5. Ally

Chapter 5

Ally

S tepping out of the Uber, I clutched my camera bag like a lifeline. The grand building loomed above me, its illuminated facade casting a golden glow that seemed to mock my internal turmoil. The knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach, making it hard to breathe. The mix of emotions I'd been pushing down since agreeing to help Kara surged back, a wave threatening to drown me.

The gala was nothing short of opulent. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a soft, shimmering light over the room. Round tables draped in white linen were adorned with elaborate floral arrangements and flickering candles. Waitstaff in crisp uniforms moved gracefully through the crowd, balancing trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres.

Guests mingled in their finest attire, laughter and conversation blending into a low hum that filled the space. Women in elegant gowns and men in tailored suits looked like they belonged here, like they were part of some exclusive club I could never truly be a member of. I felt out of place, an imposter with a camera slung over my shoulder.

I tried to focus on the task at hand, reminding myself that I was here for work. Kara had trusted me with this assignment, and I couldn't let her down. Still, every step I took deeper into the crowd brought me closer to facing Thomas, closer to confronting feelings I wasn't sure I could handle.

I set up near the stage, angling my camera for the best shots as people took their seats. The tension in my chest grew with each passing moment. My eyes scanned the room for Thomas, though part of me dreaded actually finding him.

I quickly got to work, focusing on the familiar routine of adjusting my camera settings and finding the best angles. The rhythmic clicks of my camera began to steady my nerves, each shot a small anchor in the swirling sea of emotions.

The room was packed. Athletes and coaches filled the space, their laughter and chatter creating a buzz that hummed through the air. College staff flitted between tables, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. The athletes wore their achievements like badges, some still in their team blazers, others more relaxed but equally proud. I recognized a couple of Crestwood players, but kept my distance, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention.

I framed a shot of a group laughing near the buffet table, capturing the carefree joy on their faces. A part of me envied them—the simplicity of their happiness, unburdened by the past. The camera clicked again, and I shifted my focus to another corner of the room.

None of them mattered, though. All I could think about was Thomas. Was he already here? Would he even notice me in this sea of people? A part of me hoped he wouldn’t; it would be easier that way. But another part—one I tried to ignore—wanted him to see me, wanted him to acknowledge that night had meant something.

I moved through the crowd, snapping candid shots as I went. The weight of my unresolved feelings for Thomas pressed down on me with each step. It was like walking through quicksand; every move forward seemed to pull me deeper into memories I wasn’t ready to face.

As I circled back toward the stage, my eyes scanned the room almost involuntarily. I caught glimpses of animated conversations, clinking glasses, and celebratory hugs. Still no sign of him. Maybe he hadn’t arrived yet. Maybe I’d get through this night without having to confront him after all.

But then again, who was I kidding? Even if Thomas didn’t see me tonight, these feelings wouldn’t just disappear. They’d linger, just like they had for months—a reminder of what could have been and what was lost.

I took another deep breath and adjusted my lens for a wide shot of the stage. The ceremony would start soon, and I needed to be ready. The familiar comfort of my camera shielded me from the chaos inside my head. For now, that would have to be enough.

As I adjusted my camera settings, I saw Kara weaving her way through the crowd; her face lighting up when she spotted me. Next to her was the assistant coach, Saint—though everyone called him by his nickname, not his real name, which I never bothered to remember. He looked every bit the part of a tough guy, with a rugged face that seemed to have seen more battles than hockey games. His dark hair was cropped close, and his intense eyes scanned the room with a mixture of wariness and focus. The resemblance to some brooding vigilante was uncanny, right down to the muscular build and the perpetual scowl.

Kara reached me first, pulling me into a hug that felt warm but brief. "Ally! Thank you so much for doing this," she said, her voice full of gratitude.

I tried to smile, but it felt strained. "Of course."

She stepped back but kept her hands on my shoulders, studying my face as if trying to read my thoughts. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," I lied, glancing over at Saint, who stood silently beside us, his presence both comforting and intimidating.

Kara followed my gaze and rolled her eyes slightly. "Ignore him. He's just here for the free food."

Saint’s lips twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile. "Don't let me interrupt your girl talk."

Kara shook her head and turned back to me. "Seriously though, how are you?"

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "It's just another gig, right? I'll be fine."

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for," she said softly, squeezing my shoulders before letting go. "And you look gorgeous."

Before I could respond, the lights began to dim. The chatter in the room softened as everyone turned their attention toward the stage.

"Looks like it's starting," she whispered.

I nodded and Kara gave me one last encouraging smile before heading back to her seat with Saint in tow. I took a deep breath and focused on my camera once more, hoping that through the lens I could keep some distance from the emotions threatening to spill over.

The lights dimmed further, casting a spotlight on the stage as a man stepped up to the podium. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his presence commanding the room's attention immediately. His suit was impeccably tailored, accentuating his athletic build. I recognized him from sports magazines—Coach Warren DeVries, a legend in college hockey. His silver hair and neatly trimmed beard gave him a distinguished air, but it was his eyes that held the crowd. They were sharp, assessing, yet twinkled with an undeniable charisma.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice resonating through the hall, "it's an honor to be here tonight among such talented athletes and dedicated coaches."

He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the room. I lifted my camera and snapped a few shots, capturing his confident stance and the attentive audience.

"We gather tonight not just to celebrate individual achievements," he continued, "but to honor the spirit of perseverance and teamwork that defines college sports. Each one of you has faced challenges—both on and off the ice—and yet you’ve pushed through. That’s what makes tonight special."

There were nods of agreement and murmurs of appreciation from the crowd. I framed another shot, focusing on Coach DeVries' expressive face as he spoke.

"Remember," he said, his tone growing more impassioned, "it’s not just about the wins and losses. It’s about the journey—the sweat, the sacrifices, the moments when you thought you couldn’t go on but did, anyway. That’s what we celebrate tonight."

I captured the intensity in his eyes as he delivered those words. The energy in the room shifted; it was palpable—a collective sense of pride and determination.

"So let's make tonight memorable," he concluded with a wide smile that seemed to brighten even the darkest corners of the hall. "Let’s honor our champions, our coaches, and everyone who makes this community what it is."

Applause erupted as Coach DeVries stepped back from the podium. I took another shot of him acknowledging the crowd’s admiration with a humble nod before moving aside for the next part of the ceremony.

I lowered my camera slightly, feeling a mix of emotions wash over me—pride for being part of this world, but also that familiar ache of loss. I forced myself to focus on my work again, capturing candid moments as people turned their attention back to their tables and whispered among themselves.

This was just another gig, I reminded myself. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t that simple.

The awards ceremony began with a burst of applause as Coach DeVries left the stage. My heart pounded in my chest, but I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. The room buzzed with anticipation, the energy almost tangible.

I moved through the crowd, capturing moments—the laughter, the camaraderie, the pride on every face. My camera clicked steadily, each shot a tiny fragment of the evening's story.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, “the Rookie of the Year award goes to Crestwood’s very own Levi Kennedy!”

The room erupted in applause and cheers. I quickly turned my lens towards the stage, zooming in on Levi as he stood to accept his award. He was tall and lean, with dark hair that fell neatly around his sharp features. His expression was stoic despite the honor of the award before turning to his date. He leaned down and kissed her cheek gently, a tender moment that seemed almost out of place in such a formal setting. I snapped a few shots, capturing their shared smile.

His date was Minka Mathers—blonde hair cascading down her shoulders in soft waves, her eyes bright and intelligent. She was poised, elegant even in her understated dress. The future owner of the Detroit Serpents, she held an air of quiet confidence that commanded respect.

As Levi reached the podium, he adjusted the microphone slightly. "Thank you," he began, his voice steady despite the nerves that must have been coursing through him. "This is an incredible honor."

He paused, looking out at the sea of faces before him. I took another picture, framing his determined expression against the backdrop of admiring peers.

"I couldn't have done this without my team," Levi continued. "Their support means everything to me."

The room responded with more applause, a testament to their respect for him not just as an athlete but as a teammate.

Levi’s gaze flickered to Minka again, and for a brief moment, his stoic facade softened. "And to Minka," he added, his voice dropping slightly. "Your belief in me kept me going when things got tough."

I captured that moment too—the sincerity in his eyes, Minka’s proud smile—and felt a pang of envy. This was what I used to dream about—supportive relationships built on mutual respect and love.

But those dreams felt distant now. Tonight wasn’t about me; it was about them—their achievements and their stories. And through my lens, I’d tell those stories as best I could.

With another click of my camera, I refocused on Levi as he accepted his award and posed for pictures. The ceremony continued around me—a whirlwind of accolades and emotions—but I stayed grounded by the rhythm of my work.

This was where I belonged tonight—behind the camera, capturing these fleeting moments before they slipped away into memory.

A few more awards went on, each winner greeted with applause and admiration. I kept snapping photos, capturing the fleeting moments of joy and pride that danced across their faces. The room was alive with energy, each award adding to the celebratory atmosphere.

The announcer's voice echoed through the hall again, bringing the room to a hush. "And now, the award for Goalie of the Year goes to... Liam Wolfe!"

The crowd erupted into cheers as Liam stood up. He was tall and lean, his silver hair spiked in a way that gave him an air of effortless cool. A mask of calm intensity covered his face. His sharp eyes scanned the room with a mixture of detachment and focus, as if he was both present and miles away at the same time.

Before he could take a step toward the stage, Ivy pulled him into a passionate kiss. The sudden display of affection caught me off guard, and I felt my cheeks warm as I grinned and blushed at the same time. The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment before breaking into even louder applause and whistles.

I quickly raised my camera and captured the kiss—their intertwined forms against the backdrop of cheering teammates and flashing lights. It was a moment that perfectly encapsulated the highs and lows of this world—the triumphs, the love, the passion.

Liam finally made his way to the podium, his movements smooth and almost lazy, like he had all the time in the world. He adjusted the microphone slightly, his expression still that cool mask of indifference.

"Thanks," he said simply, his voice steady but unembellished.

Then he stepped away from the podium as quickly as he'd approached it, leaving behind a sea of admiring faces. It was such a brief moment, yet it left an impact—a testament to his understated confidence and undeniable presence.

I captured every second of it through my lens, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction in documenting these fragments of other people's lives. The ceremony continued around me, but for those few moments, everything seemed to slow down—focusing on Liam Wolfe's quiet but powerful acknowledgment of his achievement.

I lowered my camera for just a second, allowing myself to savor the atmosphere before diving back into my work. This was what I did best—finding beauty in fleeting moments and preserving them forever.

More awards went by in a blur. I focused on my job, capturing the elation and pride of each recipient. My camera felt like an extension of myself, a shield between me and the emotions that threatened to surface. Each click was a beat in the rhythm that kept me grounded, kept me moving forward.

I barely noticed when Coach DeVries returned to the stage. It wasn't until his voice filled the room again that I looked up, my camera ready.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice rich with emotion. "The next award is one that's close to my heart—the Lifetime Achievement Award."

I adjusted my lens, zooming in on DeVries' expressive face as he spoke. He paused for a moment, letting the anticipation build.

"This coach has not only led his team to victory but has also inspired them to be better athletes and better people. His dedication to the sport is unparalleled, and his passion is evident in every practice, every game."

The crowd was silent, hanging on every word. I snapped a few more shots, capturing the intensity in DeVries's eyes.

"He’s faced challenges that would have broken lesser men," DeVries continued, his voice growing more impassioned. "But he’s persevered with grace and strength, always putting his team first."

A knot formed in my stomach as I listened, but I forced myself to keep shooting, hiding behind my camera.

"This coach has molded young athletes into champions," DeVries said, "and has done so with a level of commitment and excellence that sets him apart."

He paused again, letting the weight of his words settle over the room. My hands trembled slightly as I adjusted my focus.

"Congratulations to the recipient of this year’s Lifetime Achievement Award," DeVries finally announced, "Thomas Morgan."

The room erupted into applause and cheers. My breath caught in my throat as I watched Thomas stand up from his table.

I captured his walk to the stage through my lens, each step seeming to echo louder than the last. He shook hands with DeVries and accepted the award with a nod of thanks.

My heart pounded in my chest as I snapped picture after picture, unable to tear my eyes away from him. Thomas Morgan—the man who had unknowingly changed everything for me—stood there on that stage, a symbol of triumph and unresolved pain.

And all I could do was capture it from behind my lens, feeling both closer and more distant than ever before.