Chapter Eight
Jason
I'm pretty sure I could walk on water right now.
The drive back to campus is filled with this perfect, comfortable silence, the kind where you don't need to fill every second with conversation because just being together feels right.
Violet's hand is resting on the center console, and I've got my fingers intertwined with hers.
Every few seconds, she glances over at me with this soft smile that makes my chest feel tight in the best possible way.
I keep replaying the kiss—the way she felt in my arms, the little sound she made when I deepened it, how perfectly she fit against me.
If I'm being honest, I've been thinking about kissing Violet since the day she explained gear ratios with the kind of enthusiasm most people reserve for winning the lottery.
But the reality was so much better than anything I'd imagined.
"Thank you," she says quietly as we pull into the parking lot outside her dorm.
"For what?"
"For tonight. For dinner, for being... you." She turns to look at me fully, and there's something vulnerable in her expression that makes me want to kiss her again. "For making me feel like this version of myself is worth spending time with."
"Violet," I say, shifting in my seat to face her, "this version of yourself is incredible. Smart, funny, beautiful and patient enough to explain mechanical engineering to a guy whose greatest academic achievement is passing statistics without crying."
She laughs, but there's still that hint of uncertainty in her eyes. "I just... I know I'm not like other girls you probably date."
"You're right," I agree, and watch her face fall slightly before I continue.
"You're better. You're real, and interesting, and you make me want to be better at everything.
Other girls I've dated..." I pause, realizing that might not be the best phrase.
"Actually, let me rephrase that. The three coffee dates I've been on in my entire college career were with girls who either didn't care about my answers when they asked questions, or who expected me to be some kind of hockey star instead of the guy who warms the bench. "
"Only three?" she asks, looking surprised.
"Only three," I confirm. "Turns out being the third-string anything doesn't exactly make you the campus catch."
"Their loss," Violet says firmly, and the conviction in her voice makes something warm settle in my chest.
"Definitely their loss," I agree, leaning over to kiss her softly. "Because it means I was available when the most amazing girl I've ever met needed help collecting pucks."
When we break apart, Violet is smiling that soft smile again, and I'm seriously considering asking if she wants to sit in my car and talk for another hour instead of going inside.
"I should probably get back," she says reluctantly, glancing at her dorm building. "Sage is going to want a full report, and if I'm too late, she'll assume something terrible happened."
"Can't have that," I say, though I make no move to get out of the car. "What's the official story?"
"That you're even more wonderful than I thought, dinner was perfect, and I'm really glad you asked me out."
"All true," I say, grinning. "What about the part where we kissed under the streetlights like we're in some kind of romantic movie?"
"That part might get Sage a little too excited," Violet admits. "She's been plotting our relationship since I mentioned you the first time."
"Smart woman. I like her already."
I get out and walk around to open Violet's door, because my mother raised me right and also because I'm not ready for this evening to be over. When she steps out of the car, she's close enough that I can smell her perfume again, and I have to resist the urge to pull her back into my arms.
"So," I say, walking her to the entrance of her building, "when can I see you again?"
"Tomorrow?" she suggests, then immediately looks embarrassed. "I mean, if you want to. I know that might seem too eager, but—"
"Tomorrow sounds perfect," I interrupt, because the idea of waiting longer than necessary to see her again is completely unacceptable. "What time do you get done with classes?"
"Three-thirty. But I usually go straight to the rink to prep for practice."
"Perfect. I'll find you there."
We're standing in front of the entrance now, and neither of us seems to want to say goodbye. Violet is looking up at me with those incredible violet eyes, and I'm wondering if it would be inappropriate to kiss her again when my phone starts buzzing insistently in my pocket.
"Sorry," I say, glancing at the screen. It's Keith, and he's calling at almost eleven PM, which usually means either something's wrong or something's very right. "I should probably—"
"Take it," Violet says. "I'll see you tomorrow."
She stands on her toes to kiss my cheek, and the soft press of her lips against my skin makes my brain short-circuit for a second. By the time I recover, she's already disappeared into the building, leaving me standing there like an idiot with a ringing phone.
"Harrison!" Keith’s voice is so loud I have to hold the phone away from my ear. "Where the hell are you?"
"Outside Morrison Hall," I say, still staring at the door Violet just walked through. "Why are you yelling?"
"Because Tyler just called me, and you need to get back here right now. Coach Higgins has been trying to reach you for the last hour."
That gets my attention. Coach Higgins doesn't call players at eleven PM unless something significant has happened.
"Why? What's wrong?"
"It's not wrong, dude," Keith says, and I can hear the excitement in his voice. "It's the opposite of wrong. Both starting goalies are down."
I feel my stomach drop. "What happened?"
"Peter came down with food poisoning about an hour ago—like, seriously down, not just feeling queasy. And Tyler tweaked his knee during evening conditioning. Coach says it's not serious, but he can't play tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" I repeat, my brain struggling to process what Keith is telling me.
"Harrison," Keith says slowly, like he's explaining something to a small child, "you're starting tomorrow night. Against Oregon State. Our biggest conference game of the season."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Starting. Tomorrow night. Against Oregon State, who's ranked third in our conference and has an offense that's been averaging four goals per game.
"Are you sure?" I ask weakly.
"Coach wants to see you first thing in the morning to go over the game plan. This is it, man. This is your shot."
After three years of watching from the bench, of being ready for an opportunity that never came, of wondering if I'd ever get the chance to prove what I could do—this is it.
I should be ecstatic. I should be pumping my fist and already mentally preparing for the biggest game of my life. Instead, all I can think about is how everything just got infinitely more complicated.
"Jason? You still there?"
"Yeah," I say, trying to focus on Keith’s voice instead of the spiraling thoughts in my head. "Yeah, I'm here."
"You don't sound excited. This is what you've been working for."
He's right. This is exactly what I've been working for. Three years of early morning practices, extra conditioning, staying late to work on technique, being ready for a moment that might never come. And now it's here.
"I'm excited," I say, and I try to make it sound convincing. "Just... surprised."
"Get used to it, starter," Keith says with a grin I can hear through the phone. "Everything's about to change."
After Keith hangs up, I stand there in the parking lot for a long moment, trying to process what just happened.
Six hours ago, I was the third-string goalie getting ready for what I hoped would be a perfect first date.
Now I'm the starter for the biggest game of the season, and I'm supposed to be ready to perform under pressure I've never experienced before.
The thing is, I am ready. I know I am. I've been preparing for this opportunity for three years, and if I get my shot, I can prove that Coach Higgins has been making a mistake keeping me on the bench.
But as I drive back to my dorm, all I can think about is how this changes everything. Not just for me, but for Violet and whatever we started tonight.
Because Keith is right—everything is about to change.
Starting tomorrow, I won't be the overlooked third-stringer who has time to help collect pucks and ask equipment managers to coffee.
I'll be the guy everyone's watching, the guy whose performance could determine whether we make the playoffs.
I'll be the guy who gets noticed by girls who didn't know I existed when I was riding the bench.
The thought makes my stomach twist, not because I want attention from other girls, but because I know how this works.
I've watched it happen to Keith and Tyler.
Suddenly, you're not just a hockey player—you're the hockey player.
People want to be around you, want to be seen with you, want to claim they knew you before you were important.
And sometimes, the people who knew you before get lost in all the noise.
By the time I get back to my room, Tyler's waiting for me with ice on his knee and a shit-eating grin on his face.
"Well, well, well," he says as I walk in. "Look who's about to become the campus hero."
"It's one game," I point out, dropping onto my bed.
"One game that could change everything," Tyler corrects. "Oregon State has been lighting up every goalie they've faced this season. If you shut them down, you're not going back to the bench."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you don't," Tyler says with a shrug. "But you will, because you're good enough. The question is, are you ready for what comes after?"
It's a good question. Am I ready for teammates who suddenly want to hang out, for girls who suddenly find me interesting, for professors who might cut me slack because I'm the starting goalie?
More importantly, am I ready for the possibility that Violet might start to wonder if she still fits into my world?
"How was your date?" Tyler asks, apparently sensing that I need a subject change.
"Perfect," I say honestly. "Really perfect."
"But?"
"But what if it was our only perfect one?"
Tyler gives me a look that suggests he thinks I might be losing my mind. "Why would it be your only perfect one?"
"Because tomorrow everything changes. And I don't know if what we have is strong enough to survive me becoming... whatever I'm about to become."
"Harrison," Tyler says seriously, "if Violet is the kind of girl who's going to bail the second you get some success, then she's not the right girl. But from what I've seen, she's been cheering for you to get this opportunity longer than anyone."
He has a point. Violet has been supporting me, believing in me, telling me I deserved this chance before I even fully believed it myself.
But believing I deserved an opportunity and wanting to date the guy who actually gets it are two very different things.
As I lie in bed that night, staring at the ceiling and trying to calm my nerves about tomorrow's game, I can't stop thinking about the way Violet looked at me tonight.
Like I was already everything she wanted, bench-warmer status and all.
The question is whether she'll still look at me that way when I'm no longer the underdog she's been quietly supporting.
Because tomorrow, for better or worse, everything changes.
And I'm not sure either of us is ready for what that means.