After a career-ending fight, ex-professional-hockey-player-turned-Zamboni-driver Chase Cassidy has never looked back at the sport. He's perfectly content cleaning the ice between periods and chatting with fellow staff members, and running a pub outs...
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Chase
Keys in hand, Lennon bursts through the door. His head bobs from one side to the other before he sees me, Kayce, and Spencer loitering around the bar. When I glance at my watch, I conclude he was speeding. Getting here in twenty minutes flat is rare unless you're going at least thirty over the speed limit. But I don't question his speed. His concern for Spencer is understandable.
Lennon jogs over, his shoes squeaking against the floor, and stops behind Spencer. He rests his hands on her shoulders and squeezes. "Spence. Hey. How's it going?"
She's hunched over the half-eaten burger. Tipping her head back, she smiles at her brother and reaches up to pinch his cheek. Spencer's movements are slow, as if she's wading through molasses. "Lennon! What are you doing here? It's so good to see you. Did you know their burgers are fantastic here?"
His gaze flicks over to me, and he raises his eyebrows.
I shrug. These past twenty minutes with Spencer have been interesting. Aside from getting some food and water into her system, which proved to be strenuous, she's been talking our ears off. As soon as Kayce rustled up the food, Spencer fell into a drunk tangent based on deciding what she wants on her fries: ketchup or salt and vinegar. Kayce suggested she mix all three ingredients, which earned him a firm lesson in fry toppings. Which also resulted in an amusing conversation—apparently Kayce is a heathen—but I'm glad Spencer has calmed down and is looking less green. I'm hoping the food mops up some of the alcohol running through her system.
"I knew," Lennon replies. "Been here several times for dinner. Chase runs the best pub in town."
Her mouth drops open, and she returns to a sitting position. She slams her palms against the table, just missing her tall glass of water. Kayce, who's finishing drying the last of the dishes, inches the glass to the right, away from Spencer. I mouth him a silent thank you. He shrugs and returns to his job.
"You own the pub? What the fuck, Chase? I thought you just worked here as a bartender!" Her watery gaze focuses on the mass amount of alcohol behind me. There's a cute crease between her dark eyebrows. "You should make me another drink. You make good gin and tonics."
Lennon squeezes her shoulders again. "You don't need another drink, Spence." He gestures between the four of us. "We all have to work tomorrow. I think it's best we head home. Chase and Kayce probably want to get home, too. It's past closing time. You're making them stay here longer than need be."
Seeing Lennon be the responsible one isn't a surprise. His teammates tell stories all the time. Lennon is always cleaning up the mess, be it driving drunken teammates home or leaving extra tips for room service at the hotel. He does whatever he can to make up for other people's reckless behaviour. I applaud his level of maturity; he understands how important the connection between reputation and career is.
Right now, however, his maturity is slipping. Watching Lennon try to battle his sister's stubborn attitude, which the alcohol seems to emphasize, is comical. With every second that passes, you can tell he's becoming more and more frustrated. He continues to gnaw on the inside of his cheek, and whenever Spencer speaks, he loosens a exasperated sigh.
