Cassidy Humphrey's POV:
I pushed through the heavy doors leading into the arena concourse. The cold air from the rink slowly faded, replaced by the familiar smell of fried food and coffee from the training center cafeteria.
I bypassed the exit leading to the off-campus pharmacy. I walked straight into the training center's athlete cafeteria.
The room was packed with players in half-gear and figure skaters in tracksuits.
My stomach cramped—not from the illness, but from hunger. In my past life, I had starved myself to fit the fragile image Boyce liked.
I stepped up to the hot food counter.
The server, wiping down the glass, looked up. "For Boyce? The usual protein bowl?"
I planted my hands on the metal rail. "No. For me. I'll have two."
The woman blinked, startled by my request.
"Two double cheeseburgers, two large fries, with extra gravy," I pointed at the heavy-duty menu meant for the defensemen. "And two Cokes."
I slapped my ID card on the scanner. It beeped, draining funds my father had provided—funds I used to waste on Boyce’s post-practice meals.
I grabbed the two loaded trays, the heat of the food warming my palms.
Every head in the cafeteria turned. Their eyes tracked the mountain of food, then darted to my face.
"See? She still went to get him food. A double portion, even," a girl in a figure skating jacket whispered.
"Pathetic," a guy in a hockey jersey muttered.
The words buzzed around me like flies, but for the first time, they didn't sting.
I ignored the "king's table" near the windows where Boyce's teammates usually held court. I walked to a quiet corner booth, set the trays down with a heavy thud, and slid into the seat.
Under the weight of a hundred stares, I picked up the burger.
I took a massive bite. The hot grease and rich meat flooded my mouth. I closed my eyes, chewing slowly, letting the sheer, grounding weight of the food anchor me to the living world.
I devoured the first tray, my movements precise but relentless.
I pulled the second tray closer. The whispers in the room escalated into an audible buzz.
Through the glass doors, I saw Boyce storming into the cafeteria, still in his under-gear, his face dark with impatience. He scanned the room, clearly expecting me to bring his meal over like I always did.
But when his eyes landed on me, he stopped. The empty wrappers, the second burger in my hand, and the gravy on my fries were not what he expected to see.
For years, I had been the person who followed his every request without hesitation. Seeing me sit there, ignoring him completely, seemed impossible for him to accept. The surprise on his face quickly turned into anger.
I met his furious gaze, dipped a fry into the gravy, and popped it into my mouth.
I finished the last drop of Coke, set the cup down, and let out a quiet, satisfied breath.
It was the most satisfying meal I had eaten in two lifetimes.
I stacked the greasy trays, stood up, and carried them to the trash bin. The entire cafeteria watched in silence as I threw everything away and walked out.
