10. Isla

10

ISLA

T elling myself that I can’t vomit because it will ruin my clothes is the only thing that is somewhat keeping me sane as I put my car into park. It will be even more embarrassing for me because today is my first day at my new job.

I’m the newest team photographer for the Crestwood Red Wolves hockey team. It is one of the best jobs I can have as a college student, and here I am, wondering if I made a big mistake.

I take a deep breath and leave my car while grabbing my camera bag from the passenger seat. The cool morning air brushes against my face, cooling my skin, but my anxiety is unwavering. I know I can do this. This is my dream job, and I refuse to let my anxiety get the best of me.

After I double-check that I’ve locked my car doors, I walk toward the arena’s entrance. I pull open the door and walk straight into the rink, where I find Dad and Bailey. Now that I think about it, I don’t know how I’m supposed to address him while we are on the clock, and that adds to my anxiousness. Should I call him Dad or Coach? I’m still debating what I should call him as I walk toward the rink and feel adrenaline rush through my veins. This is where I belong.

Dad spots me first from across the rink and waves me over to where he’s standing near the doors that lead into the men’s locker room. As I walk toward him, he gives me a warm smile. “Isla, you’re right on time. The team is just about to hit the ice for warm-ups.”

“Thanks, Coach.”The word feels foreign to my tongue, but I know I need to be professional while we’re at the rink.

Dad places a reassuring hand on my shoulder while Bailey speaks up this time. “You might be nervous, with this being your first day and all, but you’ve got this. Just focus on getting some great shots and let the rest fall into place. Plus, Coach said you know a few of the guys anyway, so it’ll be like taking pictures of friends. Or something like that.”

Her confidence in me helps settle my nerves a bit. But then she adds the part about me being friends with some of the team and ruins it. However, I can’t let her in on that secret. So, I take another deep breath and square my shoulders. “I’m ready.”

Dad and Bailey lead me toward the locker room doors, and he knocks before we enter. “Is everyone decent?” A chorus of, “Yeses,” rings out before he and I enter the room.

The locker room doesn’t have the most pleasant smell, but that’s to be expected. Thankfully, no one lied because everyone is dressed. However, it doesn’t stop the warmth from growing in my cheeks. I try not to let my eyes linger on any one player for too long, mainly because I know he who shall not be named is here.

Dad clears his throat, getting everyone’s attention.“Listen up, boys. I want to introduce you to our new team photographer, Isla.”

He doesn’t mention that I am his daughter, but I assume everyone will figure that out soon enough. I give a small wave, feeling the weight of their stares.“Hi, everyone. I’m excited to be here, to get to know you all, and capture some great moments for the rest of the season.”

If it wouldn’t be weird, I would give myself a pat on the back for getting those words out without stuttering.

A few of the guys nod and offer friendly smiles, but most just go back to lacing up their skates or taping their sticks. I try not to take it personally. They’re focused on getting ready for practice.

As I scan the room, my eyes inevitably land on him, and I hate myself for it. Asher is sitting outside his stall, and his eyes are on me. A lump forms in my throat, and I quickly look away because this is the last thing I need.

“Alright, boys, let’s hit the ice! Isla, head out to the stands, set up, and start snapping some pics.”

“Awesome. Thanks,”I reply, grateful for the excuse to escape the tension and anxiousness that results from being in the same space as Asher. I need to get out of here.

Bailey gives me a few more pointers about what she’s hoping for me to do today. Then, I wait for the guys to head out before I follow, kicking myself that I wasn’t prepared to take any shots of them as they make their way to the ice. It’s a rookie mistake I promise I won’t make again.

I make my way out to the rink and find one of the photo holes in the plexiglass, which allows photographers to capture clear, unobstructed shots of the action on the ice.

I adjust my camera settings while the team is doing warm-up laps. Levi and Wilder are the first to skate by me as I set my lens in the hole. Levi gives me a small wave while Wilder decides to put on a small show.

“Yo, Isla!”Wilder calls out with a goofy grin.“Make sure you get my good side!”He turns and wiggles his butt comically.

“Hate to break it to you, bud, but you don’t have a good side,”Levi says while shoving Wilder playfully.

I can’t help but laugh at their antics, giving me something else to think about instead of my nerves. At least those two seem determined to make me feel welcome. I take a few test shots to make sure that I’ve got the settings where I want them. The sounds coming from the rink are as familiar to me as it is to breathe because this is what my family has known most, if not all, of my life.

As I adjust my lens, I observe Knox Sanchez completely engrossed in watching one of his teammates skate around a set of cones that the assistant coach has laid out. He barely acknowledges my presence, here or when we were all in the locker room. That’s how I prefer it to be. When he throws a glance my way, it’s brief and indifferent, as if I’m just another part of the rink’s background.

My gaze shifts to Blaise Dalton, who is standing slightly apart from the team. He catches my eye and offers a warm smile and a nod. Unlike Knox, Blaise seems more approachable. As he watches the same scene as me, I can see a hint of amusement on his face.

I return Blaise’s smile before refocusing my attention through the viewfinder of my camera. As I snap a few shots of the team performing their drills, I can’t help but feel a surge of confidence.

However, that only lasts so long as my confidence wavers slightly when Asher skates into my frame. He’s executing a series of quick, precise turns, his movements fluid and powerful. I take a few photos, trying to ignore how my nerves reach a feverish pace at seeing him.

As the team transitions into a new drill, I move to a different spot along the boards to get a better angle. My laser-like focus on my camera stops me from realizing that Asher is skating toward me until he’s in my personal space.

“Isla,”he says, his voice low, as if anyone could hear us based on where we were standing.“Can I ask you a question?”

I glance up at him, taken aback. Is that desperation I hear in his voice? Nonetheless, if answering his question will get him back on the ice faster, I need to do it. I want to avoid drawing more attention to myself, especially on my first day.“What?”

“Did you change your phone number?”

“Uh, no?” Honesty is my greatest strength. Or so I’m telling myself.

He stands there momentarily, studying me before he skates away just as quickly as he came over. I’m left reeling from the interaction for a few seconds until it clicks why he asked the question.

Asher wants to know because I ignored the text message he sent me the other day.

Should I have responded to him? The answer is debatable, depending on how you look at our situation. On one hand, ignoring him feels like the safest option. Our history is complicated, including a breakup that left my heart shattered. The last thing I need is to reopen those wounds as I’m trying to find my place here.

On the other hand, I wonder if talking to him could provide the closure I’ve been craving. Maybe it would help me move on and put the past behind me. But every time I think about facing him, all the hurt and confusion from three years ago comes rushing back. I’m not sure I’m ready for it, and deep down, I know that’s okay, even though the tension between us is bothering me.

Even then, who knows if that tension will ever dissipate…

For now, it’s easier to pretend that his message never came. I can’t afford to spend my time thinking about him. So, I shove those thoughts aside, determined to stay professional and keep my emotions in check. Today is about making a good impression and showing that I belong here, not dealing with the emotional baggage he left me with.

As the drills continue, I start moving around the rink, snapping photos from different angles and capturing the intensity of the practice. But something else draws my attention entirely.

Asher and Knox are engaged in a heated exchange, but given how far away I am from them, I’m not sure what is being said. Although I can’t make out the words, their body language speaks volumes. Is this about to come to blows?

I raise my camera, zooming in to capture the moment. Justas I snap the shot, Coach blows the whistle, breaking up the argument. The two players skate away from each other, but I know this isn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

I make a mental note to monitor what is going on between them. The last thing I want to do is pay more attention to Asher, but I’m drawn to doing so in this instance. As the team photographer, it’s my job to capture the highlights and the raw moments that tell the team’s story. Whether or not these photos are made public isn’t my decision, but at least we have them.

As practice winds down, I review my shots so far. Despite the rocky start and the unexpected run-in with Asher, I’m pleased with my work. The photos look great, and I can’t wait to see what Bailey thinks of them.

Dad calls the team over for a final huddle on the ice while I gather my equipment. As I’m doing so, I can hear Dad giving some last words of encouragement before dismissing everyone but Asher and Knox. I decide to check in with Bailey in her office before I head out too. I’ll talk to Dad later or grab dinner with him and Mom at home sometime this week.

To avoid running into any of the players, I dash out of the arena. Once I’m in my car with the doors locked, I take out my phone and ignore all the other notifications. I pull up my text messages and find the one that has been weighing on my mind since it appeared in my inbox.

Asher: Hey, Isla. Not sure if this is still your number, but thought it was worth a shot. Can we meet to talk?

I stare at Asher’s message, my thumb hovering over the screen. The temptation to delete it is there, but I know that won’t solve anything. Ignoring the problem won’t make it go away, no matter how much I wish it would.

With a sigh, I toss my phone into the passenger seat and start the engine. Everything else can wait because I have a million and a half things to do.

Not to mention that today wasn’t just a practice run for the guys, but it was also one for me. After all, tomorrow is game day.