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Today, we have a home game against the New York Falcons, our biggest rivals. The rivalry between our teams surpasses professionalism. Oftentimes, members, both current and retired, are found sabotaging something precious for other team players, such as keying their car, egging someone’s house, sending a prank item to a player’s room, and so on. With theirchildish behavior, no one would claim that they are professional, mature NHL players.
That’s why the arena is buzzing the next evening. As I enter through the staff entry, I nod with a smile at the guards standing there. They recognize me, so I don’t even have to flash my ID anymore, even though I always wear it around my neck.
The click of my heels on the tiled floor is concealed by the chaos in the area as the staff ramble around, doing last-minute checks before the game starts. Depositing my bag in my office, I grab my camera and take a deep breath before exiting.
Don’t think about him. Don’t pay attention to him.
I remind myself, though I know it’s impossible since I’ll be there with my camera, even though Jodi will take her own shots.
Striding closer to the rink, I prepare myself to ignore Ezra and get into my zone. Usually, the media staff stand in the Press Box or the designated media seats for live coverage and fan interaction. However, I’ve always preferred to be closer to the ice, closer to the action, to get impeccable and clear shots. Hockey is a fast-paced game, and I find it better to be here to getthe footage.
Standing at ice level, I wait for the players to get off the ice after they’re done with their pregame skate. Picking up my camera, I get a few shots of the fans in their element, wearing their favorite player’s jersey with paint on their faces, and some even have foam fingers as they sit on the edge of their seats in anticipation of tonight’s game.
A game between rival teams. A matter of immense pride.
I soak in the energy and adrenaline that circulates in the air until I come to a screeching halt. My camera suspended in the air as time seems to stretch around me.
My breath gets stuck in my throat as it gets suffocated for me, my heart rate kicking up, eyes fixated on a figure that gives me nightmares. Everything around me loses its meaning as my ears start ringing with my own throbbing heartbeat.
The figure looks right at me, eyes searing into mine from so far away. Yet they feel like they’re standing right in front of me. I can feel the beginning of a panic attack as their gaze pierces into mine, daring me to take action. But it’s likeI’m paralyzed, petrified to move a muscle, my bones weighing me down.
When I think that I might be hallucinating, the corner of their mouth lifts up, taunting me, challenging me, daring me.
No, this can’t be.
They can’t be…No, not again.
I can’t…
I’m unable to finish my thoughts when a touch on my shoulders makes me jump out of my skin. With a yelp, I look at the owner of the limb. Jodi wears a frown, lifting her hand in the air as if to show she means no harm.
I swivel my head to where I saw that monster, but there’s no one there. Panicked, I urgently scan the arena but come up empty. Though the crowd is on its feet, cheering as the team takes the ice after the Zamboni does its job.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” Jodi’s words pull me back to her. “I’ve been calling out for you for a while, but you seem distracted,” she says, hesitant, probably wondering if she did something wrong.
But how do I tell her? How do I tell anyone? I can’t.
I clear my throat as I put my camera on one ofthe seats beside me. “Yeah…uh, I’m fine, Jodi. Just have a lot on my mind. Would you mind giving me a moment?” I give her a tight smile, wrapping my arms around me as if they’ll protect me.
Confused, she nods. “Sure, yeah. I’ll come back in a minute.”
“Mhmm. Thank you.” The moment she’s gone, I let loose a shaky breath, pressing a hand to my heart to calm it down. My eyes search the same spot again, but there are just fans in the seats.
Shaking my head, I move my gaze to the ice, only to collide with Ezra’s behind his helmet. He looks at me with his brows furrowed and follows my line of sight to the same spot as if to see what has me disturbed. When he finds nothing, he glances at me again and mouths,‘Are you okay?’
Weirdly touched by his concern, I nod at him. He looks unconvinced but can’t do much in the middle of the game, so he relents.
Was I hallucinating that predatory gaze?
I have my answer when I leave the arena and walk out into the parking lot. My steps stagger, and a gasp of horror escapes my lips. All the tires of my car are slashed.
Terrified, my eyes dart around wildly, scanning my surroundings, but come up empty.
I take hesitant steps toward my car, and my skin litters with goosebumps when I take in the note tucked on the windshield, warning me as it looms over me like a dreaded reality.
‘I’m always watching.’
