Page 11 of Ice-Cold Obsession

Gabriel is the last one to step up for his profile photo. He takes his time, and when he finally stops in front of me, he leans against the wall with a big grin on his face.

“Saved the best for last,” he says.

I force a smile. “Let’s get this done.”

He poses easily, and I have to admit he’s got that natural charisma that makes every shot look effortless. The lighting catches his eyes just right, and his jawline looks even more defined in the frame.

I take a few shots and lower the camera. “Got it.”

“Can I see?”

I turn the screen toward him, and he studies the photos with a critical eye. “Not bad. You’re great at this.”

“Thanks.”

“You should focus on me more during practice. The captain always gets the most attention.”

I tilt my head and give him an innocent smile. “I’ll make sure to get everyone equally. That’s what good team photography is about.”

His grin falters for just a second, and I can see the irritation flash in his eyes. But then he nods. “Sure. Whatever you think is best.”

When he’s gone, I feel a small surge of satisfaction. That got under his skin.

THE PRACTICE STARTS, and I follow the team to the rink. The cold washes over me immediately.

I move to the stands with my camera to get action shots. This is the part I’ve been looking forward to because I’ll be able to see what Gabriel is capable of.

And it turns out he’s incredible.

I hate admitting it, but it’s true. He’s fast, aggressive, and he moves across the ice with a precision that makes it look effortless. He scores goal after goal during the drills, and every time he does, his teammates cheer or tap their sticks against the ice.

He’s also physical. He checks players hard but clean, staying within the rules but making sure everyone feels his presence. There’s an intensity to the way he plays, and a controlled aggression that makes it clear why he’s the captain. When he’s on the ice, everything revolves around him. The plays run through him.

I take a few shots of him, capturing the moment he winds up for a slap shot and the way he celebrates after scoring. The photos are good. Really good. He looks powerful and commanding, and it’s exactly the kind of image that would make people worship him even more.

But I don’t linger on him. Instead, I turn my attention to the other players. I get shots of the defensemen making blocks, the goalie diving for saves, and the younger guys who are working hard but don’t get as much attention. There’s a freshman who’s clearly trying to prove himself, and I capture him making a great pass that sets up a goal.

These are the photos I’ll post on social media. Not the ones that make Gabriel look like a god.

Because I know it’ll piss him off.

I spend the rest of the practice moving around the rink, getting different angles and making sure I have a solid mix of shots. The team is talented, and there’s a camaraderie between them that’s obvious even from a distance. They joke around between the drills, and when someone makes a mistake, the others are quick to encourage rather than criticize.

It would almost be nice if Gabriel wasn’t at the center of it all, controlling everything.

By the time the practice ends, I have hundreds of photos to sort through. The team starts filing off the ice, and I wave goodbye to a few of them as they head toward the locker room.

Coach stops by on his way out. “How’d it go?”

“Great. I got some really good shots.”

“Excellent. Send me your favorites when you get a chance, and we’ll start posting them on the team accounts.”

“Sure.”

He leaves, and I settle back into my seat, scrolling through the photos on my camera. I delete the ones that are blurry or poorly framed and mark my favorites for editing later.

But out of the corner of my eye, I see that Gabriel is still on the ice. He’s skating alone now, running drills by himself. His movements are just as precise as before, and he looks completely focused.