Through the Lens

Song:

Sweater Weather by The Neighborhood

Sometimes, the hardest part isn’t stepping into a new world—it’s learning how to survive in it once you’re there.

A crispy, cold wind brushes against my cheek as I hop out of the cab. I’m so nervous I almost forget my bag. My heart pounds against my ribs, and I clench the strap tightly over my shoulder, inhaling the sharp winter air of Boston. One step at a time. You can do this. The thought repeats in my head like a mantra. As I exhale, I lift my gaze to the magnificent arena towering before me, its steel and glass exterior gleaming under the faint winter sun. Tall banners flank the entrance, welcoming guests to the home of the undefeated Titans.

“Let’s do this.” The words barely escape my lips before doubt settles in. This isn’t my kind of shoot. This is all Jennet. She thrives in these environments, comfortable directing people and capturing posed shots. Me? I prefer the candid moments, the untamed beauty of nature, the raw emotion of people unaware they’re being photographed, sound a bit stalker-ish, but that is when they aren’t putting on their masks. I should have ignored her call last night. I sigh, gripping my bag tighter. Today, I have to step out from behind the camera and actually talk to people.

Picture them naked. Isn’t that what they say when you’re nervous? The thought doesn’t help. Curse you, Jennet. Curse your stupid flu for making this my problem.

“Hi, you must be Zoey?”

The sweet, friendly voice snaps me from my thoughts. I turn, a little too fast, and nearly stumble over my own feet. A red-haired woman stands before me, her smile warm enough to melt the snow beneath our feet. She extends a hand. “I’m Lilith Harrison.”

“Oh…um…” I scramble to collect myself, reaching out to shake her hand. It’s small and soft, and she smells faintly of lavender. “Yes… I… um.”

A faint smile tugs at the corners of her lips, like she’s used to dealing with nervous wrecks. “Well, Zoey, welcome to the home of the Titans. I’ll be accompanying you today. My father told me you’d be here at two, but it seems you’re an early bird. I like punctual people.” Her tone is confident, self-assured.

I nod, grateful that she’s steering the conversation. “Yeah.”

“Come, let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here.”

Gathering my tripod, I follow her through the glass doors, escaping the bite of the wind for the warmth of the arena’s interior. The scent of popcorn, hot dogs, and the faint tang of rubber from the freshly resurfaced ice welcomes me. The building hums with energy—laughter, conversation, the distant rhythm of music playing over the PA system.

The lobby is massive, polished concrete floors gleaming under fluorescent lights. Framed jerseys and black-and-white photographs of championship teams line the walls, and a mural of the Titans’ roaring mascot stretches across one side, bold strokes of blue and gold capturing the team’s fierce spirit. Overhead, banners hang high, swaying gently, each one a trophy of past victories.

“So how long have you been a photographer?” Lilith asks over her shoulder as we walk deeper into the arena.

“Oh, my whole life.” My eyes bouncing from wall to wall as I try to take in every detail of this place.

“Oh.”She stops and turn to face me. “This should be a nice spot.” I give her a small nod as I look at the scenery surrounding us.

The arena reveals itself in full glory. A sea of navy-blue seats rises in steep tiers around the rink, gold accents breaking the pattern. The ice is pristine, reflecting the overhead lights in silvery ripples. The air carries a crisp chill, sharp but not unpleasant. Even without knowing much about hockey, I can feel the energy of this place, the history, the passion. It’s electrifying.

“Shall I introduce you to the team?” Lilith glances over her shoulder, a hint of pride in her green eyes. This is her domain, one she would fiercely protect. No surprise, given she’s the daughter of Mark Harrison, the Titans’ coach and team owner.

“Uh, sure.” My voice comes out softer than I intend.

“You can set up while I call the captain.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly, her expression briefly unreadable.

I frown. “Are you okay?”

She waves a hand dismissively. “Just the usual headaches.”

Guilt pricks at me. Did I somehow cause that? I shake my head at my own ridiculous thought and turn to my tripod. My fingers tremble as I struggle with the clasps. Jennet should be here. She’s the people person. I hate shoots like this. Why did I agree? Oh right—because I owe Jennet, and this is for one of her many writer friends doing a story on the Titans.

The tripod suddenly snaps shut, pinching my finger. “Curse you!” I hiss, shaking my hand as I kiss the reddening skin.

“That’s going to leave a mark.”

The deep voice, rich with amusement, startles me. I whirl around and nearly knock over the tripod in the process. A man leans casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His stance is relaxed, but his gaze is sharp, assessing. His lips curve into a slow, confident smirk, the kind that says he’s used to getting his way.

“Huh?” I manage, eloquent as ever.

“Need some help?” He pushes off the wall, moving with an effortless grace, and before I can protest, he’s already adjusting the tripod with ease. “Where are you setting up?”

I open my mouth, but the words stick in my throat. He’s too close, his presence magnetic in a way that scrambles my brain.

He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends a shiver down my spine. “You’re not much of a talker, huh?” He glances at me, one brow lifting in mock concern. “Did the cold freeze your tongue?”

“N-no. I’m fine,” I stammer, my face heating.

“Good to know.” He steps back, studying me with quiet amusement. “So, Sunshine, where are we setting up?”

Sunshine? I blink up at him, momentarily distracted by the nickname. His deep blue eyes hold mine, and for a second, the rest of the arena fades away. He smells faintly of musk and something else—something warm and undeniably intoxicating. Before I can react, he reaches for my bag, sliding the strap from my shoulder, his knuckles brushing against my jacket. The touch is barely there, but it sends another unwanted shiver down my spine.

“Oh.” The word slips from my lips before I can stop it.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll carry this for you.”

He’s doing this on purpose. He has to be. My mind screams at me to move, to say something witty, but my body betrays me, frozen in place.Oh sweet mother Terisa. This is the type of man all mothers warn there daughters of, I would even warn my son. He is a walking red, no black flag. Oh but never in my twenty four years of life did I want to sin so bad as I want to now.

“Deck!” Lilith’s sharp voice cuts through the tension like a blade. She marches toward us, eyes narrowed, arms rigid at her sides. Her whole stance radiates exasperation.

“Oh, hey Lil, were you looking for me?” His grin is utterly unrepentant.

She exhales through her nose, hands dropping to her hips. “Are you harassing this poor woman?”

Deck places a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “Harassing? I was being a real gentleman.”

“Like you even know what that word means.” She shakes her head, muttering under her breath. “Just gather the team on the ice.”

Deck huffs but hands her the bag and tripod. Leaning close, he murmurs, “As you wish… Boss.”

Lilith’s cheeks darken, and she takes a deep breath, clearly holding back a retort. “Just go,” she mutters, waving him off.

Deck winks at me before strolling away, and I feel a strange mix of relief and disappointment. What on earth just happened?

I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady my heartbeat. Lilith watches him disappear, then turns to me with an apologetic smile. “You’re not the first one to react to him.”

“Right. Let’s just pretend that didn’t happen.” I exhale a shaky laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. My fingers linger there, the familiar gesture grounding me. Through my lens, I capture fleeting moments—genuine emotions, stolen glances, the truth hidden in plain sight. But standing here, off-camera, I realize some moments don’t need a lens to be unforgettable.

Lilith chuckles. “Come on, you have a shoot to do.”

I nod, gripping my camera tighter. Focus, Zoey. Focus.