Page 91 of Between the Blue
“Yes,” I breathe. “You definitely will.”
It’s only time for warm-ups, and I already have my game-face on.
If I was determined before, I’m downright hell-bent now on being the best social media intern the NHL has ever seen.
I’m so in the zone taking photos of warm-ups on the bench that it takes a player from the Anaheim team we are playing tonight skating back and forth in front of me about five times before I realize he’s trying to catch my attention.
He waves his hockey stick right in the line of sight of my lens, making me drop my camera. The player raises his chin at me ina way of saying hello. I quickly glance over my shoulder, making sure there’s no one behind me, then point at myself, questioning him if it’s me he’s talking to.
He lets out a chuckle, nodding. I tilt my head, raising my hand awkwardly to wave back, but then someone calls his name, letting him know he’s next up for whatever drill his team is running.
He turns away, taking off towards the net at lightning speed. I just catch his name on the back of his jersey before he lets off a shot that rockets into the net right over his goalie’s left shoulder.
Zanders.
My camera makes a beeping sound suddenly, and I look down to see that the battery symbol is flashing on the screen. I reach into my bag, pulling out a replacement battery. I just get it in place when a close voice startles me.
“Hey there.”
My gaze shoots up, finding Zanders standing right in front of me. My head pulls back in complete surprise at the sight of this opposing player in front of our bench. “Um, hi?” I say hesitantly.
“I don’t remember you from last season,” Zanders says, a devilish grin on his face.
“I’m new,” I shrug.
“Well, I’m–”
I never hear what he says, because it’s completely drowned out by the ear-splitting sound of a puck ricocheting off the glass just one foot to the right of where the bench is, and mere inches from where Zanders is standing.
I clutch my chest, stumbling back a step while Zanders just barely flinches. Both of our gazes turn towards the ice. There’s no telling where that puck could have come from, I think to myself at first, considering everyone is warming up and there are pucks flying everywhere.
But then I see him, and it couldn’t be more obvious.
While everyone else skates around, Ben stands stark straight across the ice, his hockey stick gripped tightly in both of his hands and his dark gaze locked right on Zanders.
My mouth falls open, and I find myself glancing back at Zanders. I see the grin on his face only widen as he locks eyes with Ben.
I begin to question what the hell just happened, but then the buzzer blares, letting the players know warm-ups are over.
Each team immediately begins to file out towards their respective locker rooms to wait for the start of the game.
I move over to the tunnel entrance, taking photos as the players come off the ice. I feel my shoulders tense as Ben approaches, but, as to be expected, he storms right past me, not even sparing a glance in my direction, his jaw tight and gaze hard as he follows his team into the locker room.
I run a hand through my hair, shaking it off and telling myself that it was all in my brain.
But then, fifteen minutes later, the players are back on the ice. And it just so happens that Ben and Zanders are the two players facing off for the puck drop.
I raise my camera to take some shots, zooming in.
His mouth barely moves, but I know I see Zanders mutter something to Ben. I have no idea what it is, but I know Ben well enough to know that, whatever it was, it doesn’t make him happy. His jaw shifts to the side, his shoulders going rigid.
It feels like time is going in slow motion as I wait for the referee to get situated and drop the puck.
In those seconds, Zanders has time to share another comment with Ben. Only, this time, his head turns as he says it. And his eyes land straight on me.
I have to pull my camera away from my face, questioning if I’m going crazy.
But then the puck drops.
