Match Game: A Fake Dating Hockey Romance

23. Lydia

Why did I even do this?

Oh yeah, because if I didn’t, then I was going to kiss my job goodbye.

I was forced against my better judgment to repost on the LGU Esports Department’s Instagram a simple text on a blue background condemning Griffin’s behavior at the Stingrays’s most recent game in New York. An incident that I only found out about because my own fucking boss was sent a video of the incident by an alumni who donates a large sum of money to the school, specifically to the Esports Department, because they have a “deep connection to video gaming.” Then where have you been this past year, you dunce? I haven’t seen a single dime trickle in from this person, which is something I fact-checked after looking at our donor history. He told Dr. Jones that he and a network of other affluent alumni are not going to support the Department of Student Life if they promote athletes who are “threats to society.” And the only pro athlete on the department’s Instagram page is Griffin.

“I’m really sorry, Lydia,” Cat, the department’s social media manager, apologizes after a department-wide meeting about maintaining our “esteemed brand identity” and for the mistakes we’ve made and how we’re going to amend them. The safest way to do that is to publicly say sorry and announce that we’re not going to be professionally involved with Griffin anymore. Note how we didn’t say personally because, well, last I checked, I’m still dating him.

We haven’t really talked much, though. He still hasn’t responded to my text. And I know he’s en route to San Jose today. Do I call him when he touches down to meet him at his house after work? Is it completely bonkers to just drive to his house and say I have a right, as his girlfriend, to see him? I try to tell myself that he needs space, but when I’m going through something hard, like right now, I want to be in Griffin’s company. I want to tell him that I don’t know if I made the right decision, choosing my job over him. That I had to take a stance that I didn’t agree with because money was hanging over my head.

“It is what it is,” I tell Cat. She’s a new grad who started as an intern when she was enrolled as a student. Someone eager to spend another chunk of their life roaming the same halls and being around ambitious students, and then later, suffer from the inevitable burnout that college brings.

I took this job because I always felt like I had a connection to Los Gatos University, and I wanted to be like those alumni who give a good sum of money and the school recognizes them in a good light. But at the end of the day, a school is a business, and they need to make decisions that bring money, even if it hurts others as a result.

“Have you been receiving anything on any of your personal accounts?” She asks.

“My Instagram account is private.” So I can’t receive unsolicited direct messages. My email has received a few requests for interviews from journalists, but I just drag them to the trash. If I say something that comes from my heart, it’ll be skewed against Griffin. Plus, the whole “representing the school” thing and trying to look out for my students before myself.

“Okay, good. You’d let me know if you receive something that can be considered harmful, right? We can help.”

I flash her the smallest smile, the most I’ve given in the past twenty-four hours. A closed-lipped, tight one that takes a lot of effort to make it seem like I’m okay. That I’m happy that it feels like someone has my back.

“Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

Cat leaves the room, and I walk away from my computer because the only thing that I want to do right now is doom scroll, even though it’s the last thing I should do.

Instead, I walk over to one of the gaming stations, sit down, and click open up a game that’s not my usual go-to. Hero Seek was the game I used to escape to, but now it just feels strange. I can’t boot it up without thinking about Griffin, what he might be thinking about right now, and how he hasn’t made an effort to talk to me. Even a thumbs up to acknowledge my text would be better than the crickets he’s been giving me.

I need to play something to release some of the anger bubbling up inside me, ready to boil over. I pull up a first-person shooter. These games aren’t typically on my playlist, because the stakes are too high, and the people get too toxic in the chat. If I spoke and people recognized my feminine voice, they’d go ballistic. But right now, little can make me sadder than how I already feel. I’m like a glass pane, and the toxic words people will probably be spewing at me are like little balls that bounce off me, unable to make a dent in me.

I’m paired amongst other players in the lobby and we ready up. I put on the headphones just to take cues from my teammates in case I need to retreat or meet someone at a point. The object of the game is to get the most kills, and when the clock counts down, I strategize my way to get those kills. I don’t think I’m good enough to blitz in front and make myself an easy target. My reflex time isn’t fast enough to react when it comes to who’s gonna shoot who first. I’ve equipped myself with a gun that works best if you’re up close, so I look over at the corner map and find a way to sneak into the opposing team’s base and get someone from behind.

I get a kill and almost get another one, but when someone shoots me from behind, I scowl.

“Fuck!” I whisper.

“Hey P-Diddy, stop lolling around and start playing.”

“My name is not P-Diddy,” I grumble. The nickname irks me a bit, and I start to feel a headache start to form at my temples from the stress of toxic players when this is supposed to be a stress reliever.

I ignore my teammates’ suggestions for what to do next because I know that I’ve set myself in a direction to be good enough to go solo and try and rack up kills for my team.

But when I’m stuck in a shootout, and I get myself killed again, I rip off my headset and yell a loud “FUCK!” at the computer.

“Hey, Lids, is, uh, everything okay?”

I look up at who’s walked into the room, and my mouth drops when I see Griffin approaching my chair, dressed in a Stingrays hoodie and sweatpants. He’s so casual but it’s the best look on him. His hair is unkept, and he has bags under his eyes but he’s still the most beautiful sight. It reminds me of us behind the scenes. What I’d never allow the media to see as long as we’re together.

“Griffin?” I whisper. I don’t care what is going on with the game now. I’m away from my keyboard, standing at my post while teammates are racing to finish out this game. I can hear their muffled calls through my headset, yelling at me why I’m AFK, and I ignore it. In fact, I quickly exit the game and whisper a silent apology, even though I don’t give a shit if I just cost them a victory.

I stand up and throw my arms around him, my hands making a fist as I tug onto him as tight as I possibly can.

“What...why are you here?”

“I wanted to talk to you as soon as I got to San Jose,” he says. He’s exhausted, I can tell, because he doesn’t sound as enthusiastic as I hoped he would be.

“Oh. Yes, of course. What’s up?” I’m trying to stay positive but faltering as he doesn’t seem to lift his voice. Not even slightly excited to be seeing me after days apart.

“I, uh. I saw the story reposted...on the Esports Department account.”

Shit. Well, I figured he must’ve. Hopefully, I can convince him that it wasn’t something I wanted to do.

“Oh. You did? Look, babe, I didn’t want to...”

“I don’t know if we should keep doing this.”

My heart stops beating, and I try and spin the narrative for my, our, own good.

“Keep doing what? Like...you want me to leave my job?”

“No, Lids,” he shakes his head. “I...I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry? For what? No. No, no, no, no, no.

“What are you trying to say, Griffin?” My lips start trembling.

“I don’t want you to leave your job. I don’t...I fucked up Lydia. I’m a fucked up person, and I don’t think that you deserve to be with someone that everyone sees as their biggest enemy right now.”

“But...it’s okay, you’re fucked up.” I try to say whatever I can to save this situation, but it doesn’t come out right when I hear myself say it. “I know why you’re acting like this. And I think we just need to take a beat, and maybe we’ll put out a statement that we’re working on it. We can get through this...”

“NO!” he shouts, and I take a step back out of his arms and almost trip over one of the chairs. “I...I’m sorry. See this, this mess. You don’t deserve to be with someone who’s like this.”

“But,” I start sobbing. “I love you. Shouldn’t love be enough to conquer whatever...obstacles we’re put through?”

“Not...not when I need to work on these things alone. So I can fix myself. Until then...I...need some time. I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t have predicted something like this happening. This can’t be it for us. I wanted Griffin to come home so we could talk through whatever monsters were in his head and conjure up a game plan so we could take care of the haters together. Instead, we’re breaking up, and nothing I can say or do will change Griffin’s mind because he’s going through a lot in his head right now that he needs to fix. Without me.

“I...There’s nothing I can say that’s going to make you change your mind?” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “No, Lydia. I’m sorry. So so sorry.”

“Are you?” I blink away the tears. It feels like this is the lazy way out of what I was prepared to work so hard for. “If you loved me, you’d fight to keep me.”

“No.” His voice sounds strained. “You don’t understand. I love you so much that I need you to be with someone who doesn’t carry all these burdens. I...I need you to be with someone normal.”

“I don’t want normal!” I scream. “I want you. Please don’t let me go, Griffin.”

“I’m sorry.” Again with that phrase that means bullshit to me right now.

“Yeah,” I turn my head to look away from his gaze. “I guess I am too.”

He turns around and walks out of the room, and when he leaves, my legs go limp, and I drop to the floor. I start crying so heavily that I forget how to breathe. I just got dumped, and there is nothing I can do about it. There is no battle I can fight and come out victorious. Love’s a game, they say, but how am I supposed to feel like it is when I can’t win?

“Lydia,” Kristian calls for me as she’s entering my office. “Lydia, I think you should take the rest of the day off. Shit, take a week off.”

I can’t, I want to scream. My legs feel so heavy that they can’t move, and my face is stuck to the desk calendar on my desk, which is sopping wet now from the tears. I have tried so hard to get up and look at my computer, and answer an email or a few, but when I will my head to tilt up and stare at my computer, I am reminded of how my job constantly exposes me to video games.

The kids just wrapped up a tournament.

There’s a tournament we’re hosting next week.

Red Bull wants to finally sponsor us.

And worst of all, Griffin is still the face of Hero Seek. It’s an even bigger deal now because the Stingrays are poised to claim the division and receive a bye in the first round of playoffs. Even though it’s only been a week since our breakup, that was enough time for people to forgive him for his behavior and worship him again. I think the video that he made of him in his living room, wearing a black shirt and hair unkept, basically being vulnerable and apologizing about what happened, how he reacted, and why he did it, helped. (Yes, he did say it was because he was in love, and no, I did not continue the video after that.) The comments were generally positive, and that’s how I found out that Griffin started going to therapy.

Am I completely over this breakup and Griffin? No. It hurts that I’ve been left in a position where I feel helpless, that my existence is putting more harm on the person I love than good. But he told me he needed to do this to work on himself. So I can only hope that means we’ll find our way back to each other again.

“There’s so much to do,” I groan. “We have the tournament next weekend, and I need to make sure everything’s ready for it.”

Kristian takes a seat across from me and gently pats my head like I’m a puppy. I lean into her pats. Any touch is welcome after lamenting the past week about how alone it feels to sleep in your bed when you’ve grown accustomed to waking up in another person’s arms.

“You can coordinate everything from home. You can set up your laptop in bed, and no one will know.”

“I know.” I finally get enough courage to hoist myself up and sit upright in my chair. My spine still wobbles a bit, and I don’t sit straight along the back, but at least I can give my desk calendar a much-needed break from being smooshed. “I just can’t leave the kids, you know? I’m trying so hard to not rain down on their parade. They deserve to have someone be there to hype them up.”

She grabs a hold of my arm and gives it a quick squeeze. “I get it. Just...take care of yourself too, okay? I hate seeing you like this.”

“I’ll try. Thanks, Kris.”

“Anytime. Love you, Lids!”

“Love you, too,” I whisper.

As much as it pains me to be detached from my students and campus, I decide Kristian’s right. Being here only serves as a reminder that I need to flee from the negative thoughts invading my mind. I draft a long email to Dr. Jones, telling him that despite university policy stating guidelines against working from home full time, I think that it is in my best interest to do so in my quest to “heal” as best as I can. That my productivity is better suited off-campus, for once.

I hit the send button, and as I’m packing up my things, my phone pings back with a text.

Dr. Jones: Hi Lydia, I just finished reading your email and wanted to let you know it is okay to take the day and work from home. If you’d like to take the rest of the week and work from home, that is okay too. I just want you to know I’m here if you need any help navigating through this difficult time. Dr. J

Lydia: Thanks, Dr. Jones. I’ll try to use this time to recoup as best as I can so I can be ready for the tournament next week.

I get into my car, and as I leave LGU and the students milling about, I wonder to myself if there will ever be a point where I feel like I can be the best director for the team. And if I can’t, then how will I tell them it’s time for me to embark on a new path?