20. Griffin
If it wasn’t for Lydia’s excitement over the phrase “Complimentary Breakfast,” I’d much rather be in the tub again than eating. Or eating something other than this egg benedict, if you catch my drift.
But Lydia argued that we can’t pass up food that’s included in our stay, especially when other guests who aren’t receiving this complimentary are shelling out money to eat fancy breakfast food. What she wants, she gets.
The weekend has already been off to a great start, even if we haven’t traversed much off the resort map. We haven’t left our room much. We had a nice dinner reservation last night here at the hotel restaurant because I was unsuccessful in getting a reservation at French Laundry, no surprises there. Lydia didn’t seem to mind. The hotel’s four-course dinner menu was still delicious, and the view from our table overlooked the valley, which glowed orange from the beautiful setting sun. As I watched Lydia glow from the radiance of the sun, it made my heart leap. I didn’t want to spend any time away from her. But when we get home, I need to pack to go on a two-week trip filled with multiple away games in Canada. Maybe a weekend getaway where we’re not interrupted by the hustle and bustle of our real life was more detrimental because it served as a reminder that my lack of presence during the season will only make Lydia feel more alone when she might need me most.
“What’s our plan for today?” she asks me, after taking a large bite of her chilaquiles.
I had arranged for a private car service to take us to different wineries. I think there were five wineries that they put on our itinerary for tastings. I’d requested that as they were crafting this tour, they choose wineries that have private tasting areas or won’t see much foot traffic. I don’t want onlookers to take photos of us that will end up on the internet. While I feel like I’ve been better about handling the media thanks to Lydia, now it’s about protecting her instead of garnering exposure for each of our gains.
“I asked a wine tour service to plan out our day for us. They said they have five wineries that might be perfect for our needs.” I know that there will be people choosing to go there of their own accord anyway, but I didn’t buy out the winery for us to have exclusive access. But maybe that would have been worth it so I could smother Lydia in my affection with only the person pouring our wine as a possible witness. Do wineries do room service but for wine tasting? I jot a note in my head to inquire about it when I plan our next trip to wine country. Hopefully, by then, I’ll be successful in getting a reservation for French Laundry.
“That sounds awesome. I’m so glad that I can drink as much wine as I want without worry. Wine makes me do some wild things.”
I raise a brow at her. Drunk Lydia is someone I’ve never experienced, and I’m not certain what I should be looking out for, but it might be that I’ll have to drag her along the floor of the winery while she giddily laughs to herself.
“What kind of wild things?” I chuckle.
“Oh, just things like talking non-stop about Hero Seek lore and characters that I think are totally shippable. Romance novels that live rent-free in my head. On my birthday last year, I went on a rant about gamer girl bathtub streams. Who knows what unhinged topic I’ll go off the rails with this time.”
“Just be careful when you’re talking to me about romance novel sex scenes,” I warn her.
“Oh, yeah.” She nods. “I don’t think the people working at the winery want to hear that. Or maybe they do. What if there’s a secret book club of people who read romance and drink wine? That’s the kind of club I want to be a part of.”
“No, silly,” I wrap my leg around her ankle and make a swift motion to pull her chair closer to the table. “Because I’m going to want to recreate anything you talk about reading in your romance novel. I’ll have to do it on the counter, or else I might explode.”
Her cheeks heat, and I smirk, raising a brow at her. She gulps the remainder of her drink and clears her throat.
“Um, are you done?” she croaks. “We should probably go back to get ready. I don’t know…how long it might take us. If you know what I mean.”
Oh, this feisty little one. My feisty little one. I know exactly what she means, and the next thing I know, we’re bolting.
The first winery that we go to is up the road from Auberge, so we walk up to meet our tour guide.
“Oh my god!” Lydia pulls my hand towards the sign of the winery. It shocks me how strong her pull is as I almost stumble over the flat concrete.
“What is it?” I ask. At first glance, I can’t see anything that juts out at me. It’s just a wooden sign with the name of the winery and its hours.
“There are CAVES!” she squeals. “Are we going to get to walk through the cave?”
“Erm, yes? We can,” I answer. I let the professionals do the planning, which means I don’t know what the full agenda is. I didn’t even know that they had wine caves here until Lydia exclaims like Buddy the Elf when Mall Santa visits. “I’m sure it’s not too complicated to ask. We’ll get a tour if they haven’t set up one for us already.”
We check in with our guide, a cheerful man named Terrence (don’t call him Terry because his dad claimed that nickname already) who has so much energy and excitement, it’s like he drank a bottle of breakfast rosé. Lydia is all for it, though, matching Terrence’s energy as she tells him about the resort, the delicious food, and how it’s been years since she’s visited Napa, and her goal today is to, gently putting it, get fucked up.
“Okay, but is it possible to get a cave tour?” Lydia asks. “I have no idea what is on our agenda this morning but if touring a cave is on that list of possibilities, I want in.”
Terrence laughs and shakes his head. “Um, of course, we’re getting a tour of the caves. How can you not go to a winery with a cave and not explore it?”
“That’s what I was saying!” Lydia exclaimed. “Y’all know what the people want. I should have never doubted that.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. I don’t know what to expect from these caves Lydia can’t seem to keep quiet about. Are these caves...spacious? Are they long? Is there a way to see the end of the cave? Is there any light to make me feel like I’m not going to be trapped under rubble if something catastrophic were to happen? I think I might be slightly nervous about the hypothetical entrapment. Am I claustrophobic?
“Have you been through this cave?” I ask meekly.
“Yeah,” Terrence nods. “A bunch of times. Why?”
“Would you say the cave is...spacious?”
Lydia slowly turns her head towards me and raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Wait, are you afraid of going inside the cave?”
“No,” I counter. Although, I don’t know what the point of acting like I’m so strong is. I don’t need to kid myself. I think I am scared of tight spaces. Or the feeling of being constrained. When I’m slammed up against the glass wall for just a moment, I brace myself and try to shove my opponent out of the way, or else I’ll start panicking that I’m unable to move, to escape. The way that I want to breathe in and feel the air moving around me is a desire I never thought I’d want so badly until I started thinking about the possibility of being trapped in this cave.
“I might be a little afraid of going in the cave,” I confess. “I’ve never thought of myself as being afraid of enclosed spaces before, but the more I’m thinking about it, the more I’m slightly freaking out at the possibility of getting trapped and feeling like there’s no way out. Like, give me the gentle breeze, and I’ll feel a little more secure.”
“The cave has pretty tall ceilings,” Terrence reassures me. “But if you walk through at first and feel uneasy about continuing on, then we can skip the cave. It is a nice day to have a tasting outdoor. The wind might be a little crisp, though. Hope that’s okay.”
“We’re equipped for the weather.” Lydia pulls at her sweater. “I want to make sure we all have a good time.” She inches her hand towards mine, which is lodged in my pocket, and when I feel her fingers touching the back of my hand, I take it out and interlace my fingers with hers.
“We should go through the cave,” I say while keeping my eyes glued on Lydia. “I’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure?” she asks. “I don’t want you to feel panicked.”
I smirk down at her, my body already feeling more secure with her being next to me rather than if I were to go at this alone. She unknowingly creates this barrier that acts like a shield from my own thoughts of dread and despair.
“I’ll be okay. I already feel a little better knowing I don’t have to go about this alone.”
We walk through the cave, and I’m not going to lie, it is a marvel. And more spacious than I had originally feared. Maybe because caves that I’ve seen in movies and other sites discussing how they’re wonders of the world have those dagger-like rock forms hanging down from them. I forget if those are stalagmites or stalactites. Either way, I feel like I can breathe better in this cave and not be worried about the possible bats that may be lurking in the ceiling like some caves in the movies.
The winery leads us to a room with barrels on the walls and a table laden with wine glasses. They ready a variety of wines for us to taste. I am more of a red wine person, but there’s something good about each one of the wines we try. I know they give you that bucket to empty out your glass in case you don’t want to waste your tastebuds on a wine that isn’t to your liking.
I nudge Lydia as she’s beginning to sip on her first glass of red. “How is it?”
“Really good,” she grins, going to take another sip of the wine. “I don’t really treat myself to a nice glass of wine as much as I should.”
“Why? Is wine not your go-to drink?”
“I guess not,” she shrugs. “I mean, I have a few bottles of wine at home. But I think they’re all the ones I bought because of a five-cent wine sale. I don’t spend my money onnice wine, but the more that I sip on this wine, the more I want days where I come home from work and unwind by pouring myself a glass of something like this.”
I turn to jot down the wine that she recently tried so we can get a bottle of it to take with us. Wait, do they sell it by the case? That’ll make it easier, so I don’t need to make multiple trips for refills. But I wouldn’t be opposed to joining a wine club as an excuse to make the drive up here more often. The sprawling greenery and chateau-inspired wineries are a nice change from the office buildings and suburban homes that surround me every single day.
“I wouldn’t mind making this a semi-frequent trip,” I smile at Lydia. “Or I can talk to my publicist about starting my own wine brand. It’s very popular for celebrities to have alcohol brands. I mean, look at E-40. He has a champagne that tastes like cotton candy.”
She giggles. “What would you call your wine brand?”
“I’m thinking ‘Narwhal Wines.’ I mean, gotta keep it in the aquatic family, right?”
Lydia rolls her eyes at me with her lips glued to the rim. “You’re silly.”
I am. But I feel accomplished when I can make Lydia laugh. Her smile warms every part of my body and makes me forget that we’re underground with no windows that look out to the world above us.
We finish our sips, and as I’m about to hand over my order slip to get a bottle of that wine that Lydia liked so much and a case to ship home to my house, a lady wearing an olive green pants suit struts in on her high heels.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says. “But we have a problem.”
“What’s going on?” Terrence stands up.
“There is a swarm of cars with cameras outside, telling us that they were tipped off that Griffin Markey is here, and they are not going to budge until they get some footage of what they came here for.”
“Wait.” I stand up. “How do they know I’m here? I instructed Terrence to register for all our tastings under him.”
Her hands go up in surrender. “I wish I could tell you. We’ve already asked all our staff if they’ve said anything, and of course, they’re denying spilling the beans. It couldn’t have been from another visitor because the next tasting isn’t until eleven. I haven’t had the time to interrogate all of our staff members, but I am deeply sorry that this has happened. We have other celebrities that have visited us, and we take all matters of confidentiality very seriously.”
I sigh. I want to be frustrated, and I am, because I put in these measures to ensure that this didn’t happen, but I have to remember who I am. I’m one of the biggest hockey players on this continent and if someone sees me walking somewhere, especially somewhere that can be classified as romantic, there will be curiosity. No one has really seen Lydia and me out in public together since we became official, except when we were in Vegas and shared that kiss. I don’t publicly share snippets of my life on social media because of the people who will comment shit about Lydia and how ugly she looks or how we don’t look good together. I know the whole reason we started dating, albeit fake, is because Lydia wanted to prove she had thick skin to overcome the haters. If something was said when we were fake dating, sure, I’d be upset because no one should speak about a woman that way, but now, the stakes are different. Any bad comment about Lydia ignites something inside of me. Something that people don’t want to see when it’ll inevitably explode.
I hold my head in my hands and rest my elbows on the table. Lydia reaches over to gently put her hand on my shoulder.
“Hey, we’ll be okay,” she reassures me. “We’ll just walk out and not make eye contact. Sounds easy, right?”
“Yeah,” I grit. But I’m bracing myself for disaster. Cameras getting in our faces, and people hurling questions all at the same time. Everyone demanding to know about me and my life and doing whatever they can to make it happen. Force included.
“Did you still want to plan to do the rest of the tour?” Terrence asks.
I pout. It’d be in our best interest not to, even though it’s not the option that I want to move forward with. We’ve only reached one winery, and I had an entire day planned to travel around Napa. But I can’t help playing worst-case scenarios in my head. They will follow us. They will take more photos. They will ask us more questions. The peaceful paradise I dreamed up in Napa has become a nightmare in a snap, all because of who I am and the way people put me up on a pedestal. It’s moments like these when I wish I was a nobody. That I didn’t go through with a career in the NHL. I would be your average Griffin, but still having fate map its course to Lydia.
“I think it’s best if we don’t leave a trail,” I frown. “I know that cuts our plans early, but I fear that they’ll follow us and get photos of us against my consent.” I turn to Lydia. “I’m sorry, babe.”
She blinks back at me, her expression unreadable, and I try to be patient before she lets me know what she’s thinking.
“It’s alright,” she shrugs.
I quickly grab a hold of her hand that’s in a fist on the table. Her nonchalant response worries me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she says with a little light in her voice. “I don’t want you to feel like you have a target on your back for the rest of the day. We can spend the rest of the afternoon at the pool, share a bottle of wine, and relax. That sounds like a wonderful way to spend an afternoon to me.”
I shoot her a soft smile and give that fist on the table a squeeze. We nod in agreement, and both get up to face the music. Before we walk out of the cave to sneakily hurry away without answering any questions, the winery profusely apologizes and promises to us that we can come back any time that we want, be lifelong wine club members, and every other concession besides wine ownership. Although, they tell me it’s not completely out of the picture. Sans the snitch, I did really like their winery. I was slightly anxious that the cave might make me feel a sense of dread, but to my surprise, I was more wowed than worried. I would love to collaborate on a wine label, but all that’s occupying my mind right now is how my day was thwarted by people who want to invade my personal space and my own mind not being strong enough to cancel out the noise and just go on with my day as planned.
We head out of the cave, and Terrence decides that he’ll be our “knight in shining armor” and lead the way to, hopefully, shield us from any cameras. He was completely understanding about the situation and even gave us his personal cell for a raincheck tour. He jokingly added if there’s an opportunity for tickets, he’ll make the drive, and I told him I’d be happy to get some for him. It’s the least I can do since he’s no longer able to excitedly talk about all things wine and Napa Valley, something he reiterated is the best part of his job and brings him the most joy.
The moment we step outside, it’s a frenzy. No one has any regard for personal space, and as much as Terrence tries to cover and lead us through the crowd, people and their cameras butt into any nook and cranny to catch a photo of me and Lydia. Their voices shout over one another, bombarding us with invasive questions that I’m refusing to answer.
“Griffin, do you and Lydia have plans to move in with one another?”
“Griffin, have you heard the backlash about how your girlfriend does not want to be in the public eye?”
But one question whisks me away to another planet. A hellscape that ignites something so catastrophic in me that I react in a way I didn’t think possible because I’ve never done anything like it before in my life.
A bearded man comes up to us, right beside Lydia, almost to the point where their arms are touching. He stuffs his camera inches away from Lydia’s face and asks her, in an aggressive tone:
“Lydia, what is your response to Griffin’s fans who are saying you don’t belong in the esports industry?”
Before Lydia’s able to utter any form of response, I shove the guy and his camera away.
“What the hell, man?”
“Do not ever talk to her like that, do you hear me? You and your scumbag press can take your cameras and shove them up your fucking asshole. And if I see any photos of us circulating online, I will find you and destroy you with my own bare hands.”
What happens after is a blur. It’s like I blinked, and we were sitting in Terrence’s car, heading not even a mile back to our resort. But we diverge from the hotel’s typical point of entry and, instead, are escorted by the hotel’s staff to enter via the valet parking entrance. Lydia’s remained silent since my outburst. It’s worrying me because I know that I reacted out of line. I can justify my actions all I want, but it was still highly unprofessional, and as much as I threatened to destroy that man, he has a right to his revenge after I more than likely sprained his nose, if not broke it.
Terrence puts his car in park and the resort staff are standing with their hands folded in front of them, ready to walk me and Lydia back to our room.
“Okay, here we are,” Terrence says, his voice decibels lower than when we first met him.
“Thanks again Terrence,” I say, trying to keep a positive demeanor. “Let me know when you’re thinking of coming to San Jose for a game, and I’ll set you up with tickets, alright?”
“Y-yeah,” he responds weakly. “Okay.”
Shit. I’m starting to get nervous that I may have scared him off. So much for having an “in” if we’re making a trip back out here. I wouldn’t be surprised if the winery ghosts me, too, even if I went back to say this is their fault in the first place. As we walk back to our room, I keep my hand on the small of Lydia’s back, not pressing her to say anything. She doesn’t, and it’s messing with my brain. I need to let her have her space to recoup her feelings about this, but I’m afraid this might be the start of the worst descent we could possibly embark on.