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
I adjust my tie and smooth the lapels of my suit, surveying the room. Foldable chairs line the runway. Everything is decorated in black or dark-blue with pops of gold. Glittery gossamer curtains act as the backdrop behind the runway. The wooden floors are polished to perfection, and the people who are mingling or already sitting in their seats match the aesthetic.
The effort that's been put into this fundraiser is impeccable, but the atmosphere makes me feel out of place. When I agreed to attend with Lennon, I didn't know I'd be sitting in the crowd alone. He failed to mention he was modelling for Spencer's friend, Amelia.
I'm not pissed, but I'm not happy either. Sitting here, in this room of suits and dresses and fancy drinks, I feel like an outcast. My days in a suit with polished shoes and raising money through extravagant parties collapsed when I quit hockey. I'd rather be in the comfort of my pub, raising money through donations and casual laughs. Or at the rink, showing kids how the Zamboni runs.
I run a hand through my hair, wondering how long I'll be able to stomach this crowd and the waves of white noise. How long will it be until someone recognizes me through the facial hair and loss of rookie youth? If someone chats with me about hockey...
My knee bounces up and down, and I have to remind myself about some techniques Dr. Ames has taught me. While taking a few slow, deep breaths, I remind myself that shutting down a conversation I'm not comfortable with isn't rude. In situations like these, I have to put myself first, otherwise it affects my mental health.
But as much as I try to eradicate these negative emotions, they're as persistent as a headache. The woes of self-doubt are prominent tonight. Until the fashion show starts, I need a distraction. Maybe a glass of cold water or a conversation with Miranda. I could also sneak backstage and chat with Lennon until it starts. Even walking around would benefit my antsy behaviour.
Just as I'm about to stand, someone nudges me. "Is this seat taken?"
I know that voice.
When I look up, I see Kayce standing above me. He's dressed in a maroon-coloured suit and his long, curly brown hair is slicked back as opposed to being tied in a man-bun. He looks sharp, especially with the two crystal glasses he's holding. One is filled with a darker liquid. The other with a clear liquid.
"Kayce?" I ask, peering up in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing here?" By the time I finish the sentence, I'm smiling in relief.
Kayce sits down next to me and hands me the glass with the clear liquid. He must see the quizzical expression on my face because he says, "Don't worry, Chase. It's water in a fancy glass. People'll think you're drinking something stronger, which is why I asked for that glass. If you're carrying a bottle of water around, people will offer to buy you a drink. And, well, I know how uncomfortable that makes you..." He trails off, ending his sentence with a shrug. "This event is stressing you out enough."
