Page 67 of Between the Blue
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HER
I had to wonder if it was worth it.
While I was standing there, shivering, freezing cold, and soaked, glaring out at Ben after his subtle little stunt.
But all it took was one glance down at my camera sitting on the bench to know the answer.
Yes.
Photography is my greatest passion. And COBO is my greatest dream. Anything would be worth it if I got a step closer to making those two things my life. Even if it means putting up with Ben and whatever vendetta he has against me.
I’ve been to a couple of practices and have gotten in the groove of posting on the team’s social media account, but today is the first preseason game I’m working. And the last one before the regular season begins.
Even though I attended part of a game, being up in the crowd is an entirely different experience from being down here, just off the ice.
The energy is insane. I feel like I’m vibrating from it all, like every clap and cheer is being sent straight down to me like a funnel. I can only imagine how it could feel to be one of theplayers on the ice, knowing all of that noise is coming from dedicated fans that are counting on you.
The guys have just taken the ice for their warm up, so I’ve found a seat and am taking the opportunity to edit and post some of the content I got of them as they were getting ready for the game.
I tap my foot and chew at my bottom lip as I sort through the images I took, feeling nervous and jittery for some reason. As I finally finish picking the best photos from the first batch and open the folder to go to the next one, I notice a blur of motion in my peripheral vision.
I look to the side, noticing a girl about my age with icy blonde hair cut into a stylish bob and some of the chicest business attire I’ve ever seen making her way into the Storm’s bench area. She’s talking animatedly to Coach Barrett, and I figure she must be someone on the team’s corporate staff that I haven’t met yet.
But then, another movement catches my eye, and this one is much darker.
Ben appears out of nowhere, stopping just before the bench wall. He grabs a water bottle from a carrier on the bench, and I register his mouth moving. And then, right on cue, the blonde girl spins around, a big grin splitting her face. She takes a couple of steps over to where Ben stands, and I can’t stop my jaw from dropping when he leans right over the bench and pulls her into a hug.
What the hell?
I’m not sure I’ve seen Ben speak to anyone without being spoken to first, much less engage in physical contact with them. And I don’t know why, but my face instantly goes hot.
I watch as the two exchange a few more words, the girl laughing and waving her hands at him, looking absolutely effortlessly flawless.
I think I hate her.
What?
I don’t even know her.
I shake my head.
Get a grip, Addie.
I force my eyes back to my laptop screen, moving to the next photo in the folder.
It’s Ben.
I slam my laptop shut.
That’s enough of that for now.
An hour and a half later, the game is nearly half over and I still feel like my heart is racing a million miles an hour.
Photographing a live sport and having to post real-time social media updates could not be more different than photographing fashion and spending hours meticulously editing and curating editorials.
I feel like if I set my camera down for one second, I’ll miss something. We have contracted photographers and videographers here as well, but I still feel responsible for capturing everything I can. Rick told me he wanted me to own this, and I don’t take that lightly.
