stromer suggests, pounding a fist into his open palm.

"YEAH!" everyone, including me shouts out.