Page 20

WILLOW

I ’m not fully sure why I didn’t expect the crowd to be going wild at this game when I originally agreed to meet Isla Johnson here, but I quickly learned my lesson. After all, why would the crowd be quieter when it’s the last hockey game of the semester?

The bleachers are packed. People are on their feet already and the puck hasn’t even dropped yet.

Students in face paint scream across the rink and I hear chants that sound like, “Let’s Fucking Go, Red Wolves.

” I do a double take when I see someone waving a giant cardboard cutout of my brother’s head.

What the actual fuck?

But you know what? Hell yeah.

Funny how I’ve avoided anything hockey related for years, and now I’ve been to two hockey games in less than a month.

“Willow!" I somehow hear Isla's voice and finally spot her waving from the media section. I make my way toward her and only have to dodge one guy whose beer sloshes dangerously close to me.

"This is insane," I say as I slide in beside her. She's got some of her camera gear spread out and I make sure not to disturb her process. “I thought Senior Night was ridiculous.”

"This is nothing." Isla laughs, adjusting her camera lens. "Wait until playoffs. Dad told me it makes these regular season games look like a cakewalk." She checks her settings, then looks up at me. "Thanks for coming here to meet up."

"No problem," I say, though my body language probably screams otherwise. "I had nothing better to do anyway, and this will allow me to add a few finishing touches to the article."

That's a lie. I have plenty to do like packing for winter break, finishing two papers, avoiding thinking about Blaise. I will say that being this close to the action due to Isla’s position is pretty neat though.

"I'll make sure to get you some great shots of the seniors for the article, and I can share their official headshots," Isla says, lifting her camera to snap a test shot of the ice. "So, article's almost done then?"

"Yeah, just a few tweaks." I fiddle with my press badge, turning it over in my hands. "Got all the quotes I needed besides you and Coach Johnson."

“Dad’s probably going to just end up emailing you his. But I can give you one. I’m honored you asked since I’ve only been the team photographer for the last couple of months.”

Hearing that Coach Johnson would more than likely email me when I was told I would get a quote from him here is slightly annoying, but I understand how busy he is.

At least this wouldn’t be a complete waste.

“I wanted a different perspective. Most wouldn’t even think to interview the team photographer.

Which is weird because I figure you’ll probably know a whole bunch of things the guys don’t realize you know. Not that you’ll say anything negative."

Isla's smile grows. "Oh, I definitely see things they'd die if they knew I noticed. Including their little rituals and stuff, but I’ll keep those quiet. For the article, though...I guess I will say it’s fascinating to watch how they are very much different people, but move as a unit. Does that make sense?”

“I understand what you’re saying, but can you please elaborate?”

Isla lowers her camera and looks at me. “They're so different in real life from one another.

Knox is bad boy personified, Levi is the leader, Wilder is pure chaos, Asher is the backbone of the team, and Blaise is so precise that it hurts.

But when they hit the ice, it's like they share one brain.

They anticipate each other's movements before they happen. "

I nod, scribbling her words in my notebook. This is exactly the kind of insight I was looking for.

"There was this moment last game," she continues, adjusting her lens again as the teams begin skating onto the ice.

"Blaise didn't even look before making this ridiculous blind pass directly to Knox. Like he just knew exactly where Knox would be. That kind of connection is rare and I’ve photographed other sports games too.”

My pen pauses at Blaise's name, but I keep my face neutral. "That's good. Really good, actually."

"Thanks," Isla says, lifting her camera as the crowd roars for the starting lineup introductions. "I've been thinking about doing a photo essay on team dynamics for my final project next semester."

The announcer's voice flows through the speakers as she introduces the visiting team first. I use the moment to jot down a few more notes, trying to focus on the article and not on the way my stomach tightens when the announcer calls Blaise's name and number.

"Got any other insights for the article?" I ask Isla, dragging my attention back to my notebook.

She's about to answer when her phone buzzes. "Sorry, it's Bailey. I need to check this."

While Isla checks her message, I scan the rink, watching the players as they prepare for the game.

I do my best to look anywhere but at Blaise, and I have to admit I fail several times.

Their warmups are entertaining to say the least, and I’m slightly irritated when Isla’s voice directs my attention away from what is occurring in front of me.

"Shit," Isla mutters, looking up from her phone.

"What's wrong?"

"Bailey wants me to meet her near the media entrance after the game. Apparently there's someone she wants me to connect with about some content creators? I was hoping to just head back to my dorm and go to bed.”

“Why content creators?”

"Bailey's on some mission to boost our social media presence," Isla says, sounding less than thrilled. "We’ve been doing more on social media with short form content. It’s working, so they want to step it up a notch I guess."

"That makes sense," I say. Bailey is smart for pushing that angle. Sports content thrives on social media, especially hockey. "Is there anything I can help with?"

Isla shakes her head, already refocusing her camera as the players take their positions. "I'll handle it. Just another thing on my ever-growing to-do list."

The referee skates to center ice, puck in hand. Before I can stop myself, I’m leaning forward as the anticipation around what is about to go down increases. And just like that, the game begins.

I find myself tracking Knox and Blaise…the latter without meaning to.

I pull out my phone to take a few pictures of Knox for my family.

Mom and Abue would be proud that I showed up to a game without them trying to convince me to do so.

Plus it forces me to only watch my older brother instead of following number thirty-three.

For someone who's supposedly been avoiding hockey, I'm weirdly invested in this game within minutes. The crowd's energy is infectious, and I find myself holding my breath when Knox takes a shot that pings off the crossbar.

"Damn it!" I mutter, surprising myself with how much I care.

Isla laughs without looking away from her viewfinder. "Don't worry, they'll get one soon. They always start a little slow."

She's right. Five minutes later, Levi threads a perfect pass to Asher who buries it in the net. The crowd erupts, and I'm on my feet before I realize what I'm doing. Isla's camera clicks rapidly beside me, capturing the celebration.

"Told you," she says with a grin.

The first period flies by, and I find myself actually enjoying the game. When Blaise absolutely levels an opposing player who was charging toward our goal, I catch myself nodding before remembering I'm supposed to be indifferent.

"That's going to make a great shot," Isla says, reviewing something on her camera. "Look at this."

She tilts the screen toward me, showing a perfectly timed photo of Blaise mid-hit, his expression intense and focused. Something twists in my stomach.

"Nice," I manage to say before looking away quickly. The last thing I want is for her to pick up on…anything.

The second period brings more intensity and stress for me. Knox scores on a breakaway that has the crowd losing their minds, and even I can't help but yell. My brother's celebration is pure joy, and I swear seeing him this happy almost brings tears to my eyes.

Not that I would ever admit that to him.

"Your brother's having a hell of a game," Isla says, snapping away.

"Yeah, he is."

During a break in play, Isla sets her camera down and stretches her arms above her head. "So, any other questions for the article while we've got a minute?"

I grab my pen and notebook again to take notes."What's your favorite part of being the team photographer?" I ask. "Something that surprised you about the role?"

“I like capturing the quiet moments, actually. Everyone sees the goals, the big hits, the celebrations. But there's this...intimacy to the moments no one else notices. Like when a player's sitting alone, getting in the zone before a game.”

I scribble this down, nodding. "That's perfect."

"Oh, and another thing—" Isla starts, but the buzzer sounds, ending the intermission. She quickly lifts her camera again as the players skate back onto the ice. "I'll tell you after."

The third period is pure chaos. The opposing team scores twice in quick succession, tying the game and sucking all the energy from the crowd. I find myself gripping the edge of my seat.

"Come on," I whisper as Knox narrowly misses a shot.

With two minutes left, Blaise intercepts a pass at our blue line and immediately fires it up the ice to Levi. The crowd rises to their feet as Levi fakes out a defenseman and slides the puck to Asher, who slams it into the net.

The arena explodes. I'm jumping up and down, screaming with everyone else. Isla captures it all, her camera clicking furiously as the guys pile onto Asher along the boards.

"HOLY SHIT, ASHER! That's game!" she shouts over the noise. It's easy to see how proud she is of her boyfriend, let alone the whole team. Her hands fly to her cheeks as her eyes dart from me to the ice and back again. "Unless they do something stupid in the next minute."

They don't. When the final buzzer sounds, I'm genuinely disappointed the game is over. I watch as the players congratulate each other, tapping helmets and gloves.

"I should go get some shots of them heading to the locker room," Isla says, gathering her equipment. "Want to come? We can try to grab those quotes from Dad after, but I make no promises. And then I have to meet with the content creators Bailey mentioned."

"Sure," I say, surprising myself with how quickly I agree. "Lead the way."

Both Isla and I pack our things and then I follow her through the crowd, down a set of stairs, and into a corridor I've never seen before. The hallway is narrow, lined with concrete walls painted red and white with bright fluorescent lights.

Isla flashes her media badge at a security guard who nods us through. "They'll be coming off the ice any minute."

We position ourselves along the wall where the hallway widens slightly. Isla lifts her camera, ready to capture the players as they file past. "Here they come," Isla whispers, and sure enough, I hear the distinctive sound of skate guards clicking against the floor.

Asher comes through first, his expression breaking into a wide grin when he spots Isla. He makes his way toward us and leans down to press a quick kiss on her cheek. “Hey, sunshine. Get any good shots?”

"Only about three hundred of you looking like a hero," she replies.

Asher notices me standing awkwardly beside her. "Willow? Didn't expect to see you down here."

"Just getting some final quotes for the article. That final shot was incredible," I explain, hoping he doesn’t pick up on how nervous I actually am.

"It was nothing," Asher says with a self-deprecating laugh. "That pass from Levi was ridiculous. I just had to not miss."

More players walk past us, some nodding when they see Isla with her camera at the ready. Knox emerges next, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. When he spots me, his eyebrows shoot up.

"Twice in one month? Who are you and what have you done with my sister?" he asks.

Touché. "Just doing my job," I reply, lifting my bag. "Great game, by the way."

"Thanks." He looks genuinely pleased at the compliment. "You sticking around after?"

"For a bit. Need to talk to Coach Johnson if I can."

Knox nods, then looks past me as more players emerge.

"I'll be out in fifteen. Don't disappear." As he walks away, I turn to look at Isla, but she’s busy chatting with Asher and taking more photos. It’s then I feel like someone is watching me.

I look slightly to my left and find Blaise standing there.

Our eyes lock for a moment that stretches for far too long in my opinion.

Much like Knox, his hair is damp with sweat and there's a fresh red mark along his jawline from what must have been a high stick that didn't get called. My throat goes dry.

Fuck. That’s the last thing I should be thinking when it comes to my brother’s best friend who rejected me years ago.