“How much is bail set for?” Jamie asks without hesitation and not even a hint of sleep in his voice. Fucker. “I’ll get Jordie to do a transfer. Whatever it is, we’ll get you out.” Tyler thinks it’s commendable that he doesn’t cut the call then and there. Then again, once word gets out that Sidney Crosby is possibly broken, Jamie and Jordie are the last chance he has of actually making it back across the Atlantic alive. Or alternatively, Tyler Seguin Worries That He Broke Sidney Crosby In Prague With Indelible Ink.

Sometimes, when a player is having relationship trouble of some kind, he wakes up in bed with a retired player who wore the same number. In theory, the retired player gives some advice.

Jack feels the metal bite into his wrist. There’s more resistance than there should be, and with a growing sense of horror, Jack looks down to see that Saader has locked him into one of the cuffs belonging to a pair of hot pink, fuzzy handcuffs. The other is around the wrist of fucking Connor McDavid.