Chapter Ten
Jason
Twenty-four hours ago, I could walk across campus without anyone knowing my name.
Now I can't make it from the dining hall to my dorm without being stopped by at least three people who want to talk about last night's game.
It's not that I don't appreciate the recognition—after three years of being invisible, having people actually notice what I can do feels incredible.
But there's something surreal about suddenly being the guy everyone wants to talk to, especially when most of these people couldn't have picked me out of a lineup last week.
"Harrison!" someone calls from across the quad, and I turn to see two guys I recognize from my economics class jogging over. "Dude, that save in the third period was insane! You're like a brick wall!"
"Thanks," I say, trying to sound appropriately grateful instead of bewildered. "Just doing my job."
"Seriously, where did you come from?" the other guy asks. "It's like Coach Higgins was hiding a secret weapon."
I want to point out that I've been here all along, practicing with the team, sitting on the bench at every game, but I just smile and make some generic comment about being ready when opportunity knocked.
They seem satisfied with that, slapping me on the back before heading off, probably to tell their friends they talked to the hero goalie.
This has been happening all day. Professors congratulating me in class, students I've never spoken to acting like we're old friends, even the barista at the campus café giving me a free coffee and a wink that suggests she's suddenly very interested in my beverage preferences.
It's flattering. It's exciting. And it's also completely overwhelming.
My phone has been buzzing nonstop with texts, Instagram notifications, and friend requests from people I'm pretty sure I've never met.
The local sports reporter wants to do a feature story.
Someone from the athletic department called about scheduling interviews.
Three different girls have somehow gotten my number and sent messages that range from congratulatory to significantly more forward.
The attention should feel good. After years of working hard and getting no recognition, having people finally notice what I'm capable of should be exactly what I wanted.
So why do I keep thinking about the way Violet looked at me in the equipment room last night? Not impressed or starstruck like everyone else, just proud. Like she knew all along that I could do this and was happy to see the rest of the world finally catch up.
"There he is!" Keith’s voice booms across the dining hall as I grab lunch. "The man of the hour!"
I make my way over to our usual table, where Keith and Tyler are holding court with about twice as many people as normally sit with us.
I recognize some of them—other players, a few guys from our residence hall—but there are also several girls I've definitely never seen before, all looking at me with the kind of interest that was notably absent when I was riding the bench.
"Jason!" one of them says brightly, a blonde in a sorority sweatshirt who's positioned herself strategically next to the empty seat. "I'm Madison. I was at the game last night—you were absolutely incredible!"
"Thanks," I say, sitting down and trying not to notice the way she immediately leans closer. "Were you guys talking about the game?"
"We were talking about the party Saturday night," Tyler says with a grin. "Madison here was just saying her sorority wants to throw something special to celebrate our win."
"And to celebrate you," Madison adds, touching my arm. "I mean, you're basically famous now! Everyone's talking about the amazing new goalie."
The thing is, I should be enjoying this. Madison is attractive, clearly interested, and she's offering to throw a party in my honor. Six months ago, the idea that a sorority girl would want to celebrate me would have seemed like an impossible fantasy.
But all I can think about is how different this feels from talking to Violet. Madison is looking at me like I'm some kind of prize she's trying to win, while Violet looks at me like I'm a person she genuinely enjoys spending time with.
"That's really nice of you," I say diplomatically. "But I should probably focus on the next game instead of celebrating too much."
"Oh, come on," another girl chimes in. "You can't be serious all the time! Besides, everyone wants to meet the guy who just became the most eligible bachelor on campus."
Most eligible bachelor on campus. Jesus. Yesterday I was worried about whether I'd ever get a shot at starting, and now I'm apparently some kind of campus celebrity with sorority girls planning parties in my honor.
My phone buzzes with a text, and I glance down to see Violet's name. How are you handling the fame? Saw three different Instagram stories about you this morning.
I can't help but smile, which doesn't go unnoticed by Madison, who immediately tries to peek at my phone.
"Who's that?" she asks with the kind of casual curiosity that feels anything but casual.
"Just a friend," I say, pocketing my phone without responding to Violet's text. Which feels wrong, but I'm not sure how to explain that the person I actually want to talk to about all this is the equipment manager while I'm surrounded by people treating me like a celebrity.
The conversation continues around me, with Tyler regaling everyone with increasingly embellished versions of my saves from last night.
I participate when necessary, but part of me is somewhere else entirely, thinking about the quiet conversation I had with Violet before the game, how she made sure every piece of my equipment was perfect, the way she looked at me like she believed in me before anyone else did.
"So Jason," Madison says during a lull in Tyler's storytelling, "what are you doing tonight? A few of us were thinking about going to that new place downtown."
"I actually have plans," I say, because I do—I promised Violet we'd celebrate together, away from all this chaos.
"Oh." Madison looks disappointed and slightly surprised, like the idea that I might already have plans hadn't occurred to her. "Well, what about tomorrow night?"
Before I can answer, Tyler jumps in. "Tomorrow's team dinner, remember? Coach wants to review film and talk strategy for this weekend."
"Right," I say gratefully. "Team obligations."
But Madison doesn't seem deterred. "What about after? Or this weekend?"
I'm saved from having to answer by Keith, who starts talking about practice schedules and upcoming games.
But I can feel Madison's attention on me throughout the rest of lunch, and I realize this is going to be my life now—people wanting pieces of my time, assuming I should be available for their plans, treating my schedule like public property.
After lunch, I finally escape to find somewhere quiet to call Violet back. I end up on a bench behind the library, away from the main foot traffic, where I can have a conversation without being interrupted.
"Hey," she says when she picks up, and just hearing her voice makes some of the tension in my shoulders ease.
"Hey yourself. Sorry I couldn't respond earlier—I was in the middle of what I think was a recruitment meeting for someone's social calendar."
Violet laughs. "Let me guess—suddenly everyone wants to be your best friend?"
"Something like that," I admit. "It's weird, Vi. Yesterday I was invisible, and today I can't walk across campus without people acting like I'm some kind of celebrity."
"Welcome to success," she says, but there's something in her tone that makes me pay attention. "How are you handling it?"
"Honestly? I'm not sure. It's flattering, but it's also... I don't know. Overwhelming? Most of these people didn't know I existed yesterday."
"But they know now," Violet points out. "And that's not necessarily a bad thing."
"Isn't it? I mean, if they only care about me because I stopped some pucks, what happens when I have a bad game?"
"Then you'll find out who your real friends are," she says simply.
There's something in the way she says it that makes me wonder if she's thinking about us, about whether what we have is strong enough to survive this new dynamic.
"Violet," I start, but she interrupts.
"I should let you go. I'm sure you have a lot of people to get back to."
"I don't want to get back to them," I say quickly. "I want to talk to you. We were supposed to celebrate tonight, remember?"
"I remember," she says, and her voice softens slightly. "But Jason, your teammates are probably planning something, and there are clearly other people who want to celebrate with you—"
"I don't care about other people," I interrupt. "I care about you. The person who believed in me before any of this happened."
There's a pause, and when she speaks again, her voice is quiet. "I know. But things are different now, aren't they?"
The question hangs between us, and I realize she's right. Things are different. Not because my feelings have changed, but because everything around us has shifted. There are new pressures, new expectations, new people vying for my attention.
"They don't have to be," I say. "Not with us."
"Maybe not," Violet agrees. "But we should probably figure out how to navigate this new reality before we make any assumptions about what stays the same."
She's being practical, analytical, approaching this like the problem-solver she is. But there's something careful in her voice that makes me think she's protecting herself, preparing for the possibility that I might get swept up in all this attention and forget about what we started building.
"I'm not going anywhere," I tell her. "All of this—the recognition, the attention, whatever—none of it means anything if I can't share it with you."
"Jason," she says softly, and I can hear her smile. "I want to believe that."
"Then believe it," I say. "Give me a chance to prove that success doesn't have to change everything that matters."
"Okay," she says after a moment. "But maybe we should take things slowly. Figure out how to balance your new reality with... whatever this is between us."
It's not the enthusiastic agreement I was hoping for, but it's not a rejection either. It's Violet being careful, thoughtful, realistic about the challenges we're facing.
"So dinner tonight?" I ask. "Just us, somewhere quiet where we can actually talk?"
"Dinner sounds good," she agrees. "But Jason? Promise me something."
"Anything."
"Promise me you'll enjoy this. The recognition, the success, all of it. You worked hard for this opportunity, and you deserve to savor it. Don't feel guilty about people finally seeing what you're capable of."
The fact that she's worried about me feeling guilty, that she wants me to enjoy my success even while she's clearly struggling with how it affects us, makes my chest tight with emotion.
"I promise," I tell her. "As long as you promise me something too."
"What's that?"
"Promise me you won't disappear just because things get complicated. I know this is all new and weird, but I don't want to navigate it without you."
"I'm not going anywhere either," she says, and she sounds like she means it. "But we might need to figure out some new ground rules."
"Ground rules," I repeat. "Like what?"
"Like how to handle it when sorority girls invite you to parties, or when reporters want to interview the mysterious new starter, and when your teammates want to celebrate in ways that don't necessarily include the equipment manager."
She's thought about this, clearly. Analyzed the potential complications and started developing strategies for dealing with them. It's very Violet, and also a little heartbreaking that she's already anticipating being excluded from parts of my new reality.
"The equipment manager who happens to be my girlfriend," I correct. "And who's invited to anything I'm invited to, if she wants to be."
"Girlfriend," she repeats, and I can hear her smile again. "Is that what I am?"
"Is that what you want to be?"
"Yeah," she says, and the simple certainty in her voice makes my heart do that stupid skipping thing again. "I think it is."
After we hang up, I sit on the bench for a few more minutes, watching students walk by and thinking about what just happened.
In the span of twenty-four hours, I've gone from third-string nobody to campus hero to officially having a girlfriend who's smart enough to anticipate the challenges that come with success.
It should feel overwhelming, but instead it feels like everything is falling into place. The hockey success I've been working toward for three years, and a relationship with someone who sees me clearly enough to know that success doesn't automatically solve everything.
When I finally head back toward campus, my phone buzzes with an Instagram DM from Madison, asking if I'm free for coffee later. I delete it without responding, because I've got dinner plans with my girlfriend, and that's exactly where I want to be.
The recognition is nice. The attention is flattering. But having someone who knew I was worth celebrating before the rest of the world caught on? That's the real victory. Now I just need to prove I'm smart enough not to screw it up.