Page 61 of Between the Blue
“Hey there,” a voice sounds from behind me, and I turn to find a man in a Texas Storm jacket with a roll of tape in one hand and a clipboard in the other.
“Oh, hi,” I reply, caught off guard.
“New photographer?” the man asks.
“Yes,” I nod, “and social media–”
“Equipment manager,” he says, motioning towards himself. “Nice to meet you. Hey, would you mind doing something for me?”
“Um, sure–”
Before I even have the words out, he’s shoving the roll of tape into my hands. “Please give this to R2 when he comes over here.And if you could please let Buck know that his new helmet came in if he stops by looking for me, that’d be great.”
R2? Buck?
“I–”
“Great, thanks so much,” the equipment manager says, giving me a tight smile before he turns on his heel and heads back towards the locker room.
“What?” I say aloud, but am quickly overshadowed by a much louder voice coming from the ice.
“Alright, boys. Good work, let’s take five and regroup,” the gray-haired man I recognize as Jim Barrett, the Storm’s head coach, shouts from center ice before skating over to where the assistant coaches are gathered on the other side of the rink.
I turn to dig into my camera bag for a replacement battery when I realize that my bag is sitting right next to several water bottle carriers. My mouth falls open as I realize that every player is about to head straight for me. I don’t even get a moment to decide where I should move to before the sound of several skates stopping on the ice a foot in front of me makes me snap my gaze forward.
Like a tidal wave, the players appear, some of them stopping at the wall and others launching themselves over it on either side of me. I feel practically frozen in place as I grip my camera in my hands.
I assume based on the sports I've watched on TV that it must not be an unusual occurrence for photographers to be in the players’ space, but the way they all just move around me makes me feel like I’ve gone invisible. I start to wonder if maybe I actually have when Ben appears right in front of me, grabbing the water bottle carrier closest to me from the bench and setting it on the wall between us, taking a bottle from it to drink from without a glance in my direction.
I press my lips together, giving my head a shake before getting back to my task of changing my camera battery when a player skids to a stop at Ben’s side. I look up, recognizing him as Ronan Richardson.
“Hey, James,” he says. “Where’d Sutty go?”
Sutty?
It takes me a few seconds before it clicks and I realize he must be talking about Rhett Sutton.
Ben shrugs. “I’m not his babysitter, R2.”
I have to refrain from scoffing. Maybe his short patience isn’t just reserved for me after all.
Wait.
“R2?” I end up saying out loud.
Ronan Richardson.
I get it now. R2 must be his nickname.
“Yeah?” Ronan asks, seeming to realize I’m there for the first time.
I grab the roll of tape from where I set it on the bench next to me, holding it out to him. “Here you go. The equipment manager said you needed this.”
At the same moment Ronan thanks me, grabbing the tape from my hand, the starting goalie, Luke Buckner, appears next to Ronan, reaching for a water bottle.
Buck, I instantly connect.
“Hey, Luke? I was told to let you know your new helmet came in,” I tell him.
