Your son had grown up in Scotiabank Arena.

At four years old, Elliot Marner knew which hallway led toward the Maple Leafs’ family room, which elevator took him closest to the players’ parking lot, and exactly which security guards would secretly slip him a small packet of gummy bears whenever you weren’t looking.

He knew where he was allowed to wait after games, he knew which doors he wasn’t supposed to open and most importantly, almost everyone in the building knew him.

They knew the little boy with Mitch’s eyes and your stubborn expression. They knew he was quick, curious, and had inherited his father’s unfortunate habit of becoming distracted whenever something interesting caught his attention.

Toronto had always felt safe because it had always felt like home, Vegas didn’t—not yet.

The facility was beautiful, bright, and impossibly large, but everything still felt unfamiliar. The hallways looked the same to you, the family areas were in different places, and the security guards had only seen you and Elliot a handful of times.

It was one of Mitch’s first home games with Vegas, and you were still learning how everything worked, so was Elliot “Mommy, look!”

You turned toward the ice as Elliot pointed excitedly through the glass, Mitch was skating past during warmups, his head lifting almost instinctively toward the section where he knew you were sitting.

The second he spotted Elliot pressed against the glass, his face broke into a grin. Mitch lifted his glove and tapped it against the glass.

Elliot copied him with his tiny hand “That’s Daddy!” he announced proudly, loud enough for several people nearby to hear.

“I know, baby.”

“Daddy saw me.”

“He always finds you.”

That had been true Elliot’s entire life, no matter how crowded the arena was, no matter how many people were surrounding Mitch, he always managed to find the two of you.

You wished you could have held onto that certainty a few hours later.

The game had ended with a Vegas win, leaving the hallways buzzing with excitement. Families, staff members, and arena employees moved in every direction while you waited near the family room for Mitch to finish his postgame responsibilities.

Elliot had been standing beside you, holding two fingers against the sleeve of your sweater. He was tired but determined to stay awake until Mitch appeared, “Can Daddy take me home?” he asked.

“We’re all going home together.”

“In Daddy’s car?”

“Yes.”

“And I sit behind Daddy?”

“You always sit behind Daddy.”

Elliot smiled sleepily.

One of the other women beside you asked something about the upcoming road trip. You turned toward her for only a moment, answering while still believing Elliot’s fingers were curled around your sleeve.

Then someone walked between you. You shifted slightly to avoid them, when you looked down again, Elliot was gone.

At first, you didn’t panic, not immediately. You assumed he had moved toward the row of chairs against the wall or followed one of the other children into the family room “Elliot?”

You stepped around the small group of people, searching beneath coats and around bags, nothing “Elliot, sweetheart?”

You checked the family room, he wasn’t inside.

You looked toward the bathrooms, expecting to see his blond head appear from around the corner. Nothing.

The strange hallways suddenly seemed much larger than they had ten seconds earlier “Have you seen Elliot?” you asked the woman you had been speaking with.

Her expression changed immediately “No. He was right beside you.”

“I know.”

Your heart began beating harder. You walked quickly toward the nearest doorway, checking both directions “Elliot!”

People turned at the sound of your voice, but your son didn’t answer, a staff member approached you. “Is everything okay?”

“My son was right here.” Your voice shook despite your attempt to control it. “He was holding onto me and now he’s—he’s gone.”

“How old is he?”

“Four.”

The staff member immediately reached for the radio attached to their belt.

You forced yourself to breathe “He might have followed one of the other children,” you said, although you weren’t sure whether you were reassuring them or yourself. “He knows arenas. He’s been around them his entire life.”

But he didn’t know this arena, that thought made your stomach twist violently.

At Scotiabank Arena, Elliot would have known exactly where to go if he became separated from you. He would have recognized dozens of employees, and dozens of employees would have recognized him.

Here, he was simply another little boy in a crowded building.

A security guard arrived less than a minute later, but it felt like an hour “Ma’am, I need you to describe him.”

You stared at him “What?”

“Your son. I need his name and a full description so we can alert everyone in the building.”

His name, his description. You knew every part of your child better than you knew yourself, but suddenly the words became trapped behind the panic tightening your throat “Elliot,” you managed. “Elliot Marner.”

“How old?”

“Four. He turned four in September.”

“What is he wearing?”

You closed your eyes for half a second, picturing him standing against the glass during warmups “A black Vegas jersey. Number ninety-three. Marner on the back.”

“Pants?”

“Black jeans. White sneakers with red on the sides.” Your breathing became uneven. “He has a small friendship bracelet on his left wrist. It’s blue and white. One of his cousins made it for him before we moved.”

The guard nodded, listening carefully “Hair and eyes?”

“Light brown hair, but it looks blond under the arena lights. It’s a little long around his ears because Mitch keeps saying he’ll take him for a haircut and then forgets.” A broken sound escaped you. “Brown eyes. He has brown eyes.”

“Approximately how tall?”

You showed him with your hand, unable to give an exact measurement “He’s small for four. He has a little scar beneath his chin from falling off his scooter last summer.”

The guard spoke into his radio, his voice firm and controlled “All units, we have a missing child. We are looking for Elliot Marner, four years old, son of Vegas player Mitch Marner. Male child, approximately three and a half feet tall, light-brown hair, brown eyes. Wearing a black number ninety-three Marner jersey, black jeans, and white sneakers with red detailing. Small scar beneath his chin and a blue-and-white bracelet on his left wrist. Last seen outside the family room. Secure all public exits and report immediately if located.”

Hearing the announcement made the situation real in a way nothing else had. Your baby was missing.

Somewhere inside an arena he didn’t know, you pressed a hand against your mouth as tears filled your eyes “Please find him.”

“We will,” the guard promised. “The exits are being covered. He cannot leave the building without being seen.”

“What if somebody took him?” The words slipped out before you could stop them. The guard’s expression remained calm. “We have cameras throughout the facility. Our team is reviewing them now.”

You nodded, but you barely heard him. Your mind filled with every terrible possibility a parent was never supposed to imagine.

Was Elliot crying? Was he calling for you? Had he wandered toward the stands? Had he followed someone through a restricted door? Had someone seen the name on his jersey and recognized exactly who his father was?

“I need Mitch,” you whispered.

Another staff member immediately turned away, speaking into their phone “He’s still doing media. We’ll get someone to him.”

“No.” You grabbed their arm before realizing what you were doing. “Don’t call him unless—”

Unless what? Unless Elliot had been gone longer? Unless they couldn’t find him? Unless something awful had happened?

You released the staff member and shook your head “Tell him.”

Mitch was answering a question about the power play when a member of the communications staff appeared at the edge of the media crowd. One look at their face made him stop speaking “What happened?”

The reporters went silent, the staff member stepped closer and lowered their voice, but Mitch heard only fragments.

Your name. Elliot. Missing. Arena security.

Mitch didn’t remember removing the microphone clipped to his jacket, he didn’t remember pushing through the doorway or running down the hallway still wearing half of his game-day clothes.

He only remembered the feeling of his blood turning cold.

He found you surrounded by security employees outside the family room. You looked smaller somehow, one hand pressed against your chest while tears streamed silently down your face.

Mitch reached you in seconds “Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

His face lost all remaining color “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“He was holding onto me.” Your voice cracked. “He was right beside me, Mitch. I turned around for a second and then he wasn’t there.”

Mitch’s hands landed on your arms “How long?”

“Maybe six minutes.”

Six minutes, it sounded insignificant, it felt endless “Did someone see him leave?”

“They’re checking the cameras.”

Mitch looked toward the nearest security guard. “Why aren’t we looking?”

“We have staff searching every section. The exits are secured.”

“I’m not standing here.”

“Mitch—”

“I’m not standing here while my son is missing.”

He turned, ready to run down the first hallway he saw, but the guard stopped him “We need you to stay close. If we locate him, this is where he’ll be brought.”

Mitch stared at him, chest heaving. For most of his life, arenas had been the place where he felt most in control. He knew the ice, the routine, the noise, and the pressure.

Now the building felt like a maze designed to keep him away from his child “He doesn’t know this place,” Mitch said, looking back at you. “He knows Toronto. He doesn’t know where anything is here.”

“I know.”

“He’ll be scared.”

“I know.” Your answer broke apart, the anger immediately disappeared from Mitch’s face. He pulled you against his chest, wrapping both arms around you as you clutched the back of his shirt “I’m sorry,” you sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I looked away for one second.”

“No.” Mitch held the back of your head. “Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself.”

“I should’ve kept him closer.”

“He was holding onto you.”

“I should’ve—”

“Stop.” His voice shook. “Please don’t do that to yourself. Not right now.”

You could feel how violently his heart was beating, Mitch rested his cheek against the top of your head, but his eyes continued moving toward every doorway

“Daddy!” The small voice echoed from somewhere down the hall.

Mitch froze, you pulled away from him so quickly you nearly stumbled. A security employee appeared around the corner holding Elliot’s hand.

Your son was crying, his face red and wet, but he was walking, he was safe “Elliot!”

He released the guard’s hand and ran, Mitch dropped to his knees just as Elliot reached him, catching the little boy so forcefully that the momentum nearly knocked them both backward “Daddy!”

“I’ve got you.” Mitch wrapped both arms around him. “I’ve got you, buddy.”

You fell to your knees beside them, pressing your hands against Elliot’s cheeks before touching his hair, his shoulders, and his arms, as though you needed to confirm every part of him was still there.

“Are you hurt?” you asked. “Did someone hurt you?”

Elliot shook his head, crying harder when he saw your tears “I couldn’t find you.”

“Oh, baby.” You pulled him toward you, but Mitch couldn’t release him completely. The three of you ended up tangled together on the arena floor. “We were looking everywhere.”

“I wanted Daddy.”

Mitch buried his face against Elliot’s neck “I’m here.”

“I saw Daddy go that way.”

The security employee crouched nearby, speaking gently. “He followed a group through the wrong door. One of our ushers found him near the service elevator. He remembered his full name and told us who his dad was.”

“I’m Mitch Marner’s boy,” Elliot mumbled against his father’s shoulder. A breath that was half laugh and half sob left Mitch “Yeah,” he whispered. “You’re my boy.”

The guard who had taken Elliot’s description approached, relief visible on his face.

“We’ll review how he made it through that doorway. I’m sorry this happened.”

“Thank you,” you said immediately. “Thank you for finding him.”

Mitch nodded, unable to speak for several seconds, Elliot tightened his arms around Mitch’s neck “Can we go home now?”

“Yes.” Mitch stood with Elliot still attached to him. “We’re going home.”

You reached for your son, intending to take him while Mitch collected the rest of his things, but Mitch shifted him higher against his chest “I’ve got him.”

“Mitch, you still need to—”

“Someone else can bring my stuff.” He wasn’t letting Elliot go, not tonight.

Elliot remained silent during most of the drive home.

He sat behind Mitch as promised, one small hand stretched forward between the front seats. Mitch drove with his right hand and held Elliot’s fingers with his left whenever traffic allowed.

You kept turning around to check him, each time, Elliot was exactly where he was supposed to be.

By the time you arrived home, he was half asleep, Mitch carried him inside, removed his sneakers, and changed him into pajamas without putting him down for longer than necessary.

Elliot clung to his shirt “You’re not going back to hockey?”

“Not tonight.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

You climbed into Elliot’s bed beside him while Mitch settled on the other side. The mattress was far too small for all three of you, but neither of you cared.

Elliot lay between you with his head on Mitch’s arm “I thought you knew the arena,” Mitch said softly.

“I know the other one.” Toronto, the arena that had always been home, Mitch’s expression tightened.

“I followed the jersey,” Elliot continued.

“What jersey?” you asked.

“A Daddy jersey. But it wasn’t Daddy.”

He had seen another fan wearing Mitch’s name and followed them, believing they were walking toward his father. Your eyes filled again, Mitch closed his own for a moment before kissing Elliot’s forehead “Next time, you stay with Mommy. Even if you see my jersey.”

“But I wanted you.”

“I know.” Mitch brushed the hair away from his son’s damp forehead. “But I’ll always come find you. You don’t have to come find me.”

Elliot considered that sleepily “Because you’re fast?”

“Because I’m your dad.” That answer seemed to satisfy him, within minutes, Elliot was asleep. You and Mitch remained still on either side of him, listening to his quiet breathing “I really did only look away for a second,” you whispered.

Mitch lifted his gaze toward you “I know.”

“I keep replaying it.”

“So do I.”

“I heard the guard say his name over the radio and—” Your voice broke. “They had to describe our child because nobody here knew who he was.”

Mitch reached across Elliot and took your hand “They’ll know him now.”

“That isn’t what I mean.”

“I know.” His thumb moved against your knuckles. “Toronto knew him before they knew us sometimes. He could walk into that building and everyone knew where he belonged.”

“And here he’s just another little boy.”

“Not for long.”

You looked down at Elliot, his fingers were still curled tightly around the fabric of Mitch’s shirt, even in his sleep “Do you regret coming here?” Mitch asked quietly.

Your eyes lifted sharply “No.”

“You can tell me if you do.”

“I don’t regret being here with you. I’m just scared because everything is different.”

Mitch nodded “I’m scared too.”

“You never say that.”

“I almost lost him tonight.” His voice cracked on the final word. “I think I’m allowed to be scared.”

You squeezed his hand “He was gone for less than ten minutes.”

“Longest ten minutes of my life.”

“Mine too.”

Mitch stared at Elliot for a long moment “Tomorrow, I’m talking to security. Every guard, every usher, every person working near the family areas is getting his picture.”

“Mitch—”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are.”

“He’s also wearing one of those child ID bracelets.”

“He’ll hate it.”

“He can hate it while safely attached to us.” Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped you, Mitch’s expression softened

“You’re going to become unbearable after this.”

“I was already unbearable.”

“That’s true.”

He leaned across Elliot carefully and kissed you, It wasn’t a passionate kiss or an attempt to make the fear disappear. It was only a quiet reminder that all three of you were together again.

When he pulled away, Mitch looked down at your sleeping son “He said he followed my jersey.”

“I know.”

“I hate that.”

“He thought it would lead him to you.”

Mitch swallowed hard “Next time, I’ll make sure it does.”

You shifted closer, resting your hand on Elliot’s small back. The Vegas house didn’t feel completely like home yet.

The arena certainly didn’t.

But squeezed together in a four-year-old’s bed, with Elliot safe between you and Mitch refusing to release his hand, you understood that home had never truly been a building.

It was this, Mitch’s fingers intertwined with yours. Your child breathing softly between you.